Deputy…McCoy?
“You little—”
He lunged before she could think, grabbing her.Pain shot through her wrist as his fingers closed around the burns, driving her hard against the wall, nearly knocking the knife from her grip.
She cried out, slapping at him with her free hand, dodging as he tried to pin her.
“Hold still!”he barked.“Goddammit, just—”
Cassie drove her knee upward as hard as she could, the hit landing solidly between his legs and knocking a strangled sound out of him as his grip loosened just enough for her to wrench free.Surging forward on pure instinct, she crashed into him with her full weight, driving the knife into the front of his neck.
McCoy staggered backward with a choking sound, one hand flying to his throat while the other clawed for the service weapon at his hip.
Cassie stumbled back, eyes wide.Blood pumped through McCoy’s fingers in dark, uneven bursts, but he was still fighting for his gun, movements weak and jerky.He dragged it halfway from the holster before his knees buckled beneath him.
She hadn’t meant to—
She just wanted him off her—
Oh god, oh god…
“Hey, McCoy—what’s the holdup?”
Cassie’s head snapped toward the new voice, then back to McCoy, her gaze dropping to the gun at his hip.She scrambled for it; McCoy lunged weakly, his hand catching her arm before the effort pitched him onto his side.Tearing the weapon free, she stumbled back to her feet just as the door swung inward—and came face to face with Ollie Caldwell.
For a second, it didn’t make sense.
Ollie filled the doorway in plain clothes, his expression shifting from irritation to confusion to something cold and alert as he took in McCoy choking beside her.
And then it did.
Cassie raised the gun with both hands and aimed it straight at his chest.
“Where the fuck is Maya?”
The man held up in front of Nash couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but he looked twice that.Teeth missing.Hollow-cheeked and sickly, blood dripping down his chin where Nash had split his lip open.
Boone and Snake had him pinned between them, one on each arm, holding him upright when his legs kept trying to give out.
“Stop hurtin’ him—please stop!”A young woman huddled in a nearby corner kept shrieking, freshly picked scabs covering her face and arms.
Nash couldn’t have cared less about the woman, about the guy, about the meth they were cooking and smoking—about anything other than finding Cassie.He hadn’t slept, hadn’t stopped moving since the night before.Finding Cassie’s car at the rail yard—and no Cassie—had been more than enough to tell him she’d gone looking for Maya and run straight into trouble.
So he pushed further out—or in, depending how you looked at it.Into places nobody talked about unless you forced them to.Onto back roads that narrowed to dirt and then to nothing.Into all the places people went to disappear around here.
It took time.It took pressure.It took knocking on doors that didn’t open until you made them—and shaking shit up that didn’t especially like being stirred.
And even then, Maya didn’t turn up.
Not Maya.
Not Cassie.
What they got instead was a piss-poor lead—the name Kim—a girl who apparently ran with Maya.
Nash split the search again, sending men to every hole in the hills, every half-rotted, burned-out hovel, every dealer hangout and trap house anyone had ever whispered about.Anywhere someone like Kim might have ended up if she was looking to score—or sleep off a bender.
It took the better part of the morning, but they finally found her in a trailer park two towns over.Not even a park anymore—just a scatter of sagging units in varied stages of disrepair.
