“There’s a term we use in the west,  the genuine article , and those words fit Reavis Wortham to a Texas T.” — Craig Johnson   “If you look for authenticity in your books, you’ll swoon over Reavis Wortham. He’s Texas true.” — C. J. Box   “Think: Elmore Leonard meets James Lee Burke.” — Jeffery Deaver   Judge. Jury. Executioner. One man is taking the law into his own hands. His targets are criminals who slipped through the justice system. From California to Texas, this relentless avenger hunts down the unpunished and sentences them to death.   But now he’s on Sonny Hawke’s turf. A Texas Ranger committed to his job, Hawke will not abide vigilante justice—especially when innocents are also in the line of fire. The trail of bodies stretches across the Lone Star State to the most savage clan East Texas has ever seen. And Hawke is the only one who can stop them . . .   “Wortham knows how to ratchet tension with pitch-perfect West-Texas flavor.” — Lone Star Literary Life Reavis Z. Wortham launched his acclaimed Sonny Hawke thriller series with Hawke’s Prey and followed up with Hawke’s War . He is also the award-winning author of the Red River Mystery series, including Unraveled , The Right Side of Wrong , Vengeance is Mine , Dark Places , Burrows , and The Rock Hole (winner of the Benjamin Franklin Award). He is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, the Writers’ League of Texas, the International Association of Crime Writers, Western Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers. Each week Reavis pens a self-syndicated weekly outdoor column for numerous Texas newspapers, writing on everything from fishing to deer hunting. He lives in northeast Texas with his wife. Please visit him on Facebook or at his website: reaviszwortham.com. Hawke's Target A Sonny Hawke Thriller By Reavis Z. Wortham KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2019 Wortham and Wortham, LLC All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7860-4180-0 CHAPTER 1 Dressed head to toe in Mossy Oak Brush camouflage, Alonzo Wadler settled onto the ground in the Coconino National Forest outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. Virtually invisible, he sat perfectly still with his back against a tall ponderosa pine, a position allowing a 180-degree view of the open forest. As had become his recent habit when he was alone, Alonzo's mind went to his wife, Betty. They'd met in high school back in Gunn, Texas. There wasn't much to do in the tiny community tucked into the Southeast Texas piney woods back in the 1970s, only spitting distance of Louisiana, but their interests were virtually the same and they were inseparable. Once he graduated, they reluctantly moved into the family business for a steady income. He smiled at the memory of her sweet smile and auburn hair. The crack of a limb an hour later caused his heart to pound so loud he expected it to be heard by anything with ears. He tensed and willed his nerves to calm. Index finger along the outside of the rifle's trigger guard, only his eyes moved to scan the landscape. Several deep breaths later, a mature doe wandered into view, just off the wooded ridge stretching across his field of vision. The hunter wasn't happy with the mule deer's appearance, especially when she stopped and tested the air with her black nose. Not liking what she smelled, she gazed across a downed tree laying between them and seemed to meet his eyes. Hearing a slight noise, her head swiveled toward the opposite direction. Alonzo took that moment to rest his left elbow on a bent knee and snug the .270's stock against his shoulder. He placed the Simmons' Aetec crosshairs an inch above her back. She turned back and stomped her delicate hoof, hoping to startle whatever it was that worried her. She stomped again and watched. Go on, mama. An experienced hunter since boyhood, he knew better than to move. Motion gives predators away. They know this and use it to their advantage when they're hunting. The now-familiar pain in his stomach broke his concentration. It was increasing in frequency and duration, but this time seemed to be nothing more than common acid indigestion. He wanted one of the pills in his pocket, but his reason for being there was too important, and he toughed it out. The deer's soft brown eyes fixed on his pine tree, knowing something was there, watching. She stomped once again, and finally decided to trust her instincts. Stepping quickly off the trail, she disappeared into the forest with a flick of her tail. A second, younger doe trotted into view and was gone. The man sighed. He'd been so focused on the first muley that he hadn't seen the second. His dad, Marshall, spoke from the past, his deep East Texas accent strong in Alonzo's memory. "You weren't aware. Even if you're not looking directly at something, you'll catch it out of the corners of your eyes. It could be a bird flitting through the trees, or a rabbit hopping through the underbrush. "When you see it, stay still. Don't turn