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Delaney got to the bay first, which she raised as quickly as her arms would go. Sean dove outside as soon as he had enough space, with Delaney close behind. She gasped.
The camera lay on the concrete patio that rimmed the shop, smashed and dented.
As Delaney rushed over to pick it up, Sean grabbed her by the elbow and reined her back in. “Leave it,” he said. “I’ll call it in. And get pictures.”
Delaney froze, her face a mask of anger and fear. Sean spied the weapon, a few feet away. A large rock, out of place on the patio, some mud and dirt still clinging to the bottom, like it’d been freshly dug up to serve as a missile. He pulled out his cell and started taking pictures.
“This was Dude and Dick.” Delaney’s voice was cold, her words measured. “I know it. They came here while I was at the fairgrounds. After I left and before you came to get Wyatt.”
Sean rolled the clues around in his mind, and, though he tended to agree with her this time, he said nothing.
“Clearly they were after whatever was in the ceiling.” Delaney’s eyes widened.
Sean had just parted his lips to speak when the sound of multiple engines came roaring up the hill, toward the shop.
Delaney and Sean both rushed around to the front, to see who was coming. Delaney shielded her eyes against the setting sun and peered into the distance. “Holy hell.”
Sean followed her gaze but only saw a mass of bikers headed this way. “What’s going on?”
“My uncles are here,” she said, her voice barely loud enough to ride over the engine sounds as the motorcycles, bearing some seriously rough-looking dudes, whipped into the lot and angled near Delaney’s truck. “My uncles drove out from Omaha!”
