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  Praise for Reavis Z. Wortham and His Novels

  “Reavis Z. Wortham is the real thing.”

  —C. J. Box

  “The most riveting thriller all year!”

  —John Gilstrap

  “A masterful and entertaining storyteller.”

  —Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine

  “Entertaining and emotionally engaging.”

  —T. Jefferson Parker

  “Wortham combines the gonzo sensibility of Joe R. Lansdale and the elegiac mood of To Kill a Mockingbird to strike just the right balance between childhood innocence and adult horror.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Populated with richly drawn characters, good and (deliciously) evil, and propelled by some of the best dialog you’ll find in thriller writing today. A true winner!”

  —Jeffery Deaver

  “Reavis Z. Wortham doubles down. Aces high.”

  —Craig Johnson

  “A hidden gem of a book that reads like Craig Johnson’s Longmire mysteries on steroids.

  —Jon Land

  “Reavis Z. Wortham has once more made this literary (Texas) terrain all his own . . . This is a ripping good tale.”

  —Jan Reid

  “Not just scary but funny too, as Wortham nails time and place in a sure-handed, captivating way. There’s a lot of good stuff in this unpretentious gem. Don’t miss it.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A gritty, dark, and suspenseful Western with a final explosive showdown that kept me turning the pages late into the night to see who would survive.”

  —Jamie Freveletti

  “Loaded with healthy doses of humor, adventure, and intrigue, populated by a remarkable cast of characters both good and bad, and featuring one heck of an electrifying climax.”

  —Owen Laukkanen

  “Fast-paced, darkly comic, and leavened with bursts of shocking violence.”

  —Texas Books in Review

  “This is a well-crafted, atmospheric crime novel, full of surprises, that’s tough to put down; some of the intriguing characters will linger long after the last page is turned.”

  —Lansing State Journal

  “A sleeper that deserves wider attention.”

  —The New York Times

  “The cinematic characters have substance and a pulse. They walk off the page and talk Texas.”

  —The Dallas Morning News

  “Captivating characters and an authentic Texas twang.”

  —Library Journal

  Also by REAVIS Z. WORTHAM

  Hawke’s Prey

  The Rock Hole

  Burrows

  The Right Side of Wrong

  Vengeance Is Mine

  Dark Places

  Unraveled

  Doreen’s 24 Hour Eat Gas Now Cafe

  HAWKE’S WAR

  A SONNY HAWKE THRILLER

  REAVIS Z. WORTHAM

  PINNACLE BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Teaser chapter

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 Wortham and Wortham, LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-4178-7

  First electronic edition: June 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4179-4

  ISBN-10: 0-7860-4179-X

  This one is for my girls,

  Chelsea Hamilton, Megan Reynolds,

  and my unofficially adopted step-daughter,

  Amy Rodriguez.

  Y’all make me proud each and every day.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  While researching the southern border of the U.S. for the first Sonny Hawke novel, Hawke’s Prey, I ran across a story about the last documented Indian raid in the United States that occurred in southwest New Mexico in 1924. That’s not a typo. 1924. Allegedly the descendants of Geronimo’s last band came out of the Sierra Occidental Mountains, a steep, rugged, canyon-slashed world south of Arizona and New Mexico. Fascinated by the story, I looked further and found a copy
of The Apache Indians by Helge Onstead, written in 1937. The story of his search for this last band of “wild Apaches” was fascinating and became an integral part of this book.

  Chapter 1

  Thunderheads boiled over the high desert peaks in Big Bend National Park as four hikers stretched out along the winding Devil’s Den Trail. The experienced thirty-somethings filled the dry, cool morning air with comments and good-natured ribbing.

  Trailing last as usual in the group’s fifteen-year relationship, Harmony Cartwright stopped to tighten the faded Texas flag bandana she used as a headband to keep her blond hair under control. She adjusted the pack straps and, seeing that she wasn’t falling too far behind, bent to pick up a 520-million-year-old chunk of quartz from the well-traveled trail.

  She scratched away a few grains of sand with a chewed, unpainted thumbnail and angled it toward the sun. After a short examination, Harmony blessed it with a quick smile and tucked the rock into the pocket of her cargo shorts, where it clacked against half a dozen similar stones. The others continued at a steady pace and she hurried to catch up with her husband, Blue. He trailed behind Chloe Hutchins, who followed her husband, and the troop’s leader Vince.

  The veteran Marine stopped to take a long, deep sip of water from his bright yellow CamelBak pack. Solid as the trail under their feet, Vince was fearless, and had been all his life. After two tours in Afghanistan, he wrapped up his time in the Marine Corps and came home to sell real estate. Such a sedentary life caught up with him after months of inactivity, and he cast around for something adventurous.

  Over half a dozen Friday nights and many cans of Coors, the four of them decided to hike the Devil’s Den trail in some of the most rugged backcountry of the national park. The trail was off the beaten path for most hikers, who preferred to drive deeper into the park. Rated as a moderate five-and-a-half-mile hike, the trip would at least help them burn up some Yellow Belly calories and maybe lead to even more outdoor activities in the Rockies, a place he loved to visit, a few months down the road.

  He swiveled to see Chloe hoofing along at a pace as quick as her wit. “Hey, Spousal Unit, how about you walk point? The view of this trail is getting boring, and that way I can watch your transmission twitch.”

  Chloe gave Vince a wink and pinched the blue nylon shirt from her damp skin, pumping it like a bellows to cool herself. The brunette wore a wide-brimmed straw hat exactly like the one shading her husband’s head. “You wouldn’t be able to concentrate then, Sergeant Hutchins. You’d probably trip on something and break a leg, and none of us can carry you out of here, so behave yourself and keep an eye out for marauding Indians.”

  Blue caught up with the sparring couple and tilted his Tilley hat upward. Built like a fireplug, he wore khaki shorts that revealed thick legs built for walking. “Y’all drinking enough water? This dry air’s suckin’ it out as fast as I can pour it in.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes in fun. “Not as much as Big Guy here, but he’s working harder than I am.”

  “I’m still fresh enough out of the Sandbox to think this is chilly.” Vince frowned in mock anger. “You’re right though, Little Bit, y’all need to make sure you’re staying hydrated. I don’t want anyone on this team to be falling out.”

  “You should be sweating out all that beer y’all poured down last night.” Chloe poked his flat stomach with a finger.

  He raised an eyebrow at the petite brown-haired woman who weighed less than a hundred pounds. “Twelve little ol’ cans ain’t that much, besides, I run a bigger machine, so I can handle it.”

  Blue watched the clouds in the distance. “I wish I had one of those Yellow Bellies right now.”

  The quartet had formed in college, and Blue was used to the same good-natured arguments he’d been hearing in the years since. He waved a hand at the scattered scrub below the ridge above them. “Couldn’t you guys find somewhere in the shade to stop?”

  Vince spread both hands. “We’re a little short on trees around here.”

  Blue scanned the sun-blasted landscape. The only sign of active life was a lazy buzzard drifting on the thermals high overhead. “Yeah, which is exactly why we should be hiking in Colorado, where there’s trees, instead of this godforsaken desert. I get to pick next year, and it’s gonna be a hike in Hawaii . . . from the condo to the beach.”

  Harmony caught up with them and tugged a bottle of water from her pack. “This is beautiful! I love all this space! Look.” She picked up a twisted piece of wood. “This will look good in a flower arrangement.” She brightened. “You know, I’m gonna use it to make one for Kelly Hawke. I tried to get them to come with us, but she said Sonny couldn’t get loose this week.”

  “Honey, that’ll just add weight to your pack.” Blue watched the love of his life tuck the wood into a side pocket. “I’ve already seen you put three pounds of rocks in your britches, and besides, it’s illegal to take anything from a national park.”

  Harmony winked at Chloe. “They have plenty of rocks around here. I doubt they’ll miss a handful.”

  Chloe tore open a packet of powdered electrolytes and was pouring the contents into her high-tech BPA-free water bottle when Vince grunted, staggered, and folded in half. The sharp whip-crack report of a rifle shot reached them half a second later and echoed off the bare rocks and cliffs bracketing the trail. Shocked, her hand moved and the remainder of the powder drifted on the slight breeze in a tiny orange cloud.

  Unable to grasp what was happening, Chloe sat the bottle on the ground and knelt beside her husband as he dropped to one knee. “Vince. Vince?”

  The look in his eyes from under his hat brim was one of pain and confusion. He took his hand from his chest and stared at the blood-covered palm. “Oh hell. I’ve been shot.”

  Blue’s head whipped toward the ridge. “Some idiot isn’t paying attention to where he’s shooting! Y’all, get . . .”

  A second shot hit Vince above his left ear. The soft-nosed round expanded, blowing out the side of his head. His gore-splattered hat flipped off to land in a clump of bunch grass. The man who’d survived two tours of duty in Afghanistan dropped without a sound onto the American soil he’d sworn to protect.

  Recovering faster than he would have ever imagined, Blue slammed Harmony onto the dry trail in a full-body tackle. They hit the hard ground at the same instant a third round punched through Blue’s pack with a thock. Digging in with his hiking boots, he yanked his confused wife against the rocky arroyo wall and waved at Chloe, who was petrified with shock. “Chloe! Get down!! Get over here with us”

  Still not grasping that she was also in danger, she grabbed the straps on Vince’s pack to drag him out of the line of fire coming from above. His dead weight and the heavy pack proved too much for her slight frame. She grunted, and jerked back on her heels. Vince’s body moved an inch.

  The shooter’s next round plucked at the top of her shoulder. The ripstop fluttered and blood wet the nylon. Chloe gasped, lost her grip, and fell out of sight from above.

  Blue and Harmony squeezed against the shoulder-high rise between them and the shooter on the ridge above. Keeping one eye on Chloe’s struggle with her husband’s body, Blue shrugged out of his backpack and dug into its contents. “Dammit, girl, get under cover!”

  Eyes wide with fear, Harmony crouched low, her shoulder against the bank of rocks, dirt, and scrub. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s no accident. Somebody’s shooting at us on purpose!” Elbow deep in the pack’s contents, Blue fished around for a long moment before pulling out a Glock 19. He would probably have left the heavy weapon home had they not planned on camping overnight in the backcountry.

  Vince had a Glock 40 in a Kydex waistband holster tucked under his shirt, but neither expected a sniper attack in the middle of a national park. The night before, they’d discussed their concern over illegal aliens who often crossed into the U.S. from Mexico. Though most of them only came looking for a better life, there were always a few with bad intentions.


  The guy above seemed to be something completely different. Blue jerked the slide back to chamber a round. He didn’t intend to let him murder them all.

  * * *

  Feeling a little better now that he could shoot back, Blue took several deep breaths to settle his nerves. Another chunk of lead slapped into a rock near Chloe, showering her with rock fragments and sand. It whirred away with a low, vibrating buzz.

  Assuming the shooter was using a bolt-action rifle for accuracy, Blue figured it would take a few seconds for the sniper to rack a fresh round and reacquire a new target. He rose enough to peek through a scrubby honey mesquite growing at eye level on the arroyo’s edge and squinted upward to locate the shooter. The ground exploded only inches away, spraying the side of his face with sand and pebbles, the echo of the shot coming half a second later.

  “Shit!” Skin hot and stinging from the tiny bits of shrapnel, Blue fell hard onto the trail and gasped when he realized he was fully exposed. A round punched through his left shoulder and shattered rocks on the hard trail underneath his body. His arm went numb.

  Grunting, he flipped onto his good shoulder and squirmed back to the rise, far enough away from Harmony to draw the fire and keep her safe. She screamed at the sight of blood welling from his wound.

  Panting and in shock from the wound, he thought only of keeping her out of the maniac’s sights. “Stay there!” He held out the hand with the Glock, muzzle pointed at the sky. She rose in a crouch, as if to race out and help. “No! I said stay down!”