Her fingers brushed his as she accepted it, and her eyes met his in the dim haze. She didn’t need words. She was ready.
He pulled in a breath, braced, then shoved his door wide. The smoke curled in, gritty and bitter in his lungs.
“Crawl out through my side,” he told her, his voice low but firm. “Don’t touch the shoulder on your side. I can see the road here, but I can’t make out the ground over there.”
Laney hesitated only long enough to nod.
“And watch every single step,” Harlan added. “No guessing. Look before you move.”
She gave him that same tight nod, determination etched across her face.
Harlan ducked low, Glock in hand, and slid out first, sweeping the haze with his weapon. The heat from the earlier blasts still rolled off the ground in shimmering waves. He crouched, waited for her, his pulse pounding.
Laney followed him out, moving slow and careful. Together, they started toward the culvert, the air thick with smoke, each step a gamble between survival and the trap waiting for them.
----- ? ----
Chapter Seventeen
----- ? ----
With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Laney fixed her eyes on the ground, forcing herself to match Harlan’s careful pace.
Every step felt like it might be her last. She tried to watch her footing, tried to keep her breathing even, but her mind betrayed her.
The culvert loomed ahead, and with it came the memories she could never escape.
This was where David had been blown apart. She had seen what was left of him pulled from this very spot. The air had been thick with smoke then too, just like now, the sound of explosions echoing in her ears. Her heart clenched. Whoever was behind this wanted to do more than just scare her. They wanted to recreate that day.
Only this time, she was the target.
But who had done this?
Sherry, with her lies and rage? Billy, desperate and dangerous? Or Brannigan, who never stopped looking guilty even when he smiled? Laney hated it, hated the idea of dying here without knowing whose hand had set all of this in motion.
Harlan dropped into the culvert, signaling for her to follow. She slid in after him, grit biting at her palms as she scrambled to cover. Her chest heaved, her mind screaming with the clash of past and present.
They hit the bottom just as another thud echoed through the smoke-filled air. A grenade.
The SUV erupted in a ball of fire behind them, the blast wave shoving through the culvert. Laney threw her arm up to shield her face, her ears ringing as flaming debris rained down where they had been standing only seconds ago.
Laney froze at the next sound she heard. A moan carried through the smoke and dirt, weak but close. She turned her head sharply and spotted movement beyond the edge of the culvert.
Sherry.
The woman staggered, half crawling, half dragging herself toward them. Her face was smeared with blood and grit, her hands still bound in front of her.
“Help me,” Sherry rasped.
“Drop down,” Harlan barked. His Glock never wavered as he motioned to the culvert.
Sherry obeyed, collapsing into the dirt near them. Her breathing was ragged, and her desperation-filled eyes darted to Laney. “I am not the killer.”
Laney’s jaw tightened. “You ran from the sheriff’s office.”
“I panicked.” Sherry coughed, spitting red into the dirt. “Brannigan was going to point the finger at me. He was going to tell Barnes I bought those parts. I knew what it would look like. That it’d tie me to David’s death too.”
Her words tumbled out fast, almost frantic, and maybe some of it was true. But as Laney listened, a cold thought crept in. Sherry might be playing them. Injuries could be faked. Fear could be faked. And every second they spent listening to her might be exactly the distraction the real killer wanted.
