"You trust him?"
"More than I trust anyone else right now. And he's got a contact at the FBI. Someone who's been waiting ten years for evidence like ours."
We're ten miles from the arena when I catch headlights behind us. Sedan, moving fast, closing the distance. Could be nothing. Could be someone in a hurry.
Or it could be them.
I take a sharp turn onto a dirt road. The sedan follows. No longer coincidence.
"Hold on," I tell Rainey.
I accelerate, truck bouncing over the uneven road, dust kicking up behind us. The sedan's still there, persistent as a bad dream. Rural New Mexico at night is all darkness and nothing, no streetlights or landmarks, just empty land and the occasional ranch house in the distance.
We're hitting sixty on a road that's not meant for more than thirty when I see it. A straightaway ahead, clear line of sight. The sedan accelerates, pulling alongside us.
The passenger window rolls down.
I see the gun the same moment I yank the steering wheel hard right, sending us careening off the road and into the scrubland. The shot goes wide, hitting where we would have been if I hadn't moved.
Rainey's gripping the dashboard, eyes wide, as I fight to keep the truck under control. Sagebrush scrapes the undercarriage, rocks pinging off metal, and we're still moving, still alive, still running.
The sedan tries to follow but doesn't have the clearance. It bottoms out on the rough terrain, slows, falls back.
I keep driving, cutting across open land until I find another dirt road heading northwest. The sedan's headlights disappear behind us, either stuck or giving up the chase.
"Are you okay?" I ask Rainey.
"Define okay." Her voice is shaking but steady. "Someone just shot at us."
"I noticed."
"They tried to kill us, Grant. Actually kill us."
"I know." My hands are tight on the steering wheel, adrenaline making everything sharp and clear. "I'm sorry. I should have seen this coming. Should have expected them to escalate."
"This isn't your fault."
"Isn't it? You came to me with those photos and I let you stay. Should have told you to take them to the cops and walk away. And now you're in a truck being chased by people with guns."
"I made my choice. Remember? Partners." She takes a shaky breath. "Where's Flint's ranch?"
I pull out the business card he gave me, punch the address into my phone's GPS. Forty minutes northwest, assuming we don't get intercepted again.
We drive in silence, both of us processing what just happened. Someone tried to kill us. Not warn us, not threaten us. Actually tried to put bullets through our bodies and make this go away permanently.
Tyler's warning echoes in my memory.'They paid.'
Now I know what he was trying to tell me. Whoever's behind this has money, resources, and the willingness to murder anyone who gets too close to the truth.
And we just became their next targets.
Flint's ranch materializes out of the darkness, low-slung and solid against the empty land. Small main house, barn and outbuildings, all of it surrounded by miles of open land where nobody could approach without being seen.
Flint meets us at the door, takes one look at our faces, and nods. "Come in."
We're inside before I can even explain. He locks the door, checks the windows, then turns to face us.
"What happened?"
