Page 128 of Rangers Last Promise

Doc looks at him.

“I never examined your head.”

“Exactly.”

Wolf shakes his head.

“We're doomed.”

For the first time since Fred Miller's photograph appeared on Doc's phone, I almost believe we might not be.

The old stockyard sits at the end of a cracked county road surrounded by empty pasture.

Three long cattle sheds lean beneath the afternoon sun. Rusted fencing divides the property into pens overgrown with weeds. An abandoned auction barn stands near the center.

Perfect place for an ambush.

Which is probably why Hampton chose it.

Sheriff Tate stops us almost a mile away.

No marked vehicles go farther.

State police approach from the north.

Tate’s deputies cover the south and east.

Wolf and Trigger stay with the western team.

I stay with Sheriff Tate.

I am not happy about it.

Doc stands beside an unmarked SUV while a deputy adjusts the transmitter beneath his shirt.

He's wearing body armor.

That helps.

Not enough.

“You're staring,” Tate says.

“I'm watching.”

“Same thing.”

“I'm a deputy.”

“You're also worried.”

I look at him.

He raises both hands.

“I didn't say it was a bad thing.”

Doc walks toward us.