anything was better than hanging around, pretending to relax. If she spent any more time at the range or in a gym, her duffel bags might wear out. Her grandfather and father had first taught her how to relax that way, before Grandpa died of the heart attack. Hell, so much practice had even let Dad take out the three bank robbers who'd mortally wounded him.
Posada turned and tossed a cell phone at her, which she caught automatically.
"Your replacement. You've had so many death threats you need a new one."
"Thank you, sir." She could hardly argue with his reasoning. She'd be very happy not to hear any more of those sibilant whispers or, worse, a dying animal's howls. "Does this mean the investigation is over?"
"You did right when you killed Ramirez. IA has completely cleared you, of course."
Something inside her slipped free of its chain at his bluntness. She'd killed before in the line of duty, gone through counseling, and worked through the formal process to go back on duty. But somehow acceptance meant more coming from this soft-spoken Ranger with the missing little finger, lost when he'd stopped an extortionist's pipe bomb.
"If you hadn't, he'd probably have killed at least one of those campers. Even if he'd only taken hostages, we know he's killed them before."
She nodded, remembering the photos posted on the Internet as warnings. Hideous tortures, mutilations, and finally what must have seemed like merciful decapitations to their victims.
Christ, she'd been sick when she'd seen them and she'd vowed El Gallinazo's bloody mafia would one day see justice.
"Castelnuevo is transferring to Gilbert's Crossing to take over."
"It's my district!" Steve sprang to her feet. Castelnuevo couldn't do a good job there, not right away. He didn't know the people, or the problems, or the land. It would take him months to catch up. And in the meantime, El Gallinazo would play merry hell with people's lives. Plus what the other drug smugglers would do!
"Your people will be safer without you drawing El Gallinazo's fire. He's pissed as hell you wiped out his favorite enforcer." Posada's eyes were sympathetic but his features were unyielding.
"I should lead the investigation into Ramirez's presence," she argued, barely stopping herself from slamming her fist into a desk.
"You can't—and you know it. Stand down, Ranger," he said softly, his voice edged in steel.
She eased into a parade rest posture, simmering, her skin taut enough to throw sparks into her veins.
Dammit, Posada's tone was final, as if she'd never go back. Never sleep in her little house again, or dine with her few friends.
Even worse, for a century and a half, her family had been in law enforcement, all the while fighting to get back into the Rangers, a job originally granted to them because of their tracking skills but denied to later generations because they were Cherokee Indians. She'd been the one to finally be selected for the Rangers—and serve once again at the same post along the border, too! But now she'd lost it because she'd done her job? Crap.
El Gallinazo hadn't just threatened her life—he'd torn her world away from her, the bastard. The loss left her feeling even more isolated than the damn divorce had.
She forced those memories aside and focused on El Gallinazo, he of the bloody feuds and the insidious drug smuggling. He was the one who should suffer, not her.
Posada studied her, his steady gaze penetrating her surface courtesy. "Have you ever considered working in Austin?"
"At the
capitol
?" She bit her tongue before she could fully express her loathing. "Can't say I have, sir."
And please don't ask me to volunteer
.
"Dr. Parmenter's given you a clean bill of health, mental and physical, so no worries there."
She studied him warily. She'd thought any kind of work would be better than sitting around with nothing to do—but picking up after bureaucrats?
Posada didn't quite grin. "You're able to come off light duty now. The lieutenant
Posada turned and tossed a cell phone at her, which she caught automatically.
"Your replacement. You've had so many death threats you need a new one."
"Thank you, sir." She could hardly argue with his reasoning. She'd be very happy not to hear any more of those sibilant whispers or, worse, a dying animal's howls. "Does this mean the investigation is over?"
"You did right when you killed Ramirez. IA has completely cleared you, of course."
Something inside her slipped free of its chain at his bluntness. She'd killed before in the line of duty, gone through counseling, and worked through the formal process to go back on duty. But somehow acceptance meant more coming from this soft-spoken Ranger with the missing little finger, lost when he'd stopped an extortionist's pipe bomb.
"If you hadn't, he'd probably have killed at least one of those campers. Even if he'd only taken hostages, we know he's killed them before."
She nodded, remembering the photos posted on the Internet as warnings. Hideous tortures, mutilations, and finally what must have seemed like merciful decapitations to their victims.
Christ, she'd been sick when she'd seen them and she'd vowed El Gallinazo's bloody mafia would one day see justice.
"Castelnuevo is transferring to Gilbert's Crossing to take over."
"It's my district!" Steve sprang to her feet. Castelnuevo couldn't do a good job there, not right away. He didn't know the people, or the problems, or the land. It would take him months to catch up. And in the meantime, El Gallinazo would play merry hell with people's lives. Plus what the other drug smugglers would do!
"Your people will be safer without you drawing El Gallinazo's fire. He's pissed as hell you wiped out his favorite enforcer." Posada's eyes were sympathetic but his features were unyielding.
"I should lead the investigation into Ramirez's presence," she argued, barely stopping herself from slamming her fist into a desk.
"You can't—and you know it. Stand down, Ranger," he said softly, his voice edged in steel.
She eased into a parade rest posture, simmering, her skin taut enough to throw sparks into her veins.
Dammit, Posada's tone was final, as if she'd never go back. Never sleep in her little house again, or dine with her few friends.
Even worse, for a century and a half, her family had been in law enforcement, all the while fighting to get back into the Rangers, a job originally granted to them because of their tracking skills but denied to later generations because they were Cherokee Indians. She'd been the one to finally be selected for the Rangers—and serve once again at the same post along the border, too! But now she'd lost it because she'd done her job? Crap.
El Gallinazo hadn't just threatened her life—he'd torn her world away from her, the bastard. The loss left her feeling even more isolated than the damn divorce had.
She forced those memories aside and focused on El Gallinazo, he of the bloody feuds and the insidious drug smuggling. He was the one who should suffer, not her.
Posada studied her, his steady gaze penetrating her surface courtesy. "Have you ever considered working in Austin?"
"At the
capitol
?" She bit her tongue before she could fully express her loathing. "Can't say I have, sir."
And please don't ask me to volunteer
.
"Dr. Parmenter's given you a clean bill of health, mental and physical, so no worries there."
She studied him warily. She'd thought any kind of work would be better than sitting around with nothing to do—but picking up after bureaucrats?
Posada didn't quite grin. "You're able to come off light duty now. The lieutenant
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