Page 132 of The Ashes of Summer

Like part of her is still standing in that house, waiting for someone to come and drag her out of it.

My hand rests against my thigh, fingers tapping out the same restless rhythm they've been keeping for twenty minutes. I hate this. Hate sitting still. Hate knowing there are women trapped somewhere ahead of us while we crawl along these roads at fifty miles an hour.

Most of all I hate that she's sitting two feet away from me and I still can't shake the feeling that if I look away long enough, somebody will take her again.

It's irrational. I know it's irrational.

Doesn't stop my eyes going back to her every few seconds. Checking. Making sure she's still there. Still breathing.

I shift in the seat and pain rips clean through my shoulder, a piercing burn spreading out across my chest, and I grit my teeth against it.

Tamara told me to rest. Told me I'd lost too much blood already. Told me that if I tear something inside I'll wake up on an operating table.

Tamara can get fucked.

My phone's against my ear, Black talking low on the other end.

"You're sure it's the right place?"

"Yes."

"And Jackson gave it up willingly?"

I glance down at my hand. There's dried blood still trapped under my fingernails. Some of it his. Some of it mine.

"Eventually."

Silence from the other end. Black's known me long enough not to ask the follow-up.

Smart man.

"I've got some guys who are game to join us."

I look out at the darkness beyond the windshield. "Officers?"

"No."

"Good." The word's out of my mouth before I've thought about it, because we're already a long way past police work. We crossed that line so far back I honestly don't know if I'll ever be the sheriff this town needs again.

Black exhales slowly. "They're military. Men I served with."

Summer glances over at me. Listening. Always listening.

"They know what happened to Summer," he says. "They knew Groves. They know what happened to his girl."

Groves.

The name goes between my ribs like something sharpened. I can still see his face. Still hear the desperation in his voice asking a monster to tell him whether his daughter was dead.

He deserved better. Every one of them deserved better.

"They've wanted this operation burned to the ground for years," Black says quietly.

Good. So have I.

The call ends a few minutes later and the silence settles back over the SUV. The roads get rougher the further we go, trees crowding in tighter, and every so often an abandoned industrial building appears out of the dark like a skeleton somebody left to rot. Rusted fencing. Collapsed loading bays. Warehouses that haven't seen legitimate business in thirty years.

Perfect place to hide something.