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So why was she outside the home of Benny Carter's known associate?
She could still feel Benny's gaze on her, heavy with accusation and something akin to pity. His next words had struck like a viper, swift and laden with venom.
"Double-crossed the wrong people, your parents did. No one betrays the outfit."
The echo of that claim settled into the hollows of her resolve, the weight of her heritage a constant companion. They were a part of her, those two enigmas—her beginning and the unanswered question that shaped her every move.
"Where are you, mom and dad?" she thought, her gaze lifting from the phone to survey the quiet street once more.
A car rattled by, its exhaust coughing out a desolate note that seemed to underscore the solitude of her vigil. Rachel slipped the phone into her jacket pocket, the profile of Pablo Gerhardt burned into her retinas.
"Answers," she vowed, the word a silent oath carried away on the breeze.
The sun had begun its slow ascent, painting the Texas sky with streaks of crimson and gold. Pablo Gerhardt's silhouette emerged from behind the starched curtains of his suburban fortress, a caricature of normalcy. Rachel tucked herself behind the wheel of her unassuming sedan parked down the street, her eyes narrowed in focus.
She watched Pablo lock his door and saunter along the sidewalk, blissfully unaware of the huntress in his wake. The engine purred softly as she trailed him, keeping a safe distance. The streets were quiet now; an orchestra of cicadas filled the air, their chorus rising and falling with the rhythm of the neighborhood.
Pablo turned a corner, and Rachel followed suit, the leather grip of the steering wheel cool under her palms. Her mind replayed Benny Carter's words, each syllable fueling her determination.
A bead of sweat traced the line of her jaw, not from heat but from the sheer intensity of the moment. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. Did she always look so solemn?
Smiles were rare. She felt far more comfortable behind a bow or a rifle scope rather than a steering wheel. And her dark hair trailed long the side of her face with turquoise beads woven into the locks.
She parked again, this time mere blocks away from where Pablo strutted like a man who owned the world. Rachel slipped out of the car, her movements fluid and silent, a ghost haunting the edges of Pablo's reality. She had tracked far more attentive animals before.
She'd worked as a big game hunter for the state long before joining the rangers.
And now, she moved seamlessly in the shadows of the buildings.
An alley loomed ahead, its mouth agape, ready to swallow the sins of the city. As Pablo neared, an old, disheveled figure came into view, slumped against the decaying brick wall. The homeless man stretched out a trembling hand, his cup of meager coins clinking.
"Hey, mister, spare some change?" His voice was gravel-scraped and weary.
"Change?" Pablo scoffed. "You people never change."
He reached down, his fingers dancing mockingly over the coins, plucking them from the man's cup with a derisive chuckle. The metal sang its protest, and the homeless man's eyes widened, a silent plea etched into his weather-beaten face.
"Thank you for your generous donation," Pablo jeered, jingling the stolen bounty.
"Stop." The word was a gunshot in Rachel's mind, but she held back, muscles coiled. She memorized every detail—the way Pablo's eyes glinted with malice, the snide tilt of his head.
Pablo's shadow stretched long and distorted against the alley's grimy walls as he swaggered away, oblivious to the storm brewing in his wake. Rachel's footsteps were silent, a ghost drifting through the urban decay. Her hand brushed the cool grip of the concealed firearm at her hip—an old friend's whisper against her palm—but she didn't draw it. Not yet.
She paused to drop a twenty-note in the man's cup. He stared at her, gratitude in his eyes, then she slipped past him into the alley, holding a finger to her lips.
The man nodded quickly, and--with the sixth sense of someone who lived on the streets, spotting trouble--he rolled up a cardboard mat and hastened away.
She entered the alley Pablo was taking as a shortcut as he countered the change he'd stolen.
"Hey!" The sharpness of her voice ricocheted off brick and dumpster, a sudden strike that spun Pablo around. His face contorted with surprise.
She darted forward, stepping past a large dumpster, the stench only further fueling her disdain for the city.
Rachel lunged. Fingers grasped fabric, yanking him back. His weight shifted, imbalance found, and gravity became her ally. He hit the ground with a grunt, dust billowing around them. She was on him in an instant, knees pinning him to concrete, hands securing his flailing limbs.
"Get off me!" Pablo spat, bucking beneath her.
"Stay down," she hissed, the command etched in steel. He struggled, but her training anchored her to him—a relentless force.
