Page 16 of Ransom
"Then he'll send someone looking."
Ransom worked his jaw. "How many people?"
"Depends on how nervous he is. Could be two Rangers. Could be the whole El Paso field office and the county sheriff. Hard to say."
That was the biggest lie I'd told in a year of telling them. My captain didn't know I was in New Mexico. My captain didn't know I was on this case. There was no case. There was no field office on standby. If Ransom and Coyote put me in the dirt tonight, the only people who'd come looking would be my mother and the man I owed three months of rent to, and my mother had stopped asking questions a long time ago.
Before Ransom could respond, hoofbeats broke through the dark, fast, coming from the direction of the ranch.
Ransom caught it too. He turned and reached for his rifle, and Coyote melted back into the shadows like he'd never been there at all. The snake stayed, watching me without blinking.
A horse broke through the trees, a big bay gelding, and Rafe swung down before it had fully stopped.
He took in the scene in about two seconds: me buried up to my neck in sand, Ransom standing there with his rifle, Coyotesomewhere in the shadows with his snake, the fire crackling between us like the world's most awkward dinner party.
"Ransom," Rafe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. The kind of quiet that made you shut up and listen. "What the hell are you doing?"
"He's a Texas Ranger," Ransom said. "He's investigating Castillo. He knows too much."
"So you buried him alive?"
"Coyote buried him alive. I was going to question him."
"Question him." Rafe walked closer, and I got a better look at him in the firelight. Older than Ransom by a good twenty years, with silver threading through dark hair he wore pulled back at his nape. He had the kind of face that looked carved out of the same rock as the mesa. He looked at me. "You alright down there, son?"
"Well, I've got a concussion and I'm missing my hat," I said. "But other than that, I'm just peachy."
"Your hat," Rafe said.
"Genuine Stetson. Six years broken in. Sentimental value."
"I'll see what I can do." He turned back to Ransom. "Get him out."
"Rafe..." Ransom started.
"Now."
Ransom tightened his jaw, but he didn't argue. He leaned his rifle against a tree and crouched beside the pit, and started digging with his bare hands. Coyote appeared out of nowhere and crouched on the other side, humming under his breath while he scooped sand away from my shoulders.
"You smell less scared than I thought you'd be," Coyote said to me. "Most people smell like piss and terror by now."
"I've had worse days," I said.
"Have you?"
"Well, no. But I'm trying to stay optimistic."
Coyote laughed and kept digging.
It took about ten minutes to get enough sand cleared that I could move my arms. Ransom grabbed one, Coyote grabbed the other, and they hauled me up out of the pit like they were pulling a fence post. My legs didn't want to hold me at first. I stood there swaying, sand pouring off me in sheets, while the world tilted sideways and my head reminded me that getting knocked unconscious was bad for a person's health.
Ransom steadied me. His hand was warm on my elbow, and he pulled it back the second I had my balance, like he'd touched something hot.
"Can you walk?" Rafe asked.
"I can try."
"Good enough." He looked at Ransom. "Get the horses. We're heading back."
