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Another pause.

"Well, that’s not my problem. You can figure it out on the way, because you've got about thirty seconds before I stop being polite."

That one earns him a startled look from Clint. Briggs listens for another moment before ending the call.

"He's on his way."

Tripp drops into the recliner and rubs a hand down his face.

"What do you think they're gonna do when they get here?"

I don't have to think about it.

"I know what they’ll do."

Three sets of eyes land on me.

I nod. "In the Renegades’ world, what he did is a death sentence."

Nobody laughs or thinks I'm exaggerating, because I'm not.

"They're either gonna handle it here, or take him back to Virginia and handle it there. Either way, Peter's probably living his last few days breathing."

A knock at the front door makes every single one of us jump. Clint is moving before the rest of us can even start to get it. He checks through the window before relaxing.

"It's just a delivery driver."

The collective relief in the room is embarrassing.

A minute later, Clint walks back carrying several boxes, and suddenly, my entire day improves.

"My packages!"

Tripp groans. "Of course."

I practically steal them from Clint's arms and head upstairs before anybody can stop me.

The next half hour is significantly better than earlier today. I try on all my new clothes, rip all the tags off, and hang them up in my closet. Well, all of them except my secret outfit. That gets hidden where no cowboy can find it until I’m ready.

"Autumn!" Tripp's voice carries up the stairs. "The sheriff's here!"

My stomach immediately rolls.

Right.

He was coming to take the package and a report.

I close my eyes.

Pull it together.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, a man who looks like he stepped straight out of an old western movie is standing by the front door. Handlebar mustache, cowboy hat, and the pointiest boots I’ve ever seen.

He tips his hat politely. "Sheriff Barnaboa."

I introduce myself and spend the next twenty minutes explaining everything. The rodeo, the bar, thinking I'd seen Peter at both, and outside the motel window. The photographs and the messages.

Clint retrieves the box from the closet while I hand over my phone.