The stranger’s blistering truth rekindled the old anger that had chased him toward reckless choices, gotten him kicked out of a string of private schools, and thrown into too many jails. “Did my brother send you to do this? I know he’s wanted me gone for a long time.”

“Face it, it’s time you left this world for the next.”

Panic extinguished the anger. “That’s not true!”

“Of course it’s true.” The stranger’s voice remained soft, steady, and so reasonable. “You were the mistake. The child no one wanted. Sad your own parents wouldn’t want their own flesh and blood.”

Rory tipped his face up away from the picture and toward the moonless sky. “Stop.”

“It’s not good to bury the pain, Rory. Better to face it head-on and deal with it. Admit it. Your parents didn’t want you.”

Tears stung his eyes. He was thirty-one, could hot-wire a car, crack any lock, and hold a gallon of liquor in his belly and still walk straight. He’d grown a thick skin, but the stranger’s words stripped away the gristle and left him feeling like the sad, pathetic kid he’d been. “Not true.”

“Come on, Rory, it’s Come-to-Jesus time. The moment of truth. The pain had burrowed deep inside you, and though it does a good job of hiding behind a bottle, it’s there.”

Rory stared at Elizabeth’s face. He fisted his fingers. “Who sent you?”

“We weren’t sent, Rory. We were summoned by you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You called us. Your pain and suffering beckoned us to find you. I’m only here to take the pain away.”

Rory twisted his head toward the stranger and stumbled on the truck’s tailgate. Heels skidded up to the edge. Heart racing, he shouted, “I don’t want you to take the pain away. I like my life!”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Elizabeth?”

“How do you know Elizabeth?”

“I know all about her.”

Even now, here, hearing her name and staring into her and her lackluster blue eyes soothed him. “She told me she loved me.”

“And I believe she did. She was willing to go to the mat for you. And you sent all her letters back unread.”

More tears spilled. “I didn’t want to send them back. I loved her.”

“Our deeds define us Rory, not our words.”

Rory tensed, shocked a stranger would know deep and intimate details. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I know a lot about you. And Elizabeth. And the others. I know all your deepest desires.”

“You don’t.”

“You once said you’d die a happy man if the last face you saw were Elizabeth’s. Isn’t that right?”

“Go to hell,” Rory spat.

“I’m here to grant that last wish. No one should go to their grave without getting their last wish granted.”

The stranger ground out his cigarette and opened the truck cab door. His body scraped across cloth seats before the cab door slammed closed. He turned on the engine and revved it.

Rory braced.

His gaze bore into Elizabeth’s smiling face. In these last moments he ignored her tension and saw only her smile, her smooth skin, and her blond hair, swept recklessly over her right shoulder.

In these last seconds, he transported back to the night by the campfire. She’d raced to the fire laughing, and seconds before the image had been snapped, she’d nestled close. He’d hugged her tighter and attributed her tensing muscles to the evening chill.

Rory gritted his teeth and fisted his hands. He straightened. He’d die like a man for her. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

The truck engine roared and the bed moved slowly away from the tree. Even knowing he couldn’t escape his bindings, he struggled to free his hands and dig his boots into the rusted tailgate. His bindings clamped hard on raw wrists and his feet slid to the tailgate’s edge.

Seconds ticked like hours as the last inches of metal skimmed the bottom of his boots and his body fell with a hard jolt. The noose jerked tight and sliced into his skin. Pain burned through him. His struggles tightened the rope’s grip, crushing his windpipe as his feet dangled inches above the ground. He gasped for air, but his lungs didn’t fill. He dangled. Kicked. The rope cut deeper.

He was vaguely aware the truck had stopped. The scent of another cigarette reached him. The driver had stopped to have a smoke and watch him dangle.

Staying to enjoy the show.

And then his brain spun, spittle drooled from his mouth. As the blackness bled in from the corners of his vision, he stared at Elizabeth.

I love you.

His grip on life slipped away.

“Unbind his hands.”

Her voice had a shrill quality that made Jackson cringe. Out of spite, he ignored her and continued to stare at Rory’s dangling lifeless body. Head tilted to the right. Eyes stared sightless at the sky. Tongue dangled out of his mouth.

“Unbind his hands,” she demanded.

He sighed. “Why?”

“Tied hands mean murder and this is supposed to be a suicide.”

He hated to admit it, but she was right. Damn her. She was always right. She could be annoying that way. Always so sure in what needed to be done. And so judgmental when he didn’t listen.

“Do it!” she ordered.

He stiffened, not sparing her a glance. He couldn’t bear to look at her smug, smiling face. One day he’d be rid of her. One day he’d be free.

He pulled the switchblade from his back pocket. He kept his voice steady, choosing to keep the peace for now. “You’re always good with the details.”

“Which is exactly why you will always need me.”

Chapter One

Monday, June 2, 8 A.M.

Fatigue fueled impatience burrowing under Ranger Tec Bragg’s skin as he pressed his booted foot against the accelerator of his black SUV barreling along the rocky rural route cutting into the Texas Hill Country. Scrubby trees and low-lying shrubs bordered the road brushed with bone-dry dirt. A handful of plump clouds floated in a blue sky and teased a good soaking rain to ease the yearlong drought.

Bragg could hope and wish the rains didn’t destroy his crime scene, but he didn’t bother. Life had taught him his wants and needs didn’t mean shit to the universe. Whether the rains came or not, he’d deal.

Flashing blue lights of half a dozen police cars and media vans told him he’d found his crime scene. He drove past them all until he reached the Texas Department of Public Safety officer manning the entrance to the crime scene.

He slowed, unrolled his window as the uniformed officer approached, and touched the brim of his white hat.

“Morning. Ranger Tec Bragg. Heard I’m needed.”

The officer touched the brim of his trooper’s hat. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Bragg. Follow this dirt road a half a mile, and you’ll see the crime scene. No missing it. Sheriff is waiting for you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Glad to have you back, Sergeant Bragg,” the grinning officer said. “Heard about what you did on the border.”

Bragg’s mood soured. Fame didn’t fit him well. “Right.”

The road led him toward a new cluster of cars from the local sheriff’s department. He’d received a call just after dawn from the local sheriff requesting a visit on an apparent suicide. The dead man, the sheriff drawled, had an older brother richer than Midas who claimed the governor as a friend. Sheriff wanted a Ranger on site for possible damage control.

Shit. His recent promotion, touted as a reward for his work on the border, required deeds he hated more than the cartels or the coyotes. Hand-holding. Meetings. Press briefings. He’d landed smack in the middle of a politicking world he’d carefully avoided for years.

Since he was sixteen, Bragg had gone his own way and learned it was best kept to himself. He didn’t rely on anyone and was careful to make sure no one relied on him.