Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2)(45)

Chapter 58



“DO YOU MIND making tomorrow’s run by yourself?” Carson asks Dale. “Since, you know…?”

He doesn’t need to complete the sentence. Dale usually made his runs with Skip.

“Course,” Dale says. If he goes alone, that means he’s earned back Carson and Gareth’s trust.

“Or do you want us to send one of the boys with you? I want to keep them all close with everything that’s going on. But we could probably spare one.”

“That’s not necessary,” Dale says. “I can handle it.”

Dale’s not stupid. Don’t cross us, Dale, or the same thing that happened to Skip will happen to you.

“It’s a tragedy about Skip, isn’t it?” Carson says. “I know you two were friends.”

“Yes, sir,” Dale says, nodding his head. “It’s a damn shame.”

“What do you think happened?” Carson asks.

Dale stares at him. All three of them know what happened. They’re just pretending they don’t.

“Poacher, I imagine,” Dale says, the tremble in his voice giving away his lie. “That Ranger will probably try to make some bigger deal out of it, but I figure it’s a freak accident. Just one of them things.”

“That’s what we thought,” Carson says, “but we hear they’ve already got a suspect in mind.”

Dale, going along with the pretense that none of them has any idea who committed the murder, says, “Is that so?”

“You won’t believe it,” Gareth says, speaking up for the first time since Dale arrived. “They think that female detective did it. Ariana Delgado.”

Dale is unable to hide his surprise. His head recoils and his eyes widen.

“They haven’t arrested her yet,” Gareth says. “But we hear it’s just a matter of time.”

Gareth knows Dale has always had a crush on the detective, so he delivers the news with relish, like twisting a knife when it’s already buried to the hilt. He likes to make people squirm.

“Hopefully they lock her up soon,” Gareth says, his eyes boring into Dale. “Before anyone else gets hurt.”

Dale gulps. He takes off his hat, adjusts it, puts it back on.

“That’s too bad,” he says. “I guess I’ll never marry her now.” He grins, trying to make it sound like he’s joking but unable to keep his voice from cracking with heartbreak.

He tells them good-bye and starts back toward the trees. Gareth lets him make it all the way to the edge of the trees before he calls and asks Dale to do a favor before he leaves.

“Sure thing,” Dale says. “What you got in mind?”

Gareth leads him about ten feet out into the range.

“Give me your hat,” Gareth says.

Dale hands him his cherished ball cap and runs his hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“Balance this on your head,” Gareth says, handing Dale an empty Coke can.

“You’re not gonna do what I think you’re gonna do,” Dale says, trying to sound calm. “Are you?”

“What’s the matter?” Gareth says. “Don’t you trust me? We trust you with millions of dollars of our property.”

“Sure, I trust you,” Dale says, but as he raises the can to his head, his hands shake.

Gareth backs up like a gunfighter getting into position. He finds a good place about ten feet away and puts his hand five inches from his pistol’s grip. Carson comes and stands near him, a few paces back. The old man has a grin on his face like he’s walked into a cockfighting arena—he knows he might see bloodshed and can’t hide his pleasure at the prospect.

The sun has almost disappeared beneath the horizon. The light is dim. Dale’s knees wobble wildly. The aluminum can on his head teeters.

“Now, hold still,” Gareth says. “If you move too much, you might make me miss.”

Dale tries to stand still, but his legs are shaking so badly that he can’t.

“You count down from three,” Gareth says.

“You want me to count?” Dale says.

Gareth spits tobacco juice onto the ground. “Yes, you count.”

“It’s getting pretty dark,” Dale says. “You sure you can see?”

“Trust me,” Gareth repeats, but the way he says it sounds vicious, not trustworthy.

Dale closes his eyes, knowing that he might be counting down to his own execution.

“Three,” he says, his voice rough.

He opens his eyes and sees Gareth, statue-still in the twilight. He looks like a predator, a wolf, eyeing his prey before striking.

“Two,” Dale croaks.

His whole body trembles.

“I don’t want to die,” he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Say ‘one,’” Gareth growls.

Dale takes a deep breath. He says a prayer inside his head. “One.”

Gareth’s hand flashes to his pistol. Dale hears the zip of the bullet flying toward him, and then the clang as the can catapults off his skull. He drops to his knees and throws his hands over his head.

Gareth and Carson both laugh like they’ve just heard the funniest joke of their lives.