She moved toward the source of the explosions, her dad close behind. They kept to the trees, pausing frequently to listen for anyone nearby. Two more explosions went off before they reached the edge of a large rock-lined pit. Concealed in the bushes on the edge of the pit, they looked across toward a group of people almost directly opposite.
“It looks like an old quarry,” George whispered.
“It looks like a good place to practice launching bombs.” She winced as another explosion raised a cloud of dust at the bottom of the pit. When the smoke cleared, she could make out painted X’s on several rocks at the bottom of the quarry. One man in the group across from them appeared to be instructing the others, waving his arms and gesturing into the quarry. “We need to get closer,” she said.
They worked their way around the edge of the quarry, staying out of sight of those on the other side. Yet another explosion shook the air.
“They’re wasting a lot of ammo,” her father said.
“According to Connor, ninety-six cast boosters were stolen,” she said. “And they only need a few to do a lot of damage. They can afford to waste some practicing.” She halted when they were close enough to hear the people on the edge of the quarry.
“It’s not enough to hurl the bomb,” said the instructor, a gray-bearded man with a vaguely British accent. “The more accurate you are, the more damage you’ll do. And the less likely youyourself will get hurt.” He stepped to one side. “Nate, I want you to try again. Remember your release point and use your wrist.”
The man from the Trail’s End—the one who had confronted Connor the first night and been with Jace the second night—stepped up. He raised his leg in a pitcher’s windup, then hurled something into the quarry.
Stacy ducked her head and covered her ears as the explosion shook the air. The crowd around Nate cheered.
“Excellent,” the instructor said. “Do that Friday, and we’ll all be celebrating.”
The day after tomorrow. The Friday of Martin Luther King weekend. Did this mean Shane and his fellow protestors weren’t going to wait until Monday’s rally to make a move?
“We need to get into the house and see if we can find some indication of their target,” Stacy whispered to her father.
“I can take care of that.” He patted her shoulder. “I’ll create a distraction while you search.”
“Dad, no.”
But he had already stood and was striding toward the group at the canyon rim. The others looked up at his approach.
“Hello!” George called and raised both arms. “I was told to report here to lend a hand.”
“Who are you?” the instructor demanded.
“I’m George.” He extended his hand, but the instructor ignored him. “Shane told me to come out here and see if I could help.” George nodded toward the box at Nate’s feet. “I see you’re using the Trojan cast boosters. I used many of those in my mining days.”
“You’re familiar with these?” the instructor asked.
“Of course.” George plucked a cylinder from the box. “Portable but powerful. Just the thing for shaking things up a bit.”
The others closed in around George, but Stacy detected no danger. She blew out a shaky breath and retreated from thequarry rim. Clearly, her father hadn’t lost any of his courage—some said recklessness—since retiring.
She set out toward the ranch house. She didn’t see anyone on her way and detected no signs of recent activity. The house itself looked empty. After looking in windows and listening for noise from anyone inside, she tried the back door. It was locked, but a credit card easily defeated the simple lock. Apparently, Shane wasn’t too concerned about security.
Inside, the kitchen was cluttered with the remains of breakfast: the dregs of coffee, cold in the cup. Toast crumbs in the softened butter, and a pan with the remains of eggs in the sink. The air was chilly and silent as a tomb.
The next room contained a long dining table filling most of the space. The tabletop was covered in stacks of books and papers. She glanced through old farm journals, ranch supply catalogs and two gift boxes containing shirts, the Christmas wrapping still clinging to them. No notebooks or diaries or anything to indicate Shane’s plans for tomorrow.
She moved into the empty living room, then to a narrow flight of stairs. Before ascending, she drew her Glock and held it at her side. Then she started up.
Connor had forgottento bring food from home for his lunch, so when he finally had a moment to spare, he hit up the grill below Lift Four. He collected his food and carried it to a table, then checked his phone. Stacy hadn’t responded to his previous text. Which probably meant she was busy.
Or in trouble, unable to reach her phone.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on the food. He was eating his first spoonful of chili when Nina arrived with a tray.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Have a seat.” He moved his helmet out of the way, and she slid in across from him.
