Page 37 of The Texas Murders

My blood runs cold as I realize this is the woman who recently went missing from the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo—the one Ava has been consumed with finding.

Carpenter slams the van door shut behind them. Ryan and I position ourselves in front of the van, along with a handful of other law enforcement personnel. Carlos is leading the effort to get the chained women back and out of the way, in case the situation erupts in gunfire. Their cots screech against the concrete floor as they pull them away by their chains.

Behind the windshield of the van, the blanketed shape moves into the driver’s seat. Carpenter is clearly holding Marta on his lap, using her as a shield, but I can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“Shoot the tires,” someone yells.

“No!” I shout. “He’s got a shotgun. He’ll kill her.”

The truck engine starts, but Ryan and I stand our ground.

“Rory, we’re the best shots in Texas,” Ryan says under his breath. “Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

I’m good with a gun—I once shot a knife out of a man’s hand, once shot a bumblebee out of the air—but I can’t hit something I can’t see.

Ryan doesn’t seem so hesitant. His finger moves against the trigger of his Glock.

In a flash, I reach out and slap his wrist down. The gun goes off and the bullet ricochets off the bumper, sending up a puff of dust when it punches a hole in the concrete floor.

Ryan looks at me with surprise and anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps.

The van engine roars to life, and Carpenter—still hidden under the blanket—stomps on the gas. I tackle Ryan as the van comes within inches of running us down. I fall on top of him and watch as the van speeds through the gravel lot.

“Get the hell off me!” Ryan shouts, pushing me away.

Strong hands grab mine and pull me to my feet.

“Come on, Rory,” Carlos says. “Let’s catch him.”

We sprint to my truck and jump in. As I spin the tires and give pursuit, I hear Ryan yelling, “You better get him, Yates, or it’s going to be your ass.”

CHAPTER 30

THE VAN IS a few hundred yards ahead of us when I make it to the street. I flip on the siren and turn on my lights, which flash from the grill of my truck and from behind the passenger seat visor.

Water is still dripping off the brim of my hat.

The van takes a hard right and speeds toward downtown. Carlos shouts into the radio, alerting the local police to who we’re pursuing and which way we’re headed. With Marta Rivera in the van, we don’t want to shoot it up or make it crash. We need some backup to cut off the van’s route of escape so we can surround it. FBI vehicles join the pursuit from the warehouse, but they have a lot of ground to make up.

We need to get into a position where Llewellyn Carpenter gives up. Or at least gives us a clear shot. I’m assuming he’s shed the blanket—otherwise how could he drive?—so if wecan somehow get ahead of him, I might be able to get the shot I need.

The van drives recklessly, with no regard for other cars on the streets. It zips into oncoming traffic, passes a car, whips back into its own lane. It’s causing such chaos that my truck is getting caught in the congestion of its wake. Everyone is slowing down, stopping in the middle of the street, not realizing until I’m on top of them that my siren and lights are on.

“We’re losing him,” Carlos says.

I whip the truck to the left so I’m straddling the center line. The cars to my right squeeze over, and the cars coming at me hit their brakes. Up ahead, the van turns onto another street.

“Keep an eye on him,” I yell, jerking the wheel left and right to avoid a collision.

“Turn here,” Carlos yells.

A few blocks ahead, we spot him taking a hard left.

“He went into a parking garage,” Carlos says.

The lights have just changed, and the roadway in front of me is filled with pedestrians crossing the street. I ease forward, honking my horn, as people realize what’s happening and hurry out of my way. One man, crossing with his nose in his cell phone, doesn’t notice, even when I lay on the horn, and I have to ease around behind him.

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