Home to Texas

by Kaki Warner

  It was apparent to KD that the new father needed a break. And equally apparent that Joss hadn’t thought about who would babysit her daughter while she was out kicking up her heels, guzzling beer, and charming the locals. Immediately, her frown became a smile. “That’s perfect! It’ll be great practice for her.”

  “I don’t wanna,” Raney whined as she loaded her plate. “I’m tired.”

  Fearing if Raney bailed, she and Richard would be recruited, KD quickly announced that she and Richard were going. “He was just saying he wished he could hear you sing, Joss.”

  Richard muttered something KD didn’t catch.

  “Great! Then it’s settled! Grady, sweetie, Lyric needs changing. I’ll fill you a plate.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The two younger Afghans were told to wait while Khalil Farid and two of the cartel soldiers followed Caracortada to his office inside the half-buried building. There, Khalil was given a chair facing a massive carved desk, while Caracortada sat in a throne-like chair across from him.

  It was difficult for Khalil not to avert his eyes.

  Caracortada was hideously disfigured by a long, jagged scar that bisected his face from hairline, through his right eye, and down to the right corner of his mouth. His right eye was a milky white mass of scar tissue. The wound had been stitched badly and pulled the Mexican’s mouth into a permanent grimace. Khalil carried his own scar, but his did not make him look like a monster.

  “I am listening,” the cartel leader said in a mumbling voice that made Khalil wonder if his tongue had been cut, as well.

  Khalil put his valise on top of the desk.

  Immediately, the two soldiers stepped closer, guns drawn and pointed at Khalil’s head.

  “Alejarse,” Caracortada said in his soft, slurred voice.

  The men stepped back.

  Khalil opened the valise and turned it around so his host could see the three kilos of heroin inside. “Have your men test it, if you wish.”

  At Caracortada’s nod, one of the soldiers snapped the valise closed, picked it up, and left. “What is your proposition?”

  “It has come to my attention,” Khalil began, “that you seek to expand your drug trade. Sadly, the product available to you from Mexico and Colombia is not as pure as the heroin from my country. That makes it less profitable, which means your expansion is moving slower than you might wish. I ask that you consider buying from me. I can attest to the purity of my product since it comes from my own poppy fields. An agreement between us will make us both rich men.”

  The Mexican said nothing for a long time. Khalil forced himself to be patient and not look away from that one milky eye.

  “And what is this favor you ask in return if I agree to your proposal?” Caracortada finally asked.

  “My men and I seek vengeance on those who murdered my son and dishonored my family. To do this, we must cross in and out of the United States undetected, which I cannot do without your help. I would also ask that a car, a map of the state of Texas, American currency, three new prepaid phones, automatic rifles, and pistols be waiting for us on the other side. The car and guns will be given back to you when we return after completing our mission.” Khalil shrugged and spread his hands wide. “A simple thing for a man with your powerful connections.”

  Caracortada stood. “Thank you for your gift, Señor Farid. I will consider your proposal. If your product is as good as you say, we will talk again about the favor you ask. Until then, you and your men will be my guests.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Harley’s Roadhouse was packed, as it usually was on summer Saturday nights, and Richard had a hard time finding a parking spot big enough for the big crew cab truck. Luckily, management had anticipated the crowd, and the roof-mounted air conditioners were running full bore, cranking out cool air.

  As soon as they entered, Joss and Grady were engulfed by fans and groupies. KD was barely able to pull Richard off to the side and out of the worst of the crush. Memories assailed her as she looked around. She hadn’t been to the dance hall in several years and felt a charge of exhilaration at the party-like atmosphere.

  The nose was deafening. Huge bass speakers pulsed so hard she could feel the vibrations beneath her feet. The smell of the beer flowing constantly from the stainless taps behind the bar, the voices of friends calling to friends, and the thud of bootheels hitting the planks in unison as line dancers circled the giant dance floor all awakened happy memories of her carefree high school days. Everybody was cutting the wolf loose tonight, and the excitement was contagious.

  “Ever been to an old-fashioned Texas dance hall?” she shouted to Richard.

  He shook his head.

  “Then you’re in for a treat. Beer first, then a table.” Spotting a waitress weaving through the crowd with a tray of Lone Star longnecks held high, KD gave a shrill whistle to get her attention and raised two fingers. “I hope you brought money,” she yelled to Richard.

  “How much?”

  “If you expect her to come around again, ten bucks.”

  Once they had their longnecks, they looked for a table with a good view of the stage. Luckily there was one on the mezzanine, the raised area on either side of the dance floor where alcohol was allowed. Since the Roadhouse was family friendly in the old Texas dance hall tradition, people of all ages were allowed in, but those under twenty-one were required to wear no beer wristbands and were restricted to the main floor of the hall, where alcohol wasn’t allowed. Consequently, it wasn’t unusual to see preteens and older teenagers dancing alongside grandparents shuffling through the Texas two-step with happy grins on their faces.

  It was too loud for easy conversation, so KD and Richard sat side by side at their tiny table and silently watched the dancers circle past. After a while, KD leaned toward him and asked if he danced.

  He shrugged and watched a row of line dancers stomp by, hands in the front pockets of their jeans, booted feet doing intricate kicks and cross steps. “As a couple. Not in a line like these guys.”

  “Want to try one? Some are pretty easy. I think I can remember the steps to the Cowboy Hustle.” Seeing his lack of enthusiasm, she smiled. “Or we could try the two-step.” She pointed to an elementary-aged couple. “If those little kids can do it, surely you can. Or you can scooch over here and put your arm across my shoulders and we can pretend we’re dancing while we drink beer and watch.”

  “I can do that.” And he did.

  Later, during a lull in the music, Richard went for another beer, and KD saw Deputy Toby Langers watching him from beside the bar. He had always been a fixture at the roadhouse on weekends. Probably raking in overtime for doing nothing but fantasizing about the younger women. Seeing the way the jerk scowled at Richard made KD wonder if Sheriff Ford had told him that Richard might be thinking to run for his job after he retired.

  KD had no doubt Richard would make an excellent sheriff. In addition to being smarter, nearly a foot taller, and way hotter than the deputy, his temperament was better suited to the job. Toby’s reputation for pushing his weight around had earned him the nickname Deputy Dawg. He was older than KD, so she didn’t know him personally, but Raney had told her there was a long history of antagonism between Langers and Dalton that dated back to high school, and it had only become worse after Dalton got out of prison. KD was convinced that with endorsements from the sheriff and the Whitcombs, the job of Gunther County sheriff was Richard’s for the taking.

  If he wanted it.

  She watched Langers track Richard back to the table, then quickly look away when he caught KD scowling at him. He was such a weasel. As soon as Richard sat down, KD waved him closer. “See that guy over there?” She pointed at Langers, who was now looking down the tank top of a high school girl trying to use a fake ID to get beer. KD recognized all of the kid’s moves. She’d used them herself. And with as
little luck. “That’s the guy you’d be up against if you ran for sheriff.”

  Richard studied the other man. He didn’t seem impressed. Turning back to KD, he asked if she wanted him to run.

  She shook her head. “Not my call. Just pointing out the competition.”

  “Sounds like you want me to run.”

  “I want you to do what you want to do. Running for sheriff is just one option of many.”

  “If I were elected, we’d be close to your family.”

  KD made a face. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  “We could spend our evenings with Mama. Maybe play checkers.”

  “Knit pot holders,” KD added, getting into the spirit of it. “Plan high school reunions for the geriatric set.”

  “Try out recipes and do each other’s hair. Babysitting on weekends.”

  “You win,” she conceded with a laugh. “You don’t have to run for sheriff.”

  “Maybe I want to.” He thought for a moment. “It wouldn’t be a bad life. I like Texas, and your family, and you. If it’s a package deal, I’m okay with that.”

  KD felt a warm tingle. He was so damn sweet. “Is this another proposal, Warrant Officer Murdock?”

  “It could be. But marriage is a partnership. What do you want?”

  You. “Time,” she said instead. “Time to get Khalil out of our lives, to see if the rehab program will work, for you to find something you really want to do.”

  He studied her for a long time, then smiled and shook his head. “You really know how to work me, don’t you, babe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By not forcing a decision that would suit you, you’re leading me exactly where you want me to be.”

  That sounded manipulative. “Which is where?” she asked, trying not to be offended.

  “Into making a decision that would suit us both.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Suddenly, the music started blaring again, and the hall erupted in whistles and cheers.

  Joss was at the mic.

  * * *

  * * *

  “Isn’t she great?” KD asked after Joss had finished her third song.

  “She is. Definitely star material.”

  KD’s cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out and saw it was Dalton. “Hey,” she said, wondering why he would call her here. It’s Dalton, she mouthed to Richard. “What’s up? What? Wait—I can barely hear you. Hold on while I go outside.”

  Motioning for Richard to follow, she hurried out the exit. Once they were far away from the inside noise, she put the phone on speaker. “Dalton, I’ve got you on speaker. Richard’s here, too. What’s going on? Are Raney and Mama okay?”

  “Everybody’s fine,” Dalton assured her. “But the sheriff just called. His contact on the Border Patrol said an informer saw three Middle Eastern guys get off a trawler at the port in Matamoros, Mexico, this afternoon. One of them, an older, heavyset guy, had a long scar across his face. Sound familiar, Richard?”

  “Khalil Farid has a scar like that. When?”

  “About four hours ago. Probably bribed their way through customs. Or what passes for customs down there.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Presumed to still be around Matamoros. They drove off with four guys, the informer said. Possibly soldiers in the Matamoros Cartel. No sign of them since.”

  Richard asked KD where Matamoros was.

  “Across from Brownsville.”

  “Close?”

  “Maybe ten hours by car. More with stops. But that’s a long drive though some of the state’s most congested areas, so it might take longer.”

  “I doubt they’d take that route,” Dalton broke in. “They’d want to stay off the interstates, which are more heavily patrolled, and drive slightly below the speed limit, just to be safe. Back roads, slower speeds.”

  “That would take a lot longer,” KD pointed out. “And since most small towns close early, they’d have fewer chances to eat and get gas if they drove at night. Might take twelve, fourteen hours. Less if they flew.”

  When Richard asked where the nearest airport was, Raney told him Dallas–Fort Worth made international flights. “But you said he was on the no-fly list.”

  “Then what about a private airport? Somewhere a small private plane could land unnoticed.”

  “That’d be Gunther,” Dalton said.

  “Then it’s possible they could fly directly from Brownsville to Gunther on a private plane,” Richard said. “How long would that take?”

  “A lot less than fourteen hours.”

  “But why would they?” KD argued. “They’d still need a car to get from Gunther to the ranch. I doubt they have any contacts this far off the beaten path, and we sure as hell don’t have Uber around here.”

  “You’re right,” Dalton agreed. “They’ll have to drive the interstates. Take at least twelve hours, including stops. Possibly longer.”

  “That assumes everything was prearranged,” Richard put in, “and they left as soon as they got off the boat, rather than driving off with four Mexicans. When were they last seen?”

  “Six this evening,” Dalton answered.

  “Then they won’t come tonight,” Richard decided. “They’ll need transportation, weapons, money, a way to get across the border. That’ll take time. And they’ll need to rest up. Once they cross the border, they’ll want to get in and out as fast as they can. I figure, at the earliest, they’ll leave Mexico tomorrow. Probably late morning so they’ll get here after midnight.”

  “That gives us a day to get ready,” Dalton said. “Should we alert the MPs at Hood?”

  “They can’t help,” Richard said. “It’s a civilian matter. We’re on our own.”

  “Don’t say anything to the people in Tent City,” KD told Dalton. “I’ll talk to Dr. Prescott. They’re scheduled to leave tomorrow anyway.”

  “How soon can you get back to the house?”

  “Forty minutes. Is Mama home yet?”

  “Ford took her to stay with Len in Dallas. Then he’s coming to the ranch.”

  “Good,” KD said. “The married workers need to be ready to take their families somewhere safe until this is over. I don’t want any kids in danger.”

  “Alejandro is talking to them now.”

  “The ranch will cover any expenses,” KD added. “I think Raney keeps cash on hand for emergencies. Pass that around if you need to. How’s she taking it?”

  He made a snorting noise. “She’s oiling her Glock.”

  “That’s my big sis. See you soon.”

  KD pocketed her cell then looked at Richard. “Damn. It’s really happening.”

  * * *

  * * *

  They left the roadhouse as soon as they could drag Joss away from her admirers. While they drove, KD told her and Grady about Khalil Farid. As predicted, Joss went ballistic. Not that KD blamed her. She had a daughter to protect. “You need to leave as soon as you can,” KD explained after Joss had calmed down enough to listen. “Go stay with Mama at Len’s. Tell them I’ll keep them posted, but under no circumstances should they come to the ranch until Dalton or Richard says it’s okay.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Grady asked.

  “Just keep Joss and Lyric safe. We knew this might happen, and have everything under control at the ranch.”

  “You knew about this?” Joss yelled from the backseat of the truck. “Why didn’t you tell me, KD? Jesus! Lyric could be in danger!”

  “I said it might happen, Joss. And we still don’t know for sure that it will. We’re just being cautious.”

  That didn’t do much to calm down her volatile sister, but at least Joss quit yelling for the rest of the way home.

  CHAPTER 19

 
When they drove through the gate thirty-eight minutes later, it looked like every window on the ranch was lit up. Dalton and Harvey stood with the sheriff on the front porch, Harvey with his rifle resting in the crook of his arm. Dalton didn’t appear to be armed.

  As soon as Richard pulled the truck in beside the sheriff’s cruiser in the back parking area, Joss threw open the rear door and hopped out. “You pack our stuff, Grady. I’ll get Lyric’s.”

  “Joss, there’s no rush,” KD told her. “We’ve got time.”

  Joss whirled. “You sure about that, KD? Sure enough to guarantee Lyric’s safety?”

  KD didn’t answer.

  “I thought so. I can’t believe you brought this asshole down on your family! What were you thinking?” Without waiting for an answer, she stomped through the gate toward the veranda.

  Unwilling to let her get away with that, Richard called after her, “It’s not you he’s after, Joss. It’s your sister.”

  Joss called back, “Small comfort if we’re caught in the crossfire.”

  Richard started to set her straight, but KD put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Let her go. She’s just worried about Lyric. I can’t blame her. If I hadn’t—”

  “Bullshit!” Richard barked. “This isn’t your fault any more than it’s mine. Khalil is a fucking lunatic. Period. Now focus on what needs to be done and quit feeling sorry for yourself and making excuses for your sister.”

  KD wanted to hit him.

  Then hug him.

  He was right. She couldn’t dwell on what she couldn’t change. Hope for the best, plan for the worst. “What do you want me to do?” she asked him.

  He told her to gather all the household handguns, rifles, shotguns, whatever, and put them on the dining room table with what ammo she could find, including the boxes Dalton had just bought. “If you have binocs, bring those, too. I don’t suppose you have any game cams or night vision goggles?”