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My instinct is to rush forward, to offer assistance, but Theresa’s grip on my arm holds me back. All I can do is watch in shock as the life seeps from his wide-open eyes.

By the time I look up, the blade in the younger man’s hand is replaced by the gun, once again aimed at us.

But it’s the satisfied grin on the guy’s face that terrifies me more.

Chapter 26

Rick

* * *

“…access path to a field bordering the property line between the farm and the quarry. The field’s been fallow for a few years.”

I’m still bent over, trying to catch my breath with the radio pressed against my ear. I’m probably halfway up to the quarry, and the smoke only seems to get thicker. I just cleared the curve in the road, now heading in a more northerly direction. Tessa did say earlier the fire appeared to be moving northeast, so I could actually be moving closer to it.

“Is it passable?”

“Partway. I sent deputy Torres up there, she was able to drive her cruiser to the south end of the field by a partially collapsed barn. You’d have to cross that field from the edge of the quarry to get to the trail though. And don’t wait too long, the fire department is working hard to keep the fire contained, but these damn winds aren’t letting up. Oh, one more thing,” Tessa adds. “Torres poked around the barn and found an old pickup underneath a dirty tarp, but there was a fuel receipt dated a couple of days ago visible on the dashboard.”

That immediately gets my attention. “Did you check with Levy?”

“Not his. He doesn’t know anything about it. Plates come back to Ben Rogers, who’s been dead for a while.”

Ben Rogers, the violent alcoholic who lived with his wife on the small plot of land bordering Dana’s property. The same plot HDLink reportedly bought as well. My concern for Dana and my mother is suddenly amplified.

There are no coincidences.

“I’ve gotta go. Tell Torres to stay where she is and keep her eyes open. That pickup could be trouble.”

I don’t even wait for my partner’s 10-4, shove the radio in my back pocket, and throw it in high gear as I resume my path to the quarry. Pretty soon, I’m feeling every single one of my forty-three fucking years, as my lungs suck in smoke and my legs get heavy with lactic acid due to the lack of oxygen.

At the steel gates I need to pause for a moment, squinting my eyes against the thick smoke as I scan what I can see of the quarry. I see Dana’s and my mother’s vehicles parked alongside the large warehouse, where we found the large pool of Doug Severin’s blood, and I wonder if they are holing up in there.

I start walking in that direction, when I catch sight of movement in my peripheral vision. Swinging my head around, I pull my weapon and watch the back of someone in a plaid jacket disappearing behind the smaller building to my left.

Next, my eyes catch on the crumpled human form on the ground, and my heart seizes. It takes me a moment to realize it’s neither Dana nor my mother, but whomever it is isn’t moving. At all.

Even though the sound of the wildfire will likely drown out any noise, I move cautiously on the loose gravel, slowly easing closer to the building where I press my back against the brick side. I pause, listening for a moment, before edging my way to the far end. When I dart a glance at the person lying on the ground, I recognize Don Merrick, his throat slit and dead eyes staring up. Then, taking a deep breath in, I sneak a look around the corner.

The guy is about ten feet from me, a gun trained on Dana and my mother. The women are trying to back away toward a junk pile at the edge of the trees, through which the red glow of the fire is becoming visible. The sound of the fire drowns out any noise.

He doesn’t see me, his back is to me. Unfortunately, my mother does and her eyes grow wide, alerting the guy who swings around and gets a shot off before I have a chance to duck back behind cover. Thankfully, his aim is off, and it’s just a shard of brick cutting my cheekbone as his shot hits the corner of the building.

Without giving him a chance to regroup, I immediately dart back out, yelling, “Sheriff’s Department, drop your weapon!”

But this time I’m crouching low, my weapon leading the way. Still, a second shot whips right over my head, as the guy grabs for Dana, pulling her in front of him like a goddamn shield.

Rage and recognition hit at the same time, but I curb the first and use the second. “Not a smart move, Withers! Drop your damn gun and let her go. There is no way out; you have half a dozen weapons aimed at you. You’re nothing but a ball boy in the major leagues, Cody, are you really willing to sacrifice your life for someone who’d replace you in less than a heartbeat?”

“Fuck you,” he yells back, holding Dana with an arm around her neck, while he waves the gun in his other hand in my direction.

The next moment I watch his arms drop, releasing Dana, as he crumples to the ground. That’s when I catch sight of my mother standing over him, a piece of metal lifted high over her head.

“Jesus, Ma, back off!” I yell, as I rush toward them, my weapon trained on Withers.

He looks to be out cold and I quickly disarm him. In addition to the gun, I confiscate a bloodied knife I find in a sheath fixed to his belt.

Only then do I turn to Dana.