“Stay sharp,” Harlan muttered, his weapon up now, eyes scanning.
Laney’s gaze locked on the shadow by the tape. She opened her door and stepped out, boots crunching gravel. The morning air was cool, sharp against her skin, but her pulse beat fast and hot.
They advanced in careful sync, weapons raised, her shoulder brushing Harlan’s as they closed the gap. And she soon saw something.
A body.
It was a woman.
It was Sherry.
Blood stained her shirt, the dark patch spreading across her side. Her face was pale beneath the dirt, her eyes closed.
She wasn’t moving.
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Chapter Sixteen
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Harlan grabbed his phone, his voice clipped as he called dispatch. “We need an ambulance at the culvert on County Road 9. Possible injured victim. Patch the sheriff through so I can talk to him.”
While he waited for Barnes to come on the line, he shifted his grip on his weapon, his eyes never leaving Sherry’s motionless body.
Beside him, Laney reached for the door handle. “I should check her—”
He caught her arm as fast as he could. “No.” His tone came out sharper than he meant, but he didn’t let go. “This could be a trap.”
Laney’s mouth pressed into a tight line, frustration sparking in her eyes. “She’s probably bleeding out, Harlan. We can’t just sit here.”
His gut twisted because she was right. Every instinct told him to go secure the scene, render aid, but his training was louder than his gut instincts. Sherry wasn’t just any victim though. She was their top suspect, and she was smart enough to know how to bait them.
“She could have planted IEDs under that culvert,” he said. “Or wired herself to take us with her if we get close.”
Laney exhaled hard and leaned back against the seat, gripping her gun like it could anchor her. The muscles in her jaw ticked as she fought herself, torn between compassion and caution. He was just as torn.
The only bright spot, the one thing that loosened the vise around his chest, was the thought that if Sherry was bleeding out in front of them, she wasn’t on her way to the ranch. Evie was safe.
At least from her anyway.
Still, Harlan’s nerves hummed as he watched the dirt and weeds around Sherry, waiting for a telltale wire glint or unnatural shift in the ground. Waiting for something to prove his worst suspicion right.
Sheriff Barnes’s voice came across the line, rough and strained. “What do you have, Creed?”
Harlan kept his eyes locked on Sherry’s body, scanning the culvert, the ditch, the tree line beyond. “Sherry Dalton is down. She’s about twenty yards off the road near the culvert, and she appears to be unresponsive and bleeding.”
There was a hard curse on the other end, followed by a sharp exhale. “Hell. I can’t get out there right now. I’ve got injuries stacked from the truck explosion, and the fire spread. The whole town’s in chaos.” The sheriff’s voice dropped lower. “Call your people. Get Crossfire Ops moving. I’ll get county units headed that way, but it’ll take at least thirty minutes.”
Harlan’s stomach clenched. Thirty minutes was an eternity if Sherry was dying. Or if Billy or Brannigan was waiting to make their move.
“Copy that,” Harlan said, and he ended the call.
He immediately punched in Noah’s number, keeping his phone pressed to his ear while his gaze swept the culvert again. Every twitch of the grass looked like a trip wire.
Laney leaned forward in her seat, her breath tight and fast. “What if she’s alive and losing blood? Harlan, we don’t have thirty minutes.”
He squeezed her thigh, grounding her and himself. “I know.” His eyes never left Sherry. He wouldn’t let Laney out there until he was damn sure it wasn’t a trap.
