The US Border Patrol Tahoe stopped, and dust rose from the gravel on the shoulder. Sunlight reflected intensely off the tinted windshield, blinding Widow. He put his hands up over his eyes to block out the light. He tried to let his eyes adjust, and they squinted tight.

  The driver's side door opened, slow like a gate, and a small figure stepped out and didn't shut the door. The driver just stepped slowly up toward the front tire.

  A female voice spoke with perfect English but a rather thick Mexican accent. She said, "Need a lift?"

  Widow's eyes adjusted as best they could with the bright sunlight in them, and he saw a woman of Hispanic heritage dressed in a United States Border Patrol officer's uniform. She was about five feet five inches tall—eleven inches shorter than he was. She looked to be a hundred twenty-five pounds, but that was probably way off because she undoubtedly wore a bulletproof vest under her uniform shirt, which Widow assumed was mandatory for Texas Border Patrol agents.

  As he looked closer, he saw her shirt wasn't the standard uniform shirt, which he was sure was a green button-down thing with the Border Patrol's badge insignia on the upper left breast. This agent wore a black T-shirt instead, and there was no insignia on the left breast or the right breast or anywhere on the shirt. And Widow looked closely enough that he would've seen it. Even with the obvious bulletproof vest on under her T-shirt, he could tell she was blessed with bigger breasts than the average girl. And they were certainly bigger than her Border Patrol colleagues. He couldn't tell how large, and he didn't want to stare at them. But they must've been big enough to make her bulletproof vest protrude more than it normally would've.

  Her hair was black and thick and long, but she had it pulled back tight underneath a hunter-green ball cap that had the badge insignia on it, right smack in the center.

  The agent wore a regular belt, not a department-issued cop belt with attachments and a holster. She had a holster on her belt on her left side. Therefore, she was left-handed.

  Widow took a peek at her sidearm, which looked like a Heckler & Koch P2000 SK. He assumed it was probably the standard-issue weapon of the Border Patrol. He wasn't sure because he had had little interaction with them. Mississippi certainly had a Border Patrol presence. He knew this because he had seen their vehicles before, but why did it have a presence? That was a question he didn't have the answer to. Was it because Mississippi shared a border with the Gulf of Mexico, and the federal government was afraid of Mexican aliens swimming from Cancun to the Mississippi Gulf Coast? That was a distance of six hundred and sixty miles. Not a possibility, not even by boat. Certainly, a boat coming that far would be seen by the US Coast Guard, which made more sense.

  The female agent asked again, "Do you need a lift?"

  Widow said, "I'm sorry. I've been out in this heat for a few miles."

  She said, "I figured. I saw the bus back there."

  "I think the heat is scrambling my brain."

  "It'll do that. Don't take Texas heat for granted. Many men have gone crazy in it and even dropped dead thinking they were tough and could handle it."

  Widow nodded.

  She asked, "You don't even have any water?"

  He shook his head.

  She said, "So get in. I got bottles."

  Widow said, "Thank you."

  And he lowered his hand and walked around the hood to the passenger side, opened the door, put one foot up on the step rail, and rose and dumped himself into the seat.

  The agent followed and got in the driver seat. She looked over at Widow and said, "You're supposed to sit in the back, but I guess under the circumstances, it's better this way because Jake will probably not take kindly to sharing."

  Widow turned and looked back over the seat at what she was referring to. On the back seat was the biggest dog he had ever seen outside the Great Dane breed.

  Jake was a massive Belgian shepherd with black and tan mixed into his fur, leaning more toward the black. His face was painted black, straight down his snout.

  Although he didn't growl at Widow, he wasn't very warm and friendly either. He was on guard, but nonthreatening at the same time. Widow supposed Jake must've been trained to know that if a new rider wasn't in handcuffs and in the back, then he was friendly. He had a look of distrust in his eyes.

  Good dog, Widow thought. He was a big fan of dogs.

  The agent smiled and said, "Don't worry… he won't bite you. Unless you give him a reason, and believe me, you don't want him to."

  "I can see that. He looks vicious."

  She said, "Oh, he is! His bite is deadly."

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yes! He's killed a man in the line of duty before."

  Widow asked, "Really? With you?"

  She said, "No. He's a former Marine. A military service dog. He supposedly saved his master's life in combat by attacking an Afghani fighter. He bit the guy's jugular."

  Widow paused a beat, and then he said, "I'll try not to give him a reason to kill me."

  "Good. I would hate to do the extra paperwork."

  Widow smiled.

  The agent said, "We'd probably just dump you out in the desert, anyway. No reason to go through the hassle for a nobody like you."

  Widow smiled. She had quite a good sense of humor, which Widow had found was an imperative part of good police work. A sense of humor was almost as important as a good sidearm because ninety percent of scars from police work came in the mental form and not the physical. And a good sense of humor could keep a police officer sharp.

  Widow extended his hand and said, "My name is Widow."

  "Donna Leon. United States Border Patrol."

  And they shook hands.

  "So, where are you headed, Widow?"

  He said, "I'm headed to a place called Romanth."

  Leon slid the gear into drive and hit the gas. The Tahoe jumped to life, probably like Jake would, with the right instant command from Leon. And they were back on the road, headed south. She asked, "Romanth?"

  "Ever heard of it?"

  "Of course. It's a small border town. It's more like a settlement. It's about a hundred feet from the Mexican border."

  "Is that legal?"

  "Not really. But it started as private property. Nothing wrong with that. It was a settlement, decades ago."

  "What happened?"

  "The original owners died, and it became a town. It's not big enough for anyone to challenge the legality of it. Or at least it's not worth it."

  "How small are we talking?"

  "Small. Like no one really goes there. It’s not a major tourist destination or nothing."

  "How many people live there?"

  "Maybe a thousand or fifteen hundred."

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Leon said, "It's a registered municipality. It's got a school. A church. A sheriff. It even has a court. There’s some brand name restaurants and stores, but not much else."

  "I’ve seen smaller.”

  "It might be on some maps."

  "How hard is it to get to?"

  "Not hard, as long as you have four-wheel drive."

  Widow changed the subject, and asked, "What happened to his handler?"

  Leon asked, "Who?"

  "Jake's master. You said he was a Marine in Afghanistan?"

  "Yeah. He was. His master died."

  "In the war?"

  "No. He died from cancer, I think. It was natural causes. He died in a hospital bed here in Texas. Jake was donated to us after. The family thought he should be with the police force, I guess."

  Widow looked at Jake, and then back toward the road. He said, "That's tough on a dog."

  "Yeah. It was hard for him to adjust at first."

  "I bet."

  "He went through three other agents before landing on me. Don't know why, but he and I took together like we were old pals. He comes home with me every night and sleeps by my bed. We eat dinner together, and we fight bad guys together."

  Widow said, "All every guy really needs is that one special woman to turn his life around."

  Leon smiled again, another big smile, all teeth and glow.

  "You've got a nice smile. If I may make such a comment."

  Leon said, "Of course. Perfectly okay. Even a woman in uniform likes a compliment like that."

  "Not sure how Jake feels about it."

  Leon held the wheel steady, hands at the nine and three positions like she was being examined by a guy from the DMV. To Widow, she seemed like a by-the-books kind of officer. Nothing wrong with that.

  She said, "He's fine with whatever I'm fine with. So don't worry. If I didn't like the compliment, you'd know it."

  "You patrol out here alone often?"

  "I'm not alone. I got him."

  "Sure, but I mean with no other officers?"

  "Agents. We're not officers."

  "Sorry. Agents I mean."

  "Yeah. I come through here every Tuesday and Friday. It's my regular route."

  "What level are you? Patrol? 'Cause you don't look like an average patrol agent to me."

  Widow looked at her and noticed how beautiful she was for a Border Patrol agent.

  Agent Leon had tan skin, toned shoulders, and a nice smile. He couldn't see her eyes because they were behind thick Oakley sunglasses that had a thin black neck strap. She wore simple jewelry and simple makeup. Not enough to garner attention, but enough so that there was no confusion that she was a female, not that there would be any. Widow could see she was female. A blind man could see that—and probably did.

  Widow wondered how much shit she got on the job for being so attractive. Law enforcement was a man's world, and he was sure she must've seen her fair share of chauvinism. On top of her being in a male-dominated field, this was Texas.

  She said, "I'm part of SOG."

  "What's that stand for?"

  "It's Special Operations Group. We've got K9 units and anti-smuggling units and even dirt bike units."

  "Dirt bikes?"

  Leon said, "Of course. Texas terrain toward the west is vast and rocky and mountainous and deserted. We've got a lot of ground to cover, and it's rough. Dirt bikes are great for that."

  "Will I need a dirt bike to get to Romanth?"

  "No, but you can't get there by bus. Not that I'm aware of. You never told me what's in Romanth."

  "I'm looking for someone," he said. He didn't want to say any more than that. So he asked, "Where are you from?"

  She shrugged and said, "I was born in Houston. I'm a Texas girl through and through."

  Widow nodded.

  "So tell me about yourself," she said.

  Widow stayed quiet for a moment and debated about what to say because his story was a long one, but in the end, he shared the highlights, leaving out killing bad guys and helping people, and of course, all the women he had met. That sorta thing was better kept to yourself.

  Widow told her about his military career and that he used to be a cop. He left out the redacted information and the undercover part. Widow told her about his addiction to the drifter lifestyle. He told her all the things you tell a woman you just met and are attracted to and realize you will never see again. Probably.

  Kill Team B was parked about a mile away. Its members stood on a slight hill and shared a pair of field glasses.

  The man said, "He got picked up by a cop."

  "It's not a cop. It's US Border Patrol," said the woman.

  "What do we do now?"

  "Nothing's changed. We follow him."

  "We better tell Glock."

  The woman said, "No. No reason. Nothing's changed."

  "We can't follow a Border Patrol car."

  "We won't have to. She'll drop him off in the next town. She's not going to drive him to wherever he's headed."

  The man from Kill Team B nodded.

  "Let's go. We can wait for them down the road. Park at the first gas station."

  They got into the Dodge Charger, fired up the engine, and headed west.

  Leon said, "Sounds like you've lived quite a life, Widow."

  Widow nodded and tilted in his seat. He felt the cold air blasting from the air conditioner on his neck and face. Which was nice, but it made the sweat on his torso sticky and his shirt clung to his skin. But he didn't complain. Being inside the SUV with Leon was much better than the alternative.

  He said, "Yeah, it's been a ride. What about you? How long you been with the Border Patrol?"

  "I've been with the agency for five years."

  "Did you always want to be a Border Patrol agent?"

  "Nah, I wanted to be a cop. But this actually pays better."

  "Really? Is that true?"

  "Nah. I don't know what cops make. I never tried out. This was more appealing. I actually want to be in the FBI, but it's pretty hard to get in. I got a degree and can speak Spanish, so this is where I ended up."

  "You sound like you aren't thrilled with it."

  "I do like it. There's just not a lot of moving up in the US Border Patrol. Not for a woman."

  "It's like that?"

  "It's not on the surface, but I see it. We have other women agents, but there aren't many in the upper echelons. There are a lot of old men. Still hanging on to their jobs."

  Widow nodded and said, "Military used to be like that too. Change in America is a slow thing. You'll move up."

  Leon said nothing and glanced in her side mirror for the third time in five minutes.

  "What is it?"

  "This car has been following us for a ways."

  Widow craned his head and looked past Jake and over the back seat and past the cargo space and through the rear window. He saw a white Dodge Charger about ten car lengths behind them. He said, "It is an interstate. There's only one direction to go."

  "Yeah, but that's a sports car."

  "So?"

  "So normally people drive them fast. This is Texas. And they've been keeping their distance like that for miles."

  "Maybe they don't want to get a speeding ticket. You got a light bar on the roof."

  Leon gazed over at Widow and then back at the road ahead of her. She said, "I'm not a cop. I can't give tickets."

  "Maybe they don't know that."

  "Maybe."

  Widow looked back one last time. Jake looked up at him, ears forward and eyes wide.

  "Can I pet him?"

  "Sure. Just do it slowly."

  Widow put his palm out so the dog could smell it. Jake stretched his neck out like a turtle and buried his nose into Widow's hand and sniffed for a long second. Then Widow scratched the bottom of Jake's chin with his fingers. Within moments, he was ruffling the dog's head and ears. Jake complied like dogs often did when they felt comfortable with someone.

  8

  Leon and Widow rode past the next town and didn’t stop like Leon had said they would. Widow said, “You passed the town.”

  “I know.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  Leon said, “I’m actually headed down south. It’s part of my route. I figure you seem like a nice guy, and being ex-military and all, the least I can do is take you part of the way.”

  Widow stared at her. He didn’t know what to say.

  She said, “Unless you want me to dump you out and let you take your chances with the buses. But that hasn’t worked out for you today, has it?”

  “No, it hasn’t.”

  She smiled at him.

  He said, “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  Leon flipped on the turn signal, and they cut over and turned onto the off-ramp for fifty-five. She said, “I’m not going all the way, but we’ve reached Uvalde, and I can drop you off here.”

  “Sure. That sounds good.”

  Widow looked at the touchscreen interface in the center of the dash, and he checked the time. It was getting close to sundown. He hoped he could catch Hood and Jemma before they vanished. He hoped they were really going to Romanth.

  Leon had told him it was a border town. He hoped James Hood didn’t plan to take Jemma across the border. Then he might never find them.

  “So, what are you? Like a private investigator? Or a bounty hunter?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you were looking for someone. I figure a guy like you—military background and ex-cop and all—you must be hunting someone.”

  “I guess you can say that.”

  “Which is it? Private investigator or bounty hunter? You looking for a guy who skipped bail?”

  “Nah, I’m looking for a deadbeat dad.”

  “What? He owes his wife alimony or something?”

  Widow nodded and said, “Something like that.” And then he changed the subject again. He didn’t want to have to lie to her. Better to talk small talk, and not about Hood or Jemma. He said, “Sun’s going down. You work at night?”

  “Yeah. My shift ends at midnight.”

  “I see.”

  “Why? You want to have dinner or something?”

  Widow said, “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  Leon shot him a look and then said, “Not with me. I work. I meant, are you getting hungry?”

  Widow smiled, a little embarrassed, and then he said, “I could eat.”

  “You got to eat. Food is fuel.”

  “Right.”

  “You can grab a bite in Uvalde. I know a great little place.”

  Widow stared at her.

  “I’m not eating with you. I’m just surveying the landscape. My job. I’ll drop you off there.”

  “Sounds good. Do you want me to drive some ways?”

  Leon said, “Pointless. We’ll be there soon. Besides, it’s against regulations to let a civilian drive. Come on, Widow, you know that.”

  “Giving drifters a ride is also not allowed.”

  “That’s true. But you still can’t drive.”

  Widow nodded. “Understood. Just thought I’d offer.”

  They both looked forward. The horizon grew closer, and the sun breathed its last breath.

  Jake kept his eyes open and on Widow, but he stayed with his head down and in a relaxed position like he was on standby. A well-trained dog, without a doubt.