Excerpt from And West Is West by Ron Childress, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Just as his command comes, a side door opens in the target SUV. Jessica's trigger hand lets two seconds pass and she sees someone hop out of the vehicle, a slight figure who is followed by her twin. Their heat outlines show them to be dressed in burkas. Jessica can even determine that the pair are also wearing niqabs, leaving only a slit for the eyes. Al Yarisi is known to travel with his wives, some being girls not of high school age.

"They're kids!" Jessica hears herself say.

"Screw my eyes," Voigt responds, and then he presses his earpiece against a shout even Jessica can make out. "Fire," Voigt says, almost whispering. "That's the goddamn order out of Langley."

Jessica's stomach turns. She feels a 'but, sir!' rising to her lips.

"Fire," Voigt repeats.

Jessica's hand squeezes the launch switch and the screen hiccoughs as the angel takes wing. In the moment before the camera refocuses she imagines one of the young men in jalabiyas looking up at a shooting star that cuts through the night sky at a strange angle. He will shout a warning in the twenty seconds that remain. Everyone will scatter. Even the invisible man in the SUV will dive out and roll to safety. In her fantasy all this occurs.

But in life it does not.

After a dozen seconds Voigt quietly begins to count down from eight, as if the three of them in the trailer are all supposed to shout 'Surprise!' at zero. When Voigt reaches one the silence is anticlimactic. The SUVs, the armed men, the boys in jalabiyas, and the two figures in burkas are engulfed by a soft, impenetrable halo. The heat of the explosion has blinded the drone's thermal eye. Not until dawn will anyone completely see what Jessica has done. She never will. Strike analysis is above her security classification.

...

Dear Jessica,

Your last letter puts me beside you at your command station. And even up with you in the desert night. But where do I start about all you have written except to say that angel is a strange name for a missile.

Do you remember when I used to call you angel? You might. You were six the last time your mother and I tried to reconcile. From your letters I do not think you have changed much. You could not stand to see me squash an ant. So about your wishing that those men would have seen your angel. Your shooting star. I say that was no misguided dream. It was only your natural impulse not to harm other living creatures. You must keep those feelings alive.

Beyond that I cannot judge what you have done. You accuse yourself of taking two innocent lives. But I can only tell you to think of the people you have stopped who would murder a hundred innocents for their cause. Above all you must remember it is not you alone who fires those angels. It is all of us. This whole country. But we are hiding behind you. You take the heat and we do not get burned. There is plenty of guilt to go around so don't take it all on yourself.

And do not worry about me either. I am heartened by the truth that though I have done many bad things in my life they are not the crime that convicted me. I am no first degree murderer so my appeal and some other possibilities are progressing. In the meantime I read and exercise and work. The lye from my job in the laundry has burned off my cuticles but soon I hope to be shelving books in the library. In the meantime the days here in Seminole City tick by quicker than the nights. And the nights come too fast. Already I see I have just a minute before lights out to finish this letter.

Bless you for coming back into my life. And thank you for the cigarette cash as you call it. But I hope this old habit of mine is not yours as well. My one wish is for you to travel a long and happy road.

Your loving father,

Donald Aldridge

Excerpted from And West Is West by Ron Childress. Copyright © 2015 by Ron Childress. Excerpted by permission of Algonquin Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.