Read Online Hard Return by J. Carson Black - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. Carson Black
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dry air, the desert, the aching sky. Jolie herself was born western, and yet the people in Tejar didn’t see her that way.
But Tejar wasn’t like Hatch, New Mexico, where she’d spent the early part of her childhood. In Hatch there were shady cottonwoods and a timelessness that moved along with the Rio Grande. Big Mexican families, roadside vegetable stands, the smell of roasted chilies in the black iron barrel outside the grocery mart.
Hatch was cheerful.
In Tejar, nearly everyone was combat ready and anxious to get started. Jolie never had to go farther than the front step of the post office or the sit-down counter at the diner to see it brewing. Discontent rode a hair trigger and there were many times when her fingers itched to close around the grip of her SIG Sauer, just to make herself feel better.
Time to get going. Jolie Burke started the coffee, showered, and dressed in her deputy’s uniform. Strapped on her duty belt as she walked to the refrigerator, her mind already on the job.
Sometimes, late at night when the wind blew off the bajada , Jolie imagined she could hear the shouts of marital discord, the screams of terrified children, the last gasp of an illegal dying in the New Mexican desert. All these voices mingled together, entreating her to intervene.
The belief that she could ride in like the cavalry and take every hill had been ingrained deeply inside her. But now she knew that the idea of one person saving the world was a fantasy.
Now she knew you just had to keep on going, making what small differences you could, and do the job assigned you. Her dad had a saying that he’d learned at his mother’s knee—it came from a hymn.
“Brighten the corner where you are.”
Jolie took it to heart.
Jolie ate her usual breakfast of wheat toast and an egg, scrambled, with hot sauce made from Hatch chilies.
Her uniform pressed, her boots shined, her service weapon cleaned, Jolie stepped off the low porch of the renovated bunkhouse she rented from the sheriff’s cousin. The one good thing about the ramshackle place was the enormous cottonwood tree that spread its shade over the yard—she’d rented this place specifically because of the cottonwood tree. Because it reminded her of Hatch.
The morning was already hot. The heat lay on her hair, even though it was coiled into a neat bun, and slanted down past the rim of her dark glasses and into her eyes.
She drove the three blocks to the sheriff’s office, got the daily briefing from overnight (petty crimes, one domestic, and ongoing surveillance on a suspected meth house) and got rolling.
Tejar was a town of twelve thousand people. The main employer was the private prison that had gone up two years ago. It had attracted one new development on the outskirts of town, but in Jolie’s opinion, the development, Shade Tree Village, was headed for failure. Tejar was a place where the recession had hit hard. Only the toughest and meanest were able to hang on—and they didn’t like to share.
Which led to a lot of adventures.
Sometimes Jolie wondered what was wrong with her that she’d choose such an antisocial kind of town. A town that came from nowhere and was only going to go downhill from there.
The truth was, Jolie only came here because Tejar was in New Mexico and there was a job opening.
Sometimes she wondered who she was. She’d turned down three solid-if-not-spectacular offers: from the BATF, the US Treasury Department—specifically the Secret Service—and the FDLE.
All she’d wanted to do after Florida was go back to her roots. After the whirlwind of a high-profile trial and over-the-top television, Internet, and print coverage, Jolie only wanted to go home.
She wanted quiet.
She wanted anonymity—and she had it.
Boy, did she have it.
She drove to the outskirts of town, looking for trouble. From where she was, the town was in a shallow bowl of land, and it looked like a circuit board that had been cracked in a few places, mostly by the
But Tejar wasn’t like Hatch, New Mexico, where she’d spent the early part of her childhood. In Hatch there were shady cottonwoods and a timelessness that moved along with the Rio Grande. Big Mexican families, roadside vegetable stands, the smell of roasted chilies in the black iron barrel outside the grocery mart.
Hatch was cheerful.
In Tejar, nearly everyone was combat ready and anxious to get started. Jolie never had to go farther than the front step of the post office or the sit-down counter at the diner to see it brewing. Discontent rode a hair trigger and there were many times when her fingers itched to close around the grip of her SIG Sauer, just to make herself feel better.
Time to get going. Jolie Burke started the coffee, showered, and dressed in her deputy’s uniform. Strapped on her duty belt as she walked to the refrigerator, her mind already on the job.
Sometimes, late at night when the wind blew off the bajada , Jolie imagined she could hear the shouts of marital discord, the screams of terrified children, the last gasp of an illegal dying in the New Mexican desert. All these voices mingled together, entreating her to intervene.
The belief that she could ride in like the cavalry and take every hill had been ingrained deeply inside her. But now she knew that the idea of one person saving the world was a fantasy.
Now she knew you just had to keep on going, making what small differences you could, and do the job assigned you. Her dad had a saying that he’d learned at his mother’s knee—it came from a hymn.
“Brighten the corner where you are.”
Jolie took it to heart.
Jolie ate her usual breakfast of wheat toast and an egg, scrambled, with hot sauce made from Hatch chilies.
Her uniform pressed, her boots shined, her service weapon cleaned, Jolie stepped off the low porch of the renovated bunkhouse she rented from the sheriff’s cousin. The one good thing about the ramshackle place was the enormous cottonwood tree that spread its shade over the yard—she’d rented this place specifically because of the cottonwood tree. Because it reminded her of Hatch.
The morning was already hot. The heat lay on her hair, even though it was coiled into a neat bun, and slanted down past the rim of her dark glasses and into her eyes.
She drove the three blocks to the sheriff’s office, got the daily briefing from overnight (petty crimes, one domestic, and ongoing surveillance on a suspected meth house) and got rolling.
Tejar was a town of twelve thousand people. The main employer was the private prison that had gone up two years ago. It had attracted one new development on the outskirts of town, but in Jolie’s opinion, the development, Shade Tree Village, was headed for failure. Tejar was a place where the recession had hit hard. Only the toughest and meanest were able to hang on—and they didn’t like to share.
Which led to a lot of adventures.
Sometimes Jolie wondered what was wrong with her that she’d choose such an antisocial kind of town. A town that came from nowhere and was only going to go downhill from there.
The truth was, Jolie only came here because Tejar was in New Mexico and there was a job opening.
Sometimes she wondered who she was. She’d turned down three solid-if-not-spectacular offers: from the BATF, the US Treasury Department—specifically the Secret Service—and the FDLE.
All she’d wanted to do after Florida was go back to her roots. After the whirlwind of a high-profile trial and over-the-top television, Internet, and print coverage, Jolie only wanted to go home.
She wanted quiet.
She wanted anonymity—and she had it.
Boy, did she have it.
She drove to the outskirts of town, looking for trouble. From where she was, the town was in a shallow bowl of land, and it looked like a circuit board that had been cracked in a few places, mostly by the
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