Page 24 of The Ashes of Summer

"Because if I only get one shot at this..." I swallow hard enough to hurt. "...I can't waste it."

He nods once.

"I've got three options," I say, more to myself than to him. "Only one gets me to her fast enough."

I turn toward my office before Black has a chance to answer, my mind already working through routes, timings, contingencies. Every decision carries its own risk. Every mistake ends with Summer paying for it.

"Understood, Sheriff. We'll be ready to follow your orders." I barely hear him.

The door closes behind me with a dull click, shutting out the noise of the station. For the first time since this started, there's nothing but silence and the board waiting on the wall.

I force myself to stop moving. Pacing won't find her. Anger won't find her. Tearing this state apart mile by mile won't find her. The only thing that will is making the right decision before Jackson Moore makes his next move.

I draw a slow breath and look back at the map.

Think.

My grip tightens around my phone.

Tamara.

I don't want to call her. I don't want to put something this important in anyone else's hands, let alone hers. But I run through every name I know anyway, turning each one over before discarding it just as quickly. They'd ask questions. They'd want explanations. They'd tell me to wait.

Tamara won't.

She knows when not to look too closely. Knows there are questions that are better left unanswered if you want to keep sleeping at night. More importantly, she doesn't trade in favors. She doesn't keep score. If she helps me, it'll be because she chose to, not because she's expecting to collect on it six months from now.

That's the kind of person you want in a situation like this.

I unlock my phone and hit her contact.

She answers on the third ring.

"Sheriff."

"Man brought in two days ago," I say, already moving toward my desk. "Came in under Benedict Harrow. John Doe. ICU."

A pause. Paper shifting. Keys tapping.

"Yeah, I've got him. What's this about?"

"What's his condition?" No explanation. No context. She doesn't need either.

I hear paper shifting before the familiar clatter of keys fills the line, followed by the quiet hum of a hospital carrying on around her.

"They've stepped him down from critical," she says. "They're weaning him off the sedation now. It could take a few hours, it could take longer, but I'd expect him to wake within the next twenty-four hours."

Twenty-four hours.

The number settles in my chest like a brick. Twenty-four hours for Jackson to move.Twenty-four hours for memories to fade, complications to set in, for the only man who might know where Summer is to stay trapped inside his own head while the trail keeps getting colder.

"Is there any way to speed it up?"

Silence.

"Sheriff..." she says carefully. "That's not something we can just do."

I plant my hand against the desk hard enough to make the wood shudder beneath it. "There has to be something. A reversal agent. Another drug. Anything. I need him awake."