Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2)(87)

“It’s okay,” I say. “Willow and I decided to take some time apart.”

I’m not sure why I say it this way. Maybe to soften the blow. Maybe because I’m not quite ready to say what we’ve really decided, to break up for good.

Willow yawns—she must not be as awake as she seemed—and explains to Jessica that we love each other very much but that our lives are going in opposite directions. Jessica apologizes profusely, sounding truly embarrassed, but I find I can hardly listen. My stomach is cramping up, and I feel like I could vomit. I let my body run on adrenaline and caffeine for too long—I’m afraid a big breakfast was too much for my system to handle.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, and find that my legs are unsteady as I walk across the room. I have trouble walking in a straight line, like I’ve been drinking beers instead of eating breakfast. The light coming through the window is especially bright, and a headache appears in my skull out of nowhere. When the first responders came to town two days ago, the EMTs wanted to put Ariana and me on IVs after the dehydration and exhaustion we’d experienced. We both refused, feeling like we had too much work to do.

Now I wish I’d said yes.

Once I’m in the bathroom, I feel like dropping to my knees and vomiting into the toilet, but I’m afraid Jessica would hear. She’s already mortified from the comment about the wedding. What would she think if I puked up the breakfast she made?

My stomach cramps worsen. I try to urinate but can’t. My skin is clammy with sweat. I cup water in my hands and notice how inflamed the rash on my fingers has become. I splash the water on my face and look at my pale reflection in the mirror. My pupils are gigantic, black pools nearly as big as the irises that encircle them.

This isn’t right.

Something is wrong.

I yank open the door of the bathroom and charge out. I freeze in my tracks. Willow is unconscious, still sitting upright, but with her head slumped down to where her chin is practically resting on the jersey. Her bare legs are splayed out, her hands dangling limp at her sides. She looks like a passed-out drunk who, at any second, will fall out of her chair.

Jessica stands next to her, aiming my own SIG Sauer directly at my chest.

The safe she asked me to lock the gun in sits in the cabinet with its door wide open.





Chapter 108



ARIANA PULLS HER Harley Davidson into the parking lot next to the police station. Normally there are plenty of spaces, but now, with the lot full of vehicles from various law enforcement agencies, there’s nowhere to park a car.

Luckily, Ariana only drives a car when it rains.

She squeezes her motorcycle onto the sidewalk near the door, shuts off the engine, and saunters into the station. The place is already bustling with various officials from various agencies. She expects to see Rory but doesn’t. For a moment, she’s glad that he’s getting some extra rest. Then she pictures him having an early-morning make-out session with his gorgeous country-star girlfriend, and she feels a little sick to her stomach. She tells herself to put the thought out of her head and focus on the work in front of her.

As she passes the front desk, Liz, the dispatcher, says to whoever she is on the phone with that she’ll check to see if Detective Delgado is available. She puts the caller on hold and looks up at Ariana.

“A guy named Freddy Hernandez is on the phone,” she says. “Says he’s the medical examiner from Waco and he’s been trying to get ahold of Rory.”

Ariana almost says to tell him to call back in an hour. She doesn’t want Rory to think she’s poaching information from his sources. But Rory wouldn’t think that. She would trust him to take such a call meant for her—he would do the same, wouldn’t he?

They’re a team.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ariana says.

“I’ll transfer it to the chief’s office,” Liz says, giving Ariana a look that says, You’re the chief now. Even though you don’t have the title yet, you’re in charge.

Ariana nods, touched by Liz’s unspoken endorsement, and she walks into Harris’s old office. It feels strange to be in here knowing the chief is in jail.

Ariana picks up the phone.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Rory since yesterday,” the medical examiner—and also Rory’s childhood friend—says through the phone. “My calls keep going to voicemail.”

She says that Rory will be in soon, but if Freddy has information, he can tell her and she’ll pass it along. There is quiet on the other end of the line, and she gets the feeling that Freddy doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Rory.

“I can just have Rory give you a call when he gets in,” Ariana says, ready to hang up.

“Wait,” Freddy says, as if fearing that his message will get lost. “This is important. Rory asked me to have a second look at the blood samples from Susan Snyder. I think I’ve figured out what killed her.”

Ariana’s heart pounds, as if the organ is suddenly pushing twice as much blood with each beat.

Freddy begins talking scientifically about the blood containing evidence of tropane alkaloids—whatever those are—and how this caused him to do some further investigation. Most of what he is saying is over her head, mentioning secondary metabolites and bicyclic alkaloids. Ariana interrupts him.