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went home at night.
    But he didn’t care what Milt did in his off-hours. Milt wasn’t the kind of guy Roderick liked spending time with.Milt had six operatives, and every single one of them thought he was a bona fide asshole. What did that say about a guy?
    As his phone continued to jingle, Roderick’s thumb hovered over the red phone symbol that would send the call to voice mail. It was his father again. Why the hell was the old man making an effort now? At thirty, Roderick was no longer a dirt-poor Mexican boy with no prospects and no family beyond a weary mother who’d come into the country illegally when she was barely twenty and cut lettuce in the fields of the selfish jerk who’d impregnated her. Whatever Bruce wanted, it was too late.
    But Milt’s impatience grated on Roderick almost as much as his father’s untimely call, so he answered out of spite. “How did you get my number?”
    â€œWhat the hell!” Milt complained.
    Roderick ignored him.
    â€œI’ve been keeping tabs on you.”
    The question that immediately came to Rod’s tongue was why, but he knew his father’s answer wouldn’t make sense to him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it anyway, so he went with “How?”
    â€œJorge mentions you from time to time.”
    Jorge was Bruce’s overseer. He was also the closest thing Rod had to a grandfather and the only person in Bordertown Rod stayed in contact with. Jorge loved hearing about Rod’s undercover exploits, so Rod humored him by checking in every few months and catching up. The old man had never told him that Bruce had expressed an interest. Maybe he hadn’t; maybe Jorge was attempting to engineer some sort of reunion. It’d be like him. He’d always had a soft heart. Jorge was part of the reason Rod’s mother had never left the ranch despite her difficulties. Sheknew he couldn’t go anywhere else and make the money he made working for Bruce. And she, no doubt, hoped Bruce would eventually “come to his senses” and accept Rod. Mostly, she’d stayed to see her son eventually have more and be more than she could hope to give if she left. “Since when did the two of you become friends?”
    â€œTime has a way of changing things, Rod.”
    â€œAnd some things will never change. So are you going to tell me what you want?”
    â€œTo hear me out. That’s all I ask.”
    Hoping his father was about to lose the ranch and needed a loan or something, Roderick decided to indulge him. To a point. “You’ve got three minutes. Make it fast.”
    â€œI’d like you to come to Bordertown.”
    This made Roderick laugh. “You’re joking, right? I’d sooner go to hell.”
    â€œRod, I think you might be able to help with a situation down here. If half of what Jorge tells me is true, I know you can.”
    The gravity of “a situation” should’ve piqued his interest. It didn’t. “I have no intention of helping you with anything. Ask one of your lazy-ass white sons.”
    Dropping several F-bombs and claiming Rod’s “ass was grass,” Milt stormed out of the conference room, marched to his office and slammed the door. But Rod wasn’t worried about his boss’s reaction. It wasn’t as if he’d be fired. He’d just busted a large child-porn ring in L.A., which was a major coup. Local law enforcement hadn’t been able to accomplish that in more than a year, and he’d done it inside of three months. His stock at Department 6 had never been higher.
    â€œThis isn’t for me,” Bruce said. “This is for her, okay?”
    Roderick gripped the phone tighter. “Who’s her? ”
    â€œYour mother.”
    Now his father had his full attention. “My mother is dead. Partly because she wore herself out before she could reach forty. Partly because you ripped her heart out and stomped