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Kane’s jaw tightens.

He would go back too.

Every one of us would.

“Keep the line open,” I tell Cole. “Do exactly what we say.”

He enters the house.

The front door creaks.

No gunfire follows.

“Stay against the wall,” Kane says. “Clear the first room.”

“Clear.”

“Hallway?”

“Clear.”

“Do you see the blood?”

“Yes.”

“Which direction does it lead?”

“Pantry.”

A soft cry comes through the line.

Cole crosses the kitchen.

“Sheriff’s department. The man who shot at me is gone.”

“No,” the woman whispers. “There were two.”

Cole stops.

So do I.

“Where is the second man?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Deputy,” I say. “Back out now.”

A floorboard creaks.

Not near Cole.

Farther away.

Kane reaches for a weapon that cannot help him from Nevada.

“Behind you,” he says.

Cole turns.