Page 64 of The Texas Murders

But in this moment, he’smylieutenant.

“If I stick around,” I say, “Ryan might kick you off the task force, too.”

“We don’t need the FBI,” he says. “The FBI needs us.”

I take a deep breath. I think about what I told Megan, how if I stick around, I’m bound to take a bullet one of these days. Will I end up like Marvin Mercer on the other side of this hospital door, unconscious and one step from death’s door?

Will I have to give my life?

“All right,” I say. “I’m in.”

His only response is a nod of the head.

“I’m sorry for my…” I trail off, not sure what to call it.My moment of weakness?

“No need to apologize to me,” he says, “but you might have to earn back Ava’s trust.”

“I will,” I say.

He suggests the three of us should meet first thing in the morning at the tribal police headquarters.

“I’ve got some information that I want to share with you,” he says.

As we’re about to leave, Kara, the FBI agent, pokes her head out from Marvin Mercer’s hospital room.

“I didn’t mean to listen in, but you guys were pretty loud,” she says. “You might want to know that police have recovered a vehicle they think was Llewellyn Carpenter’s.”

“Where?” Carlos asks.

“Right here in El Paso,” she says. “EPPD is on the scene. Last I heard, Ryan Logan was flying back from Phoenix. Wheels on the ground any minute. If you hurry,” she adds, looking around as if someone might be listening in, “you might be able to beat him there.”

CHAPTER 54

CARLOS AND I jog through the parking lot to my truck.

“I’m driving,” I say, and he tosses me the keys without argument.

With the lights and sirens going, we speed through the streets. Within minutes, I pull into the entrance of Ascarate Park and drive past a playground and baseball diamond on my way to a cluster of vehicles with flashing blue lights. The crime scene is in a parking area next to a fishing lake about forty or fifty acres wide. A handful of EPPD vehicles, their blue lights reflecting on the black surface of the lake, surround a van that looks just like the one Llewellyn Carpenter fled in when I saw him at the brothel in Phoenix. A flatbed tow truck has backed up, ready to load the vehicle.

We duck under the police tape without asking permission and approach the van.

“Wait just a goddamn minute!”

Ryan Logan approaches from the side.

My heart sinks. Looks like we didn’t beat him here after all.

“What are you doing here, Yates?” he sneers. “I told you I didn’t want to see you anywhere near my crime scenes.”

“Who says this is your crime scene?” I snap. “Last I heard El Paso was in Texas. And you see this here.” I point to the star on my chest. “This means I’m a Texas Ranger.”

He glares at me, and I glare back. We’re only a few feet apart, and the tension between us fills the air like static electricity ready to explode. The wind gusts around us, and across the lake, blue serpents of lightning snake from the clouds to the horizon.

“You see this?” he says sarcastically, pulling out his badge, “this means I work for the United States government. If you want to get into a jurisdictional pissing match, be my guest. What do you think your commander is going to say if he gets a call from the attorney general of the United States?”

“He’ll probably tell him, ‘This is Texas—you feds either help my boys or you get the hell out of their way.’”

Ryan harrumphs. Around us, every EPPD officer and FBI agent has frozen, watching the confrontation. It’s like an impromptu match between two heavyweights has just broken out, and they have ringside seats. Ryan and I have gone a few rounds before, but those were just warm-up bouts. This time, I intend to fight Ryan Logan with everything I’ve got.

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