“My job. Prisoner, come out.”
Yolanda’s voice repeated my order in Spanish.
Head down, a soaked woman with wet hair slid across the seat, and when she did, I recognized her, as well. “Tish Villarreal, on the ground now!”
Perry Hale’s weapon swept to the side to cover her.
The Devil Woman’s voice barked harsh and loud as she rolled out of the car seat, “Kill them all!”
At the same time the Border Patrol Agent Villarreal finished drawing his service weapon and leveled it at me.
I was half a second ahead of him, but because I was near exhaustion, my reactions were slow.
With a terrified look on his face, Villarreal’s partner Raul Lopez snatched his own weapon from its holster and opened fire a split second before Rodriguez drew his Glock and shot me square in the left chest.
It was like being hit with a sledge hammer from that range. My whole left side again went numb and I folded sideways from the pain and reaction while at the same time shooting Rodriguez over and over as I fell.
At least two bullets caught him in the vest, knocking him backward as a third big .45 round went high and caught him under his right eye. Something flew from the back of his head and disappeared into the darkness as I hit the ground hard.
Weapons exploded over me and the world strobed like a disco from automatic weapon fire.
On the ground, and half-blinded by the flashes overhead, I saw Tish Villarreal on her knees, picking up a pistol lying beside a still body. An encyclopedia of thoughts flashed through my pain.
She buried people in her garden.
She hung body parts from her tree.
She ordered the deaths of innocent people.
She ran drugs and humans across the river.
She’d threatened my family.
No one threatens my family.
On her knees, Tish Villarreal swung the pistol toward the nearest target, Yolanda and the baby in her arms. I saw the look of fear in Yolanda’s eyes as she twisted her body to place it between the Devil Woman and the child.
Headlights illuminated the eight feet between us. Lying on the ground, I extended my arm and shot the Devil Woman in the chest four times before she quit moving.
By the time I rolled over to suck air in my lungs, it was over. The rest of our people were still upright, along with Bill Tyler and Diego Morales, who stood tall, wide, and white-faced with their hands high in the air. FBI Agent McDowell had his weapon trained on the two officers who were rooted to the ground in shock. Neither had a weapon in his hand, and that fact alone saved their lives.
Border Agent Villarreal, who’d betrayed every honest law enforcement officer in the country, lay dead beside his partner, the late Agent Lopez. Rodriguez was on his back a few feet away, the pistol he’d shot me with lying under his right arm.
Struggling to my feet, I gasped as the pain in my chest from the bullet that hit exactly where the other one struck me back at the ranchero. “Dammit! I wish people would quit shooting me there.”
“They were probably aiming for that shirt.” McDowell helped me up with one hand under my arm, his pistol in the other. “What’n hell just happened?”
I looked around, finding everyone but Yolanda. Perry Hale saw the concern on my face. His rifle was still tucked against his shoulder, low, ready. He answered my unvoiced question. “She’s over there with a kid in one arm, a knee on the back of your little dead friend Tish’s neck, with an automatic to the back of her head. Just to make sure she’s gone.”
It was only then that the sound of a crying child penetrated the ringing in my ears.
Esteban’s voice came from the ground where he’d dropped. He hadn’t moved during the fight. “Can I get up now?”
“I think it’s safe, for the time being.”
Despite the cuffs, he got his knees under him and rose in one smooth move. He turned to McDowell. “Sir, my name is special agent Jacob Delgado. Over there they call me Esteban Barrera. I’ve been working undercover in Mexico for the Hidalgo cartel for the past three years. I can identify Tish Villarreal there as the leader of that cartel, and will provide eyewitness accounts, along with physical documentation of her crimes during that time.”
No one made a sound as he continued, sounding like he’d rehearsed a speech for class.
“These men lying here are dirty. That one is the Devil Woman of Coahuila’s brother. The other, Lopez, has been blackmailed to work for her.” He pointed with his head. “Rodriguez there’s been on her payroll for years.”
I winced and straightened up. “My God. He wanted to be a Texas Ranger. No telling what would have happened if he’d gotten in.”
Esteban nodded. “For your information. I watched Tish Villarreal voluntarily swim across the border and illegally enter the United States and will testify that she tried to shoot that woman over there with the little girl. I wish to turn myself over to your custody and to contact my handler. He’ll explain everything else.”
McDowell holstered his weapon. “I’ll be damned.”
Esteban, whose real name was Jacob, continued. I knew why, the cameras on the cars were running, as well as those worn by agents Bill Tyler and Diego Morales.
“The police chief in Del Rio has been taking money and turning his head to what’s going on here since he was elected. That’s why Chalk Canyon has been a highway into the states. This woman has killed dozens if not hundreds of people and the proof is hanging from a tree in her ranchero in Coahuila. There’s only one honest policeman I know across the border and that’s Maximilian Zapata. He has photos and video that I left with him. Contact him with my name and he’ll do the rest. He’s been waiting a long time for this.”
The two stunned Border Patrol agents finally moved. Bill Tyler looked at me through the flashing lights. “Is all this for real?”
Feeling inside my vest to make sure there was no blood, I raised an eyebrow at Esteban. “Fosfora?”
He shrugged. “She’s a chameleon. Who knows.”
I drew a deep, painful breath and finally answered Tyler. “It is. Every bit of it.”
Bill Tyler still had his hands halfway in the air and finally lowered them. “Just for the record. What’s your name again?”
“Sonny Hawke. Texas Ranger.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This author wouldn’t be where he is without the support of readers. Thanks to everyone who has become a fan of my work. I also want to thank every teacher who in some way influenced my dream of writing.
This novel wouldn’t have been what it is without the insight provided from retired Border Patrol agent Billy Kring (he also writes great novels), who told me of what he’d seen on the Rio Grande throughout his career. A couple of the twists came from some of the all-too-brief conversations we’ve had down in Austin. Precinct 4 Lamar County Constable Rick Easterwood is always there for questions and provided input that proved valuable to the plot.
It’s a pleasure to work with my editor at Kensington Publishing, Michaela Hamilton, who has championed my writing career since the day we met. She has always been a believer in Texas Ranger Sonny Hawke, and now we share the Spurs to prove it. None of this would work without her great team at Kensington, and I appreciate everyone who is a part of this process.
To my agent, Anne Hawkins, who is always only a phone call away—thanks for seeing value in my work.
My runnin’ buddies are bestselling author John Gilstrap—you know where you stand with me—and Steve Knagg, who was there through the years while I tried to figure all this out.
And of course, my bride, Shana, the love of my life, is always by my side.
In case you missed the Spur Award–winning thriller
Hawke’s War,
keep reading to enjoy the excitement of the first chapter.
All the Sonny Hawke thrillers are available from
Pinnacle Books,
an imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.
Thunderheads boiled over the
high desert peaks in Big Bend National Park as four hikers stretched out along the winding Devil’s Den Trail. The experienced thirty-somethings filled the dry, cool morning air with comments and good-natured ribbing.
Trailing last as usual in the group’s fifteen-year relationship, Harmony Cartwright stopped to tighten the faded Texas flag bandana she used as a headband to keep her blond hair under control. She adjusted the pack straps and, seeing that she wasn’t falling too far behind, bent to pick up a 520-million-year-old chunk of quartz from the well-traveled trail.
She scratched away a few grains of sand with a chewed, unpainted thumbnail and angled it toward the sun. After a short examination, Harmony blessed it with a quick smile and tucked the rock into the pocket of her cargo shorts, where it clacked against half a dozen similar stones. The others continued at a steady pace and she hurried to catch up with her husband, Blue. He trailed behind Chloe Hutchins, who followed her husband, and the troop’s leader Vince.
The veteran Marine stopped to take a long, deep sip of water from his bright yellow CamelBak pack. Solid as the trail under their feet, Vince was fearless, and had been all his life. After two tours in Afghanistan, he wrapped up his time in the Marine Corps and came home to sell real estate. Such a sedentary life caught up with him after months of inactivity, and he cast around for something adventurous.
Over half a dozen Friday nights and many cans of Coors, the four of them decided to hike the Devil’s Den trail in some of the most rugged backcountry of the national park. The trail was off the beaten path for most hikers, who preferred to drive deeper into the park. Rated as a moderate five-and-a-half-mile hike, the trip would at least help them burn up some Yellow Belly calories and maybe lead to even more outdoor activities in the Rockies, a place he loved to visit, a few months down the road.
He swiveled to see Chloe hoofing along at a pace as quick as her wit. “Hey, Spousal Unit, how about you walk point? The view of this trail is getting boring, and that way I can watch your transmission twitch.”
Chloe gave Vince a wink and pinched the blue nylon shirt from her damp skin, pumping it like a bellows to cool herself. The brunette wore a wide-brimmed straw hat exactly like the one shading her husband’s head. “You wouldn’t be able to concentrate then, Sergeant Hutchins. You’d probably trip on something and break a leg, and none of us can carry you out of here, so behave yourself and keep an eye out for marauding Indians.”
Blue caught up with the sparring couple and tilted his Tilley hat upward. Built like a fireplug, he wore khaki shorts that revealed thick legs built for walking. “Y’all drinking enough water? This dry air’s suckin’ it out as fast as I can pour it in.”
Chloe rolled her eyes in fun. “Not as much as Big Guy here, but he’s working harder than I am.”
“I’m still fresh enough out of the Sandbox to think this is chilly.” Vince frowned in mock anger. “You’re right though, Little Bit, y’all need to make sure you’re staying hydrated. I don’t want anyone on this team to be falling out.”
“You should be sweating out all that beer y’all poured down last night.” Chloe poked his flat stomach with a finger.
He raised an eyebrow at the petite brown-haired woman who weighed less than a hundred pounds. “Twelve little ol’ cans ain’t that much, besides, I run a bigger machine, so I can handle it.”
Blue watched the clouds in the distance. “I wish I had one of those Yellow Bellies right now.”
The quartet had formed in college, and Blue was used to the same good-natured arguments he’d been hearing in the years since. He waved a hand at the scattered scrub below the ridge above them. “Couldn’t you guys find somewhere in the shade to stop?”
Vince spread both hands. “We’re a little short on trees around here.”
Blue scanned the sun-blasted landscape. The only sign of active life was a lazy buzzard drifting on the thermals high overhead. “Yeah, which is exactly why we should be hiking in Colorado, where there’s trees, instead of this godforsaken desert. I get to pick next year, and it’s gonna be a hike in Hawaii . . . from the condo to the beach.”
Harmony caught up with them and tugged a bottle of water from her pack. “This is beautiful! I love all this space! Look.” She picked up a twisted piece of wood. “This will look good in a flower arrangement.” She brightened. “You know, I’m gonna use it to make one for Kelly Hawke. I tried to get them to come with us, but she said Sonny couldn’t get loose this week.”
“Honey, that’ll just add weight to your pack.” Blue watched the love of his life tuck the wood into a side pocket. “I’ve already seen you put three pounds of rocks in your britches, and besides, it’s illegal to take anything from a national park.”
Harmony winked at Chloe. “They have plenty of rocks around here. I doubt they’ll miss a handful.”
Chloe tore open a packet of powdered electrolytes and was pouring the contents into her high-tech BPA-FREE water bottle when Vince grunted, staggered, and folded in half. The sharp whip-crack report of a rifle shot reached them half a second later and echoed off the bare rocks and cliffs bracketing the trail. Shocked, her hand moved and the remainder of the powder drifted on the slight breeze in a tiny orange cloud.
Unable to grasp what was happening, Chloe sat the bottle on the ground and knelt beside her husband as he dropped to one knee. “Vince. Vince?”
The look in his eyes from under his hat brim was one of pain and confusion. He took his hand from his chest and stared at the blood-covered palm. “Oh hell. I’ve been shot.”
Blue’s head whipped toward the ridge. “Some idiot isn’t paying attention to where he’s shooting! Y’all, get . . .”
A second shot hit Vince above his left ear. The soft-nosed round expanded, blowing out the side of his head. His gore-splattered hat flipped off to land in a clump of bunch grass. The man who’d survived two tours of duty in Afghanistan dropped without a sound onto the American soil he’d sworn to protect.
Recovering faster than he would have ever imagined, Blue slammed Harmony onto the dry trail in a full-body tackle. They hit the hard ground at the same instant a third round punched through Blue’s pack with a thock. Digging in with his hiking boots, he yanked his confused wife against the rocky arroyo wall and waved at Chloe, who was petrified with shock. “Chloe! Get down!! Get over here with us!”
Still not grasping that she was also in danger, she grabbed the straps on Vince’s pack to drag him out of the line of fire coming from above. His dead weight and the heavy pack proved too much for her slight frame. She grunted, and jerked back on her heels. Vince’s body moved an inch.
The shooter’s next round plucked at the top of her shoulder. The ripstop fluttered and blood wet the nylon. Chloe gasped, lost her grip, and fell out of sight from above.
Blue and Harmony squeezed against the shoulder-high rise between them and the shooter on the ridge above. Keeping one eye on Chloe’s struggle with her husband’s body, Blue shrugged out of his backpack and dug into its contents. “Dammit, girl, get under cover!”
Eyes wide with fear, Harmony crouched low, her shoulder against the bank of rocks, dirt, and scrub. “What are you doing?”
“That’s no accident. Somebody’s shooting at us on purpose!” Elbow deep in the pack’s contents, Blue fished around for a long moment before pulling out a Glock 19. He would probably have left the heavy weapon home had they not planned on camping overnight in the backcountry.
Vince had a Glock 40 in a Kydex waistband holster tucked under his shirt, but neither expected a sniper attack in the middle of a national park. The night before, they’d discussed their concern over illegal aliens who often crossed into the U.S. from Mexico. Though most of them only came looking for a better life, there were always a few with bad intentions.
The guy above seemed to be something completely different. Blue jerked the slide back to chamber a round. He didn’t intend to let him murder them all.
* * *
Feeling a little better now that he co
uld shoot back, Blue took several deep breaths to settle his nerves. Another chunk of lead slapped into a rock near Chloe, showering her with rock fragments and sand. It whirred away with a low, vibrating buzz.
Assuming the shooter was using a bolt-action rifle for accuracy, Blue figured it would take a few seconds for the sniper to rack a fresh round and reacquire a new target. He rose enough to peek through a scrubby honey mesquite growing at eye level on the arroyo’s edge and squinted upward to locate the shooter. The ground exploded only inches away, spraying the side of his face with sand and pebbles, the echo of the shot coming half a second later.
“Shit!” Skin hot and stinging from the tiny bits of shrapnel, Blue fell hard onto the trail and gasped when he realized he was fully exposed. A round punched through his left shoulder and shattered rocks on the hard trail underneath his body. His arm went numb.
Grunting, he flipped onto his good shoulder and squirmed back to the rise, far enough away from Harmony to draw the fire and keep her safe. She screamed at the sight of blood welling from his wound.
Panting and in shock from the wound, he thought only of keeping her out of the maniac’s sights. “Stay there!” He held out the hand with the Glock, muzzle pointed at the sky. She rose in a crouch, as if to race out and help. “No! I said stay down!”
Only yards away, Chloe gave up on pulling Vince’s body to cover. She sat against the sheltering rise. Blood soaked the front of her shirt from her shoulder wound, but the shocked woman’s soft voice floated over the bare ground with the inflection of a worried child. “Blue, Vince’s been shot!”
“So have I!” He groaned and used his feet to push away and gain more distance from the women. “Stay down!” He crawled ten feet to the lowest part of the bank’s taper.
Another round hit Vince in the chest. Echoes bounced from one hard ridge to the next. His shirt fluttered from the impact, but he was already beyond hurting or responding. Chloe shrieked and covered her face with both hands. “They shot him again!”
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