Page 9 of The Texas Murders

“That was some nicenotshooting I saw you do,” she says.

“I’m Rory Yates,” I say, extending my hand, “from the Texas Rangers.”

“I know,” she says, shifting her lemonade to her left hand so she can shake. “I’m Ava Cruz from the Tigua Tribal Police.”

“Iknow,” I say, and grin.

She has a cool disposition, and I can’t tell whether it’s just her ordinary demeanor or she doesn’t like me.

Or both.

“Where’d you learn to shoot a bow like that?” I ask.

She explains that she grew up going to Native American festivals throughout the West. There are various competitions—dancing, drumming, jewelry making. Her specialty was archery. She practiced whenever she could.

“This was easy,” she says, tilting her head back toward where the contest had occurred. “Stationary targets. When I was a girl, I used to have a ratty old foam ball. I’d have my friends kick it, and I’d shoot it while it rolled. Or shoot it in midair.”

I nod, impressed.

“The practice paid off today,” I tell her. “Those other competitors didn’t stand a chance.”

She shrugs. “My police chief made me come. I wish I’d stayed on the Pueblo. I’ve got a case I’m working on. It feels wrong to be out playing games when a woman’s missing.”

I nod, understanding where she’s coming from. In law enforcement, it’s easy to let the desire to help others consume your thoughts, even when you’re not on the clock.

“Your case,” I say. “Anything the Rangers can help you with?”

She smirks. “No thanks.”

I squint, trying to figure out what she’s implying.

“No offense,” she says, taking a sip of lemonade, “but the Texas Rangers used to round up the Indigenous people ofthis land and drive them out of the area or lock them up on reservations. Your organization has a long history of wrongdoings against Indians.”

I’m taken aback. The Texas Rangers have been around in one form or another for nearly two hundred years—before Texas was even a state—and I’m aware that not everything in the Rangers’ history is something to be proud of. But history is also complicated—not always black and white—and I know there were Native Americans among the earliest Texas Rangers. Regardless of the history and all its shades of gray, I am very proud of the modern Rangers, an elite investigation unit that helps solve crimes throughout Texas. It’s an honor and a privilege to wear the tin star on my chest. I thought pretty much everyone in law enforcement—inside and outside of Texas—felt that way.

Apparently not Ava Cruz.

“You seem like a decent guy, Rory, but people wearingthatbadge,” she says, pointing to the star on my chest, “treated people who looked like me pretty badly in the past. I think I’ll pass on asking the Texas Rangers for any help.”

I open my mouth to defend the Rangers, but Ava Cruz moves to walk away.

“You did a good thing today,” she says. “I’ll give you that.”

As I watch her walk away, I remember Ryan’s reaction when I brought her up. He clearly doesn’t have much of an opinion of her.

I don’t feel the same way.

One minute with her, and I have a high opinion of her already.

CHAPTER 6

“THANKS FOR COMING, Rory.”

I walk into the office of Captain David Kane, the boss I’ve been answering to while my lieutenant’s position has been vacant. The Texas Ranger division headquarters in Austin is about ninety minutes from the Waco office, where I work, and another twenty from Redbud, where I live. But I woke up early and made the drive comfortably, listening to the radio and hoping to hear a song from my ex-girlfriend Willow Dawes. We’re still friends, and I get a kick every time I hear her songs on the radio.

This morning I heard two.

“Congratulations,” David says, pumping my fist in a vigorous handshake. “It’s nice to see the Rangers on the leaderboard from the charity event.”

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