Page 22 of Ransom
"For Pae Saco," Rafe corrected, and the words felt cold.
For you,I thought immediately and felt a little sick about it. When Rafe said there was a man who needed to become a corpse, I made it happen. No questions. No complaints. Hecommanded, I obeyed, and we'd never needed to talk about it until now.
"You told me we don't do feds or state," I continued, knowing I was toeing a line I might not come back from. "That's what you said yesterday. After you sent him out, knowing I was up on that ridge, knowing I had my rifle, knowing I might take that shot. So, which is it? Did you want me to take the shot, Rafe, or not?"
"I didn't want you to bend him over in a shack and fuck him." Rafe's voice came out hard and cold.
Sierra squeezed his shoulder.
Rafe sighed and sat back. "But it's done. He's here now, so we have to deal with it. Which means we make him useful. You keep him close. You keep him talking. You let him see what we want him to see and nothing else." He slid the truck keys across the table. "You're driving him into town this morning. He needs to file his report and get Castillo to the morgue."
I stared at the keys.Why was he giving them to me?Handling the law had always been his job.
"You put us in this position," Rafe said. "Now you get us out of it."
I picked up the keys. The metal was cold in my palm.
"One more thing," Rafe said. I looked up. He met my eyes and held them. "Whatever happened between you and that Ranger, I need to know where your loyalties lie."
Sierra's brow furrowed, and he frowned at Rafe. "Rafe."
"No, it's all right," I said. "Better to have it straight from the horse's mouth." I looked Rafe straight in the eye. "You and Sierra gave me a roof and a purpose. This place is my home. A man's got to protect what's his. Otherwise, what's the fucking point?"
"Good." Rafe stood. "Then go get him. You leave in thirty minutes."
I walked out with the keys in my fist.
The guest room was at the end of the hall, door closed, no sound coming from behind it.
I stood there longer than I should have.
The smart thing would've been to knock, deliver the message, and walk away. The smart thing would've been to keep my face blank and treat Winston Valverde like any other problem Rafe had handed me to solve.
I was not feeling particularly smart.
I knocked twice before the door opened.
Winston stood there in one of my shirts, light blue chambray that was a size too small on him. His hair was wet from the shower. He'd shaved. The chapped spot on his lip had scabbed over, and he looked rested, clear-eyed, like a man who'd slept fine despite being buried alive and threatened with execution twelve hours ago.
"Morning," he said.
"Truck leaves in five," I said. "You're riding into town with me. Castillo goes to the morgue, you file your report."
"Rafe tell you that, or are you volunteering?"
"Rafe told me."
Winston leaned against the doorframe like we were two men having a conversation and not two men who'd fucked in a shack before I'd led him into the desert to die. He looked at my jaw, my mouth, and back up to my eyes. My pulse picked up.
"You sleep okay?" he asked.
"Fine."
"Liar." He said it mildly, almost friendly. "You've got shadows under your eyes deep enough to hide a body in."
I gritted my teeth. "Five minutes. Don't make me come back for you."
I turned to go, and his voice stopped me.
