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She couldn’t let anything happen to him She should never have opened that cold case file

"Zapata will have proof," Ralph proive it to me Believe that, okay?"

She knehat Ralph was capable of Which was exactly why she didn’t dare tell hiave her hand a squeeze, kissed her lightly His whiskers were rough He sainst one shoulder and slung the travel bag over the other He stuffed an extra clip of a shut behind hi into the room

Ana listened to his footsteps crunch down the gravel ay He was calling Lucia his little niña, singing her a Spanish carol, "Los Animales," as he strapped her into the car seat

His headlights swept across the kitchen, illuh chair, then disappeared down Ruiz Street

ANA SAT IN THE LIVING ROOM, trying to formulate a plan

He would be here in fifteento ave her little hope he would listen to reason, but she had to try She owed hiraph of her mother stared back at her--Lucia DeLeon Sr, twenty-nine years old, in dress uniform, 1975, the day she received the Medal of Valor

Her mother’s face was a patchwork of yellow bruises, her ar, but her posture radiated quiet confidence, black eyebrows knit as if she didn’t quite understand all the fuss She’d saved three officers’ lives, become the first fe deal?

Ana liked to remember her mother that way--self-assured, indoraph had lost soer quite exorcise that other memory--her mother fifteen years older, slulass of wine at her lips, skin sickly blue in the light of an afternoon soap opera

Co, mijita

Ana put her face in her hands A sob was building in her chest, but she couldn’t give in to that She had to think

If her mother--the Lucia DeLeon of 1975--had been handed Ana’s problem, ould she have done?

Ana pulled her laptop out of her briefcase She booted it up, typed in her password She reviewed her case notes, the criital black-and-whites, but Ana could still get the feel She’d been to the scene ined herself as the killer

It was a little before 10:00 PM,on the shoulder of Mission Road, arguing with the young man she was about to h, leaving the air like steaarlic In the woods, cicadas chirred

Ana and the young ed rendezvous, though why the youngfor miles except barbed wire fence, railroad tracks and old roith cactus and chinaberry

The road was an ancient trail connecting the five Spanish round for corpses--isolated and dark, yet easy to get to Ho Mission Road had been in 1732 According to the diary of a Franciscan friar, a Coahuiltecan Indian girl was found strangled in the fields of ed over the centuries

On the night Ana was thinking about, the victilo, six-one, thickset, dressed in khakis and a white linen shirt He wore a platinum Rolex that would still be on his wrist when the police found his body He had shoulder-length blond hair, parted in the hties style He was handsorooant--a natural disdain that ca born rich, well-connected, absolutely untouchable

She and the victi At sorabbed her arernails drew blood He turned away, probably thinking the fight was over He started back to his car--a silver Mercedes convertible just a few yards away

But the fight was not over for her She grasped the murder weapon--a blunt object, shorter than a baseball bat She i the side of the youngbefore her, but she wasn’t satisfied Rage took over

Afterward, she left him there--she made no attempt to hide his body or move his car She would’ve known damn ho the victim’s father hat kind of hell would break loose when the body was found She kneould happen to her if she was ever discovered She sihteen years

Ana could slip into the killer’s skin so easily it frightened her But then, she knew hith, hisfit

But how could sheroom s

A car pulled into the drive--fahts, ten lanced at the hallway closet, where her gun was locked, but he was already co up the front steps

Don’t panic, she told herself It won’t co

Ana had a sudden desire to bolt out the back, run to the neighbors

But no She was in control She’d asked for thisShe had faced down desperate reet him

HE HAD BEEN IDLING A FEW blocks away in a taquería parking lot, getting up his nerve, replaying the arguoddaht in front of her, given her overwhel evidence, and still she refused to believe

He tried to think of an alternative to what he was about to do

There wasn’t one

He loaded the 357 Magnum, put the car into drive

He wasn’t worried about neighbors Ana DeLeon’s house fronted Rosedale Park On either side were vacant lease properties--not unusual for the West Side The only neighbors were the ones in back, an elderly couple across the alley

If things went right, it wouldn’t uello, was a reliably volatile son-of-a-bitch Ralph would start the fight If things rongno He wouldn’t let things go wrong

He pulled into the driveway He could see Ana through the living room

He walked toward the porch, the cold air stinging his eyes The butt of the unfaainst his hipbone