Showdown in West Texas. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ uptick in violence along the border, he and the other commissioners had been determined to bring in someone with Grace’s training and experience, not to mention her political connections at the state capital.

      Because of its proximity to the border, Jericho Pass sat in a particularly vulnerable location. The good-old-boy network that had run things for years in Cochise County was no longer sufficient to combat the narco-traffickers who were often armed with better technology and weaponry than the police.

      “We knew there’d be some hard feelings in the department when we brought you in,” Colt said. “But it’s only been a few weeks. Give it some time. They’ll come around.”

      “Lily won’t.”

      “You sound pretty sure about that.”

      “I know my sister.”

      “Then what do you propose we do?”

      “Nothing. I’m not leaving Jericho Pass with my tail tucked between my legs just because my little sister can’t get past our old sibling rivalry.” Grace simultaneously gripped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas. She had the road to herself, and when the powerful V-8 engine kicked in, her truck shot down the road like a rocket. “I came here to do a job and I intend to do it.”

      “Good for you.”

      “But that doesn’t mean I can’t give Lily some space,” she said. “I’m moving out of the ranch house today. I must have been out of my mind, thinking we could live together without one of us killing the other.”

      “Things are that bad, huh?”

      “Worse. But I’m used to it.”

      “Where will you go?”

      “I’ve taken a room at Miss Nelda’s until I can find a place of my own in town.”

      “Well, hang in there,” Colt said. “Tempers are bound to be on edge, what with the department being so shorthanded and all. But with you at the helm, and now with the possibility of a new deputy coming on board, things should ease up.”

      “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Have you met this guy?”

      “You mean Dale Walsh? Not in person, no, but he comes highly recommended. Charlie’s been trying to get him out here for an interview ever since they met at the Homeland Security Conference in San Antonio. And I trust Charlie’s judgment. He may not have your pedigree in law enforcement, but he knows people.”

      “When Walsh eventually shows up, I’ll let you know what I think,” Grace said noncommittally.

      “Fair enough. In the meantime, if you need anything, you just give us a holler, okay? I want you to be happy here, Grace. If Charlie decides not to come back—”

      Grace wasn’t about to make any promises. Not yet, at least. “Let’s just cross that bridge when and if we get to it, okay? Listen, you’re starting to break up. I’ll talk to you when I get back to town.”

      She was coming upon the cutoff, and Grace removed her earpiece and tossed it onto the seat beside her as she automatically turned on her blinker, though there was no one else around for miles. Once she left the highway behind, the truck tires kicked up a dust cloud so thick, she could see nothing in the rearview mirror but a swirl of brown grit. Ahead of her, only the vast nothingness of the West Texas landscape—blue sky, desert and the eerie silhouette of the distant rock mesas.

      Grace had been gone from the area for so many years, she’d forgotten how exposed and insignificant one could feel in such a limitless landscape. How the fragile quality of the light seemed to echo the transient nature of man’s footprint here in this infinite wasteland, this last frontier.

      She slowed as she drove through the high arches that welcomed visitors to the Steele ranch. Grace had lived happily on that spread with her parents and her two sisters for the first ten years of her life. Then her mother and father had been murdered in their sleep one night, and Grace’s grandmother had moved down from Midland to raise her and her sisters. The killer had never been apprehended, and the lack of justice for their slain parents had led all three women into law enforcement, albeit down very different paths.

      Rachel, the oldest, had gone off to study psychology at Tulane. After earning her graduate degree, she’d been recruited by the FBI into one of the Behavioral Analysis Units.

      Grace had left town five years later to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice with a concentration in Forensic Science at the University of Texas at San Antonio. She’d spent seven years with the Austin Police Department before joining the TBI.

      Lily was the only sister who had remained in Jericho Pass. After attending the local community college, she’d been hired on as first a dispatcher, then a patrol officer with the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. She was now one of three deputies—soon to be four, if Dale Walsh worked out—who made up Criminal Investigations.

      Grace had learned through the grapevine—aka Miss Nelda and her sister, Georgina—that Lily had had her eye on the interim position ever since Charlie Dickerson had made public his diagnosis. She’d made no bones about her intention to run for sheriff, in spite of her age, if he decided to retire after his treatment. A temporary stint in the office would have given her a leg up on her opponents, but her sister’s unexpected return had squelched her big plans.

      Grace could sympathize with Lily’s disappointment over the way things had turned out. Grace had had her share of setbacks, too. But even if she’d declined the position, Lily was never going to be appointed. Colt had told her as much. Lily didn’t have enough experience or formal training to deal with the challenges along the border these days. At least this way, Grace could take her sister under her wing and help season her, if Lily would allow it.

      That was a big if.

      Lily’s frustration, and to a certain extent her resentment, was understandable, but her simmering hostility was something Grace still did not get. What had she done to make Lily dislike her so intensely?

      The dust cloud followed Grace around the circular drive, and she waited for it to settle before she climbed out of the truck and stood for a moment, gazing up at the house.

      Built out of limestone, it was two stories with screened-in porches on the front and back where Grace used to sit on summer nights and watch the stars with her father. The only sound, save for the hush of her father’s voice as he pointed out the constellations, was the creaking of the windmill. Even now, that sound was one of Grace’s most vivid memories.

      It was the creaking of the windmill that had awakened her that night.

      

      AFTER THE FUNERALS, Grandma Stella had moved the girls into a tiny rental house in town. The change of scenery had probably been the best thing for them at the time, but after a while, it seemed more practical to return to the ranch where they could all have their space.

      Some of the neighbors had come over and cleaned up the place. They’d aired out all the rooms, shampooed the rugs and even went so far as to add a fresh coat of paint here and there. But no amount of paint or primer could eliminate the horror of what had happened upstairs. Nothing could ease such a tragic loss except the passage of enough time.

      Eventually, the ranch had come to seem like home again, but it was a long СКАЧАТЬ