Page 3 of Ransom
The Ranger stood and turned north, working the ridgeline. I put my cheek to the stock and held still as his gaze fell right on me.Or I could keep him.
What the hell?I shook my head. It was the lack of sleep getting to me. Or it was the day. He had to show up on Chance's birthday of all days. That's all it was. I shoved the thought away and elbowed Galahad's muzzle out of my face.
Then he turned back to the corpse and unceremoniously yanked off the dead man's boots.
Son of a bitch.
I lowered the rifle.You're a naughty boy, Ranger. Question is… how naughty?
Galahad huffed.
"Yeah," I said. "Okay, I'm up."
I stowed the rifle, mounted Galahad, and let him pick his way down the east face at his own pace, because making a lawman wait on my land was one of the few pleasures I had left on a day like today.
The Ranger turned while we were still descending, adjusted his hat, and waited. He was pretty enough for a Ranger, with pale green eyes, a day's worth of stubble, bottom lip chewed raw on one side. With a face like that, he was trouble for somebody.
I took my finger off the trigger entirely.
"Howdy," he said.
"You're trespassing on private land."
"Your boss knows I'm out here. Winston Valverde. Texas Rangers."
I frowned. "You're pretty far from home."
"Not as the crow flies. El Paso's only a few hours due south."
Not that the distance mattered. Rangers could go where they pleased, when it pleased them. Then again, the boots said maybe this one couldn't. His presence was a problem either way.
His horse whinnied and reared. He put a hand on her neck, clicked his tongue, and ran his fingers through her mane. "Easy, Faye. Easy there."
He had good hands.
"You one of Rafe's boys?" he asked.
"I work for him." Galahad shifted under me. "I ain't nobody's boy."
"My mistake."
I jerked my chin at the body. "What got him?"
"Wasn't a heart attack."
"No shit."
"Wasn't here either."
I glanced down at Roy. Dirt ground into the front of his shirt, the back of it clean. Rope marks on the wrists. Skin missing from one side of his face. Flies buzzed around a small, dark hole at the base of the skull.
"So they roped him, dragged him, and shot him in the back of the head," I said.
"Something like that."
Thunder rolled overhead. We both looked up. The sky had gone green and ugly while we were talking. That was New Mexico's monsoon season saying hello. The first drop hit the brim of his hat, then mine, and then it came down for real.
"Need shelter," I said. "Your truck nearby?"
