And now this.
Her eyes lifted from the phone to Harlan’s face, and she swallowed hard. “You think the message is real?”
“I don’t know. I just got here.” His gaze swept the roadside, sharp and assessing, his hand resting on the butt of his weapon.
Laney’s pulse ticked higher. She mirrored his movement, scanning the tree line and the drainage ditch, every shadow a possible threat.
“Is this the time you come through here every morning?” he asked.
“Yes. My shift starts at eight. I’ve got half an hour.”
His eyes flicked to her car. “Evie’s not with you, is she?”
A jolt of panic shot through her, so fast it stole her breath. “No,” she said quickly. “She’s at home with my mom.”
Her heart was still hammering, the image already lodged in her mind—her four-year-old in the back seat, giggling at something on her tablet, while danger waited in the ditch.
Evie. The child David never got to meet, born two months after he’d been killed.
Even after all this time, thinking about his death still felt like being slammed in the chest. The thought of her little girl standing anywhere on this stretch of road sent a cold shiver all the way to her bones.
Harlan stepped away from her, scanning the ditch, the shoulder of the road, and then the tree line beyond. His movements were controlled, deliberate. Very Crossfire Ops.
Laney followed him but stopped when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, the screen lighting her face, and she saw the same message from an unknown number.
If you want to know who killed David, come here.
“What the heck is going on?” she murmured.
The fourth anniversary of David’s death was only days away. Was this some kind of sick joke? A cruel stunt by someone who knew exactly how to hit where it hurt most?
As a cop, she’d made her share of enemies. That came with the badge. But this felt different. This felt personal in a way she didn’t want to think about.
They kept moving, scanning as they went, their boots crunching on gravel and dirt. Each step toward the culvert tightened the knot in her chest. Her heartbeat kicked faster. Her breaths came shorter.
By the time they reached the spot, her hands had gone cold. For a moment she swore she could smell blood, coppery and sharp, but she knew that was only a memory trying to claw its way back.
Harlan crouched near the edge of the culvert. “Here,” he said, pushing aside a tangle of brush.
A length of metal pipe lay half-buried in the dirt, frayed wires spilling from one end. Laney froze. The shape, the wiring, even the dull color of the casing.
It was all the same.
Her pulse roared in her ears as Harlan straightened and set a steady hand on her arm, guiding her a few steps back. He pulled out his phone, his voice clipped as he called in the bomb squad.
When Harlan finished the call, he maneuvered her farther from the culvert and toward his truck. He opened the passenger door and motioned for her to sit.
Laney knew she didn’t look steady, and she wasn’t. Right now, she was the opposite of steady. But he didn’t say a word about it. He simply did his Harlan thing, taking charge and making sure she was safe.
It was what he had promised David he would do.
She had been there to hear it. David’s dying breath had been a plea for Harlan to protect her and Evie. Harlan had sworn he would.
He reached into the center compartment between the seats, pulled out a cold bottle of water and handed it to her. She twisted the cap and drank, focusing on the cool rush as it slid down her throat, trying to steady herself.
The inside of the truck was exactly what she expected from Harlan. It was tidy, organized, and prepared for anything. A tactical bag rested behind the driver’s seat, a rifle case was strapped to the floor, and a rugged tablet was mounted on the dash. The console was neatly arranged with flashlights, extra magazines, and a coiled headset cord. This was not just a truck. It was a mobile base for Crossfire Ops.
“Call for backup,” Harlan instructed.
