Chapter Thirty-Two
Paul left Lost Lake within minutes of his brother’s arrival.
Kyle hadn’t endeared himself to local law enforcement during his short visit to the station.
As soon as Paul signed his statement, the McPhersons were escorted from the premises.
Two squad cars followed them to the outskirts of town, perhaps to ensure their safe departure.
Their first stop was an ER in San Antonio, where Paul was evaluated by a physician.
An MRI revealed that the tendon in his shoulder was strained, not torn.
He was ordered to keep his arm immobile and rest the muscle for six weeks.
They continued to an FBI field office in downtown Houston.
Kyle drove through the night, chugging coffee to stay awake, while Paul stared out the window and reflected on his predicament.
He didn’t want to testify against Aiden Mendez or enter a witness protection program.
He’d been honest in his official statements, but he hadn’t gone into detail.
Although Paul knew his assailant was Mendez, he wouldn’t swear to it.
The man who’d accosted him had been wearing a mask.
The man he’d encountered in Houston had been similarly attired.
Paul couldn’t identify the suspect. He’d never seen his face.
Paul stuck to his story when he sat down with two FBI agents. If they wanted to prosecute Aiden Mendez, they’d have to find some physical evidence. Paul had spent two months hiding from the Mendez family and that was enough. He was done with them and he hoped they were done with him.
As far as Paul was concerned, justice had been served. Aiden Mendez had saved his life. He was a hero, not a villain.
After a few hours of fruitless interrogation, Paul was released and they hit the road again.
Kyle drove in broody silence. It was dark when they arrived in Katy, their hometown.
Paul gazed out the window as they passed the old family ranch.
Paul hadn’t set foot on that land in over a decade, though he came to the local cemetery every year to pay his respects.
“What are we doing here?” Paul asked.
“You’ll see.”
“You going to bury me next to Mom and Dad?”
Kyle chuckled at the gallows humor. “Not yet.”
It turned out that Kyle had made an arrangement with Warren Hobbs, the neighboring rancher who’d bought their parents’ land.
Warren had agreed to let Paul stay in the old bunkhouse by the stables.
The historic adobe building had no electricity or modern conveniences, but it was perfect for laying low.
“I considered this place last time,” Kyle admitted as they exited his car.
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
“Too many memories. Also, it’s rustic.”
Paul entered the building, which boasted Spartan quarters. There was a single bunk in the corner, next to a small desk. The bed appeared freshly made. Kyle carried in Paul’s duffel bag, which he’d picked up in Lost Lake.
“You’ll have to go to the new stable house for meals,” Kyle said. “It’s not far. You can shower and do laundry there, when you’re able.”
Paul didn’t mind the accommodations; it was the idea of hiding he objected to. He’d told Vanessa he would wait forever, but the truth was, he didn’t want to. He wanted to live his life. “How long do you expect me to stay?”
“However long it takes.”
“I can’t agree to that.”
“It’s not up for debate. You’re safer here.”
“I don’t care.”
“She’s safer with you here.”
His stomach clenched with unease. “They won’t go after her.”
“Is that what your new best friend, the assassin, told you?”
Paul narrowed his eyes in irritation.
“Don’t be obtuse, Paul. The problem is Miguel Mendez and you know it. You killed his firstborn son. You caused a rift between him and the only son he has left. He’s not going to stop looking for you.”
“I won’t hide like this forever.”
“I understand that, but right now you don’t have a choice. You can’t be with your girlfriend in Lost Lake. She doesn’t want you to risk your life or hers, so you might as well sit tight and let your goddamned shoulder heal.”
Paul lay down on his back with a low groan. “Where are you going?”
“To a secure location.”
“Not your apartment in Houston?”
“No.”
The self-righteous anger drained from Paul. His brother was in danger because of him. Now they both had to go underground to escape the Mendez family. The FBI hadn’t offered protection because Paul’s testimony was worthless. They had to survive on their own and lay low until it was safe.
Kyle promised to send some provisions before he left. Paul fell into a coma-like sleep and didn’t wake for twelve hours.
He didn’t see his brother again for two months.
Paul adjusted to life on the ranch with relative ease. He watched the men work cattle every day. It was back-breaking labor in sweltering heat, set against the scenic backdrop of the open prairie. He wished he could ride out with them.
He didn’t mind the weather, though there was no air conditioning.
He didn’t mind the solitude, or the quiet.
He didn’t mind the long afternoons on the bunkhouse porch, sitting in a rocking chair and reading a book like a goddamned old-timer.
It was the nights he suffered through. His dreams consisted of marathon swims and slicing bullets.
He dreamed of Vanessa, which was a different kind of torture.
When he roused, he was covered in sweat, his chest aching with longing.
Two more weeks passed, then four, with no word from Kyle about the Mendez family. No updates about Vanessa.
Nothing.
Paul didn’t try to contact her, out of an abundance of caution. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t have her number or a cell phone. His had plummeted to the bottom of Lost Lake. He was off the grid, disconnected from the rest of the world.
The heat of summer faded into warm autumn. Paul increased his activity level gradually. He helped around the stables, brushing down the horses and mucking out stalls. He did the PT exercises Vanessa had shown him. His arm felt stronger, almost normal. He was surprised the muscle hadn’t atrophied.
One afternoon while he was fixing a stirrup on one of the saddles, he heard the sound of a familiar voice.
“You’re not riding again, are you?”
It was Kyle, standing in the open doorway.
Paul straightened at the sight of his fancy-pants brother in an expensive shirt and tie. “I’m following doctor’s orders.”
“Bring it in.”
Paul embraced Kyle with enthusiasm. He made sure to transfer some dirt and dander from his hands in the process.
“Hey,” Kyle said.
Paul laughed at his brother’s fussiness. They walked to the old bunkhouse, where they sat down to have a cold beer. Kyle took in the view, which stretched all the way to the horizon, and included a section of the McPherson ranch.
“You look well,” Kyle said. “Ranch life always suited you.”
It hadn’t suited Kyle, but Paul didn’t say that. They both knew his brother’s ambitions had played out poorly.
“Have you heard from Vanessa?” Paul asked.
“No, but I’ve been out of the loop. How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s fine.”
Kyle removed a letter from his front pocket and gave it to Paul.
It was a notification from Houston PD that he was eligible to transfer.
He could work remotely if he wished, or he could seek employment in another county.
They had done a risk assessment and determined that returning to a public-facing position at Houston PD wasn’t an option for Paul.
The letter came with a list of openings throughout Texas.
Paul tucked the list in his own pocket. He didn’t care about working in Houston. His heart was with Vanessa. He hadn’t forgotten her for a single second. “They want me to transfer. Apparently I’m a liability.”
“You don’t have to transfer. You can work remotely.”
“I don’t like remote work.”
“You like it here.”
“I’m not staying here, Kyle. I need to move on with my life. My shoulder is healed, and there’s been no word about Mendez.”
“Actually, there is word about Mendez.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have an update.”