"NOW," she said, all pretense of drunk gone from her voice.
They moved with the crowd toward the exit. Not running. Not obvious. Just two more people evacuating because there was a vehicle burning in the parking lot and maybe the whole place was about to go up.
Outside, flames consumed one of the jacked-up diesel pickups.
People scattered. Some ran toward the fire to help. Others ran away from potential explosion. Someone was on a phone with emergency services.
Wade materialized from the shadows near the tree line. "Go," he said, the single word carrying complete understanding of the situation.
Gabe started toward his SUV, but Cara's hand tightened on his.
"There," she said, looking past the chaos.
Gabe followed her gaze.
The bartender sidled along the edge of the building, toward the darkness behind the tavern.
Not the behavior of someone evacuating. The behavior of someone fleeing.
"She knows something," Cara said.
Gabe made the decision in a split second. The bartender had watched him since he crossed the threshold. Had tensed when he'd asked his questions.
She knew something about his brother. The thought hit hard and clear.
"Follow her," he said.
They ran.
Behind them, the tavern descended further into chaos. Ahead, the bartender's figure disappeared into dark trees.
And somewhere in those woods, answers waited about where David had gone and what had happened three days ago when he'd walked back into danger.
Gabe's heart pounded as they hit the tree line. The forest swallowed them in darkness. Somewhere ahead, branches cracked as the bartender fled.
They gave chase.
31
Cara's lungsburned as she crashed through underbrush, the light from the fire fading the farther they dove into the thick woods. Branches whipped across her face. Roots grabbed at her feet. The forest behind The Rusty Anchor was dense and wild, untouched by anything resembling a trail.
Ahead, the bartender ran like someone who knew her way. Quick turns around trees. Confident footfalls that found solid ground while Cara stumbled over hidden obstacles.
Gabe moved easily beside her. His footsteps found purchase where hers slipped. But even he was struggling to keep pace with a woman running on home territory and pure fear.
"Stop!" Gabe shouted. "FBI! I just want to talk!"
The bartender didn't slow.
Cara's heart hammered against her ribs. Adrenaline from the con was still flooding her system, mixing with the physical exertion making her whole body vibrate.
The bartender broke right, heading for what looked like a small clearing where moonlight penetrated the canopy. Gabeangled to cut her off, his longer stride finally making up ground.
They cornered her near a fallen log, both approaching from different angles so she couldn't bolt without running straight into one of them.
The woman stopped, chest heaving, hands up in surrender. "Don't hurt me." Her voice shook. "I didn't do anything wrong."
Up close, Cara could see her more clearly. Mid-forties, tired eyes, the weathered hands of someone who'd worked hard jobs for years. She wore jeans and a flannel shirt under her bartender's apron. No makeup. Hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
