Page 91 of Desert Loyalties
Then she says it.
“Henry Cheng is dead.”
Chapter 38
SKYE
Henry Cheng is dead.
The words hang in the room. Heavy, suffocating silence follows. We’re all too stunned to speak.
Christina breaks it first. “This morning, Henry had a meeting with the U.S. Attorney’s office. Turns out Judge Keller wasn’t kidding; she filed a complaint.”
She pauses, letting it sink in.
“When Henry didn’t show up, they tracked the GPS on his government-issued car. The signal led deep into the desert. Henry wasn’t there, but there was a lot of blood in the truck. Preliminary DNA tests confirmed it was his.”
I ask, “How do you know he’s dead? Maybe he survived.”
Christina’s eyes don’t waver.
“No one could have survived the amount of blood found. The cops already ruled it a homicide.”
She leans forward; voice low.
“The reason I’m here is because FBI agents are on their way to speak to you.”
Drake’s voice cracks the silence. “What the fuck? I didn’t do this.”
Ranger cuts in, steady. “It’s true. He was here the whole night.”
I add, “With all of us.”
Christina shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think they believe you did it. Listen, my friends in DC told me that Henry told the U.S. Attorney’s office he had a better case than he actually did. They were so swamped no one would have questioned it, if Judge Keller hadn’t complained.”
She lets out a breath.
“The thing is, they think someone was either paying or threatening him to bring this case. And they killed him because he failed to convict you.”
Christina looks at him, her gaze sharp and steady.
“So, I’m going to ask you what they probably will, Is there anyone in your life who hates you enough to do this?”
Drake scoffs. “Of course there is, but no one with the pull to do this.”
Ranger’s phone dings. He glances at the screen, then says, “They’re here.”
Christina frowns. “We can’t bring them in here. There are still naked, drunk people out there.”
I nod. “We can take them to my guesthouse.”
Ranger types something into his phone, hits send, then looks up. “Let’s go.”
We all rise, moving toward the door, the weight of what’s coming settling over us like a storm about to break.
The walk to the guesthouse is quiet. No one says a word. The sound of the gravel crunching under our feet the only noise around us.
We pile into the guesthouse. The air inside is stale, thick with dust. Instead of turning on the AC, I throw open every window. Let the afternoon air pour in and sweep out the stillness.
