Ethan walked unhurriedly through the streets of downtown Austin. It would still be a while before Letty closed her food truck, so he decided to kill time at a nearby bar.
It wasn't like the noisy club he'd been to earlier; this place was quieter, with a long worn wooden bar that smelled of old varnish and tobacco.
Inside, just a couple of scattered patrons drank in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The low murmur of a TV hung in the corner, showing some sporting match.
Ethan let himself drop onto a stool at the bar. The bartender, a man with gray hair, came over to him.
—What can I get you, friend? —he asked, resting both hands on the wood.
—A beer.
—Sure thing —he answered with a small gesture.
The man grabbed a glass, placed it under the tap and let the pale draft beer run until the glass was nearly overflowing, then set it in front of him on a coaster. After that he stepped away, leaving Ethan alone — usually customers who came this early enjoyed the solitude.
Ethan took the glass and took a long first swallow, letting the cold beer soothe his dry throat. He rested his elbow on the bar and pulled his phone from his back pocket.
The screen lit his tired face as he swiped and opened the conversation with Blake. He hesitated for a moment, as if he didn't want to worry her, and finally typed:
"Where are you?" —she replied.
"In Austin, I'll be late. I'll see you tonight."
He waited a few seconds, watching the typing dots appear and disappear on the screen.
"Okay, take care. I'll be at the Walkers' house. 😘❤️"
Ethan sighed, took another sip and calmly typed:
"Okay."
He hit send and put the phone away without waiting for an answer. He didn't want to dwell on it.
Ethan looked at his phone again. This time he didn't open the chat with Blake; instead he searched for the crumpled paper Letty had given him at the food truck. A cell number was written on the back.
He typed quickly:
"It's me, the one who found Anna's necklace. Where do we meet and at what time?"
Seconds passed that felt endless. Ethan drank a mouthful of beer, watching the screen as if everything depended on it.
The phone vibrated. A new message appeared:
"In two hours. Motel San Marcos, room 214. Don't arrive early."
Ethan pressed his lips together, slid the phone back into his pocket and let the echo of the message spin in his head.
The bartender looked at him with curiosity when Ethan ordered another beer.
—Rough day? —he asked with a tired smile.
—You have no idea, my friend. —Ethan replied, bringing the glass to his lips.
Two hours later, Ethan left the bar. The wait had been long, but now he couldn't afford to lose another minute. He climbed into his pickup and drove straight to the Motel San Marcos.
When he arrived, he parked and went up to the second floor. He stood in front of door 214 and knocked lightly. The door opened and there was Letty, peeking out with an alert look, as if she were searching for something or someone.
—Quick, come in. —she exclaimed as she pushed Ethan into the room.
—First, before anything else, I want you to tell me what happened with Anna and her grandfather.
Not wanting to delay things any further, Ethan told her how he had accompanied the Walkers to restock supplies in the desert as part of Emily's plan to help migrants; just as they finished the first stop the migrants, including Anna, arrived, but before anything else could happen an armed group attacked them — there were almost no survivors and they didn't know if those who fled at night had been able to escape or survive the desert.
Letty pressed her lips together, anger lighting her eyes.
—Goddamn sons of bitches —she said, distraught—. I knew some ranchers were attacking migrants who entered their land… but this is inhuman.
Ethan clenched his fists, meeting her gaze hard.
But I still don't understand, why are you involved? You didn't know them or owe them anything — those people must be dangerous, I don't get why you want to get involved.
That was a good question. Why? It was true he had no obligation to do this, why risk himself for strangers, there was nothing to gain for him, Job surely would have persuaded him to stay out of it, to leave it to the police.
But for some reason, seeing that girl die before his eyes had awakened an inexplicable feeling in him; he only knew he wanted to kill and finish off those bastards — people like the ones from that night didn't deserve to die like that.
—That girl died in front of me, and I couldn't do anything to help her. I don't want other innocents to die the same way, not if I can prevent it.
Letty fell silent for a few seconds, weighing the truth in each of Ethan's words. With Sonny —the coyote who guided the group— dead, she no longer had support: no one to turn to. Sonny had been like a brother to her, and the rage over his loss burned the same as for Anna. That's why she also wanted revenge.
—After you left and I managed to shake off that ICE agent —Letty said at last— I made some calls and one of my contacts got a meeting with someone who might have information about these hunts.
Ethan fixed his gaze on her, impatient.
—So what are we waiting for? —he said curtly.
Letty shook her head.
—It's not that simple —she replied—. It seems very powerful people are involved, so he wants to be careful.
She set her hands on the table, her look turning firm and determined.
—The meeting will be tomorrow at 11:00 a.m., at the Hotel Grand Plaza, room 301. There will be a lot of people because of Senator John McLaughlin's speech in the square, so it will be easy to go unnoticed —she continued—. You can come if you want.
—I'll go.
—Good —Letty said with a slight look of satisfaction—. I wouldn't mind having someone watch my back.
After making their plans, Ethan said his goodbyes. There was nothing more he could do for now; his only lead was that meeting. He decided to return to the Walkers' ranch and stop by to see Blake before anything else.
Ethan and Blake returned to Austin in the truck. City traffic moved slowly, but Ethan couldn't focus on anything but the upcoming meeting. Blake, meanwhile, had an important appointment with her grandparents' lawyer, so Ethan dropped her off in front of the office.
—All right, see you later —Blake said, adjusting her bag as she got out of the vehicle.
—Take care of yourself —Ethan replied with a brief gesture—. I have something to do.
Blake nodded and went into the building, and Ethan lit a cigarette as he drove off again. His thoughts circled around Letty and the meeting. He arrived at the Hotel Grand Plaza, leaving his car several blocks away because of the heavy traffic, put on a black cap and walked toward the hotel; he waited outside but when he checked the time and scanned the entrance, he saw no sign of her.
"I'm not waiting any longer," he told himself. He entered the hotel, walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. His destination was clear: room 301.
As the elevator rose, Ethan instinctively moved his hand to his back until he felt the cold metal of the Beretta M9 he had used on the job in Tijuana. The elevator stopped with a soft "ping," and he took a deep breath before stepping into the quiet hallway.
He soon reached the indicated door, but something didn't add up: it was ajar. A bad feeling ran through him. He drew his weapon calmly, disengaged the safety and pushed the door open carefully, sliding it just a few inches to avoid making noise.
Inside, the room looked empty at first glance. He swept every corner cautiously, but found no one, except for a sniper rifle propped on a table, aimed directly at the window. His instincts flared; the weapon wasn't there by accident.
He moved silently behind the curtain, using the fabric as cover, and peered out a little to inspect the scene. The hotel square was full of people, and on the podium in the center a white man stood out: it had to be Senator McLaughlin that Letty had mentioned.
However… something didn't fit. The situation gave him very bad vibes, and Ethan knew that rifle and that aim were no coincidence.
Senator John McLaughlin was in excellent spirits. With a confident smile, he delivered a passionate speech to his constituents. His voice rang with conviction, his penetrating gaze swept the crowd and his upright posture projected the image of
McLaughlin declared loudly and clearly that, if reelected, he would push the state legislature to guarantee electricity supply for everyone at an affordable price and at the height of his speech he proposed building a border wall… and that, according to him, all of this would be paid for by the Mexicans.
Suddenly, his speech was interrupted. Before Ethan could react, the senator vanished from view. A faint shot rang out in the air, cutting through the crowd's anticipation.
The rally instantly turned to chaos. Voters ran in every direction, like ants scattering on a hot skillet. Some screamed, others sought cover behind makeshift barriers or crouched among the people.
McLaughlin had fallen to the ground, shielding his feet with his arms, while his staff swarmed around him, forming an improvised human shield to protect him.
Ethan glanced to the side, his pupils narrowed as he assessed the scene.
—Fuck, it's an obvious damned trap. —Ethan cursed to himself—
How the hell did I fall for this old shitty trick, they wanted to use me as a scapegoat —but who had set him up, Letty or the man who contacted her for the meeting? First he had to get out of there immediately; he sent the sniper rifle to his storage space, if they caught him they would never find the rifle to frame him.
He ran quickly to get out of the room; he knew it wouldn't be long before they traced his location, so he headed for the emergency stairs at the end of the hall and hurried down.
Luckily, he had been cautious and had been wearing a cap that partially hid his face the whole time. Otherwise, if the media had discovered him they wouldn't let him go and he would definitely have to flee the country.
Although the situation was unclear, one thing was certain: someone had betrayed him.
Meanwhile Letty, who was still stuck in traffic in her truck, watched the senator's speech live with desperation.
—Goddamn racist —she muttered— Why doesn't anyone shoot this bastard?
As she cursed, a shot rang out. Senator McLaughlin fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder, blood pouring out. After a violent jolt, the camera quickly focused in one direction. In a hotel room a shadow moved behind a white curtain.
—Shit… —he bit his lip—
If it was what he thought, Ethan was in big trouble. He moved through the traffic, mounting the curb.
Ethan ran down the stairs, firing up his radar at the same time. After running down two flights, he saw three white dots with downward arrows zigzagging, almost overlapping him — they'd been faster than expected.
It was obvious three people were coming up the fire escape.
He could have taken them out easily, but a shootout would be enough. If there were more victims, things would get complicated.
Having been a cop, Ethan knew how they would move in a situation like that, so anyone following him was probably working for whoever wanted to frame him.
He dodged and slipped through the corridors, arriving on the second floor in an instant. It was clear there were ambushes at the doors on the first floor, both front and back, so he needed to create a diversion. He went to the fire alarm and smashed it with the butt of his pistol, setting off an explosion of noise that reverberated through the hotel and forced people out of their rooms.
Ethan blended into the chaotic crowd, slipping out the front door without trouble. Outside, several men in suits watched him anxiously, hands on their hips, but none bothered to look at him directly. It seemed they weren't looking for him.
Turning away, his expression hardened. As he walked down the street, he pulled out his phone.
Before he could dial, Job called with a cheerful voice:
—Hey, what's that address for? —
Cheers from Craig echoed on the other end.
—I got into some trouble. The address I just sent you is a downtown Austin hotel. I need you to destroy all surveillance data from the last two days. Can you do that? —Ethan said.
Job's voice turned serious:
—What the hell are you doing in Austin? —he asked— What was that address for?
—I got into trouble. It's a hotel downtown. I need you to destroy all surveillance records from the last two days. Can you do it? —Ethan repeated.
Job sighed, resigned. —Okay. But be careful.
Ethan hung up and walked on at an easy pace. Wiping the surveillance records was the only way to erase his last trace of vulnerability.
Rounding a corner, a red food truck roared by, buzzing past him.
—Get on, let's go.—
Seeing the familiar graffiti, Ethan stopped, confused, unsure yet whether it was a good sign or not, but he needed to get out of there and the truck would attract less attention, so he climbed in and they sped away, eventually reaching an underground parking garage.
—What the hell happened up there? —Letty asked, her voice thick with anxiety.
—That's what I want to know —Ethan replied, pressing the barrel of his pistol to her temple—. And you better give me a good answer… or I'll blow your head off right now.
Letty flinched at the cold metal against her skin. She turned her head slowly enough to see Ethan's face: he wasn't joking. If the answer didn't convince him, he would pull the trigger without hesitation.
—I don't know what you're talking about —she stammered, breathing hard—. I'm as surprised as you are.
—Then where were you? —Ethan spat, his teeth clenched.
—I got stuck in traffic, I swear. I didn't do any of this… I… I didn't know anything.
—So you didn't know it was all a damn trap? —his voice was a low growl—. Someone shot the senator and they needed a scapegoat. Either you handed me over on a platter, or the trap was set for you.
—I swear! —Letty shouted, panic in her eyes—. I didn't know anything, Ethan. Nothing!
He held her gaze for a few seconds that felt like forever. He searched her eyes for any sign of deceit, but all he found was genuine fear. She was terrified—not pretending, but truly clueless about what had happened.
Finally he lowered the gun.
—Alright… I believe you —he said gravely.
Letty let out a trembling sigh, knowing that if he'd doubted her, he would have killed her right then.
—Now what do we do? —she asked, still catching her breath.
—We're going to see your contact —Ethan replied, holstering the weapon—. I want to talk to the person who gave you the information in the first place.
At that moment Ethan's phone vibrated. He answered without taking his eyes off Letty.
—Shit, Ethan? Did you really shoot some damn senator? —Jaber's voice sounded excited, almost amused.
—I didn't —Ethan growled—, but someone tried to frame me. They almost succeeded.
There was no hiding anything, so he cut to the chase:
—How are you doing with what I asked?
—It's done —Jaber replied, the tapping of keys audible in the background—. There won't be any trace of you. Even a grade-school kid could have broken the system they had. I'm wiping every surveillance file.
Ethan said goodbye.
—Look, Ethan, the internet's on fire over this. The story blew up. People are outraged! —Letty, following updates on her phone, looked up—. His reelection is practically assured now. He was losing in the polls… but now he's in a much stronger position.
Ethan was silent for a few seconds, processing. Then he muttered under his breath:
—Yeah… the son of a bitch is a lucky man.
On the other side of town…
A quick ringtone broke the silence. A slender arm reached for the phone and a soft voice answered:
—Rivera speaking.
—Report your location —a serious, authoritative voice ordered.
Sartana Rivera straightened immediately.
—Sir, I'm off duty.
—That's over. I need you. Someone shot Senator McLaughlin. We suspect an illegal Mexican immigrant, angry about the senator's proposals.
—I need you to hit the streets and find anything from your informants; we have to catch him before the press eats us alive.
—Understood, sir.
Sartana hung up quickly, pulled back the blankets and revealed her lithe figure. She grabbed her nightgown, slipped it on and walked to the living room, turning on the TV.
A video looped over and over: the senator had been shot, and cameras were focused on the Hotel Grand Plaza room; a shadow moved just after the shot.
Senator McLaughlin's agenda had always been clear: "America first!" He repeated again and again that Mexican workers and immigrants were a threat, taking jobs, bringing problems, and that they needed to be stopped with an iron hand. And of course, when the shot rang out, nobody doubted it: everyone pointed immediately at the Mexicans.
—Authorities say the suspect is extremely dangerous —the anchor reported—. We suspect an undocumented immigrant. If anyone sees him, contact the police immediately.
She rose slowly, letting the nightgown slip off to the floor. Her athletic silhouette recalled a movie-star look—delicate curves, a defined waist and bronzed skin that seemed to glow in the dim light.
With steady, determined steps she moved toward the bathroom. The fogged mirror reflected her angelic face—full lips, large expressive eyes, and dark hair falling to frame her shoulders.
The shower water traced every line of her body like a caress, wiping away any remaining sleep. Sartana closed her eyes, savoring the heat for a few seconds before returning to reality. She dried off quickly, holstered her weapon in her tight jeans and pulled on a black blouse that accentuated the natural curve of her back.
A moment later keys jingled in her hand. She went down to the garage, started her silver BMW and sped off toward the park, determination shining in her dark eyes.