"Someone shot at us," Rainey says. "Chased us off the highway."
Flint's jaw tightens. "They're escalating faster than I expected. You two must have hit a nerve."
"We're getting close," I say. "Merrick. You were right about the connection. Rainey traced the corporate filings. It's all there."
"And in the meantime, you need to stay alive long enough to use it." Flint gestures toward the hallway. "Guest room's the second door on the right. Bathroom's stocked. You're safe here for tonight. Tomorrow, we figure out the next move."
I want to argue, to say we don't have time to hide, that every day we wait is another day the conspiracy stays buried. But Rainey looks exhausted and scared, and I'm running on adrenaline and rage, and Flint's right that we're no good to Tyler dead.
"Thank you," I tell him.
He nods. "Tyler was a good kid. Deserved better than what he got. If helping you gets him justice, then I'm doing what I should have done for my own son ten years ago." He pauses. "And when the time comes, I'll call Torres. She's been waiting for something solid. What you've got is solid."
The weight of that statement settles between us. All these deaths. All these accidents that weren't accidents. All these families left without answers because nobody wanted to ask the hard questions.
Not anymore. Not if I can help it.
Rainey and I retreat to the guest room. It's small but clean, with a double bed and windows that overlook the empty land beyond the ranch.
"We should talk about what just happened," she says.
"We almost died. That's what happened."
"I mean before that. Last night. Us."
Right. That. The complication neither of us knows how to address.
"It was a mistake," I say.
"Was it?"
"It had to be. Getting involved while we're looking into Tyler's murder is the worst possible timing."
"Maybe." She sits on the edge of the bed. "Or maybe it's the best timing. Maybe we're both so focused on dying for the right reasons that we forgot about living for any reason at all."
She's not wrong. I've spent weeks chasing death, throwing myself at bulls and danger like I'm trying to earn my way into Tyler's grave. Last night was the first time I felt anything other than guilt.
"I don't have room in my life for this," I tell her. "For whatever this is between us."
"Then make room."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Because I can't protect her if I'm distracted. Because caring about her makes me vulnerable in ways I can't afford. Because if I lose her the way I lost Tyler, I won't survive it.
But I don't say any of that. Just stand there looking at her and wishing things were different.
"Get some sleep," I say finally. "Tomorrow we figure out the next move."
She doesn't argue. Just curls up on the bed, still fully dressed, and closes her eyes.
I should join her. Should rest while I have the chance. But I can't shake the feeling that we're running out of time. That whoever's after us is planning their next move right now, and we're sitting here doing nothing.
Tyler's warning:'They paid.'
Dale Thornton: Circuit official with access and opportunity.
