Mateo has his mother back.
And Rogan must not get a quick ending.
He must get the truth.
All of it.
In daylight.
With witnesses.
You call the one person you trust more than anyone outside blood.
Detective Leah Marquez with the Texas Rangers.
She handled a cattle theft case for you years earlier and once told you powerful men were usually the easiest to fool because they thought power made them invisible.
When she arrives at the hospital before midnight, you meet her in the hallway.
She listens without interrupting.
Then she enters Valeria’s room, sits beside the bed, and says, “Mrs. Aranda, I know you’re tired. But if what your husband tells me is true, the man who did this believes you’re dead. That is the only advantage we have.”
Valeria looks at you.
Then back at the ranger.
“What do I need to do?”
For the next three days, your life becomes a silent war.
Publicly, nothing changes.
Privately, everything changes.
Valeria is moved under protection to a secure hospital wing under a different name. Mateo is told Mommy is very sick and needs quiet, but he can see her every day. Rosa sleeps in the chair beside him every night because none of you can bear to let him out of sight.
You return to the ranch alone.
Every room attacks you.
The kitchen where Valeria used to hum while making coffee. The porch swing where she read mystery novels. The hallway where her framed photo still hangs because you never had the courage to take it down.
You stand before that photo for a long time.
Then your phone rings.
Rogan.
You stare at his name.
Your pulse slows.
Then you answer.
“Julian,” he says warmly. “You still coming in for the land closing tomorrow?”
His voice is familiar.
Brotherly.
Poison.
“Something came up in town,” you say.
“Everything okay?”
You look at your dead wife’s photograph.
“Fine.”
“Your voice sounds off.”
“Long day.”
He laughs.
“You work too hard, brother. That deal will cheer you up. Another 1,200 acres under our control.”
Our.
The word turns your stomach.
“I’ll be there,” you say.
“Good. Oh, and bring Mateo around Sunday. My wife’s making brisket.”
You almost crush the phone in your hand.
“Sure.”
