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Older white male.

Possibly in his fifties.

Gray hair.

Black pickup with a damaged right taillight.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was more than we had an hour ago.

Wolf turned the tavern into a command post.

No one called it that.

The Rangers didn’t need to.

A schedule appeared on the office wall. Two men remained with Rylie at all times. One watched the front of the tavern. Another covered the alley and parking lot. Sheriff Tate placed deputies at both ends of Main Street.

Trigger refused to sleep.

Wolf assigned him the first shift anyway.

Max stayed beside Rylie.

He watched every door.

At ten o’clock, the tavern was silent.

Nora, Rylie, and the other women had gone upstairs. Trigger sat in the hallway outside their rooms with Max beside him.

Havoc and Blaze watched the exterior cameras.

Wolf and Saint checked the roof.

Carson worked from the back room.

Will processed the package.

I sat at the bar with the seven victim files spread in front of me.

The dining room felt different without customers.

Larger.

Darker.

Every sound carried.

A floorboard creaked overhead.

The refrigerator motor started in the kitchen.

Wind moved the tavern sign outside.

Mace placed a cup of coffee beside my hand.

I looked up.