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“Ranger Blackwood,” a voice called out, pulling her attention away from the grisly sight. An officer hurried toward her, his boots sinking into the damp earth with each step. “We’ve secured the area, and the citizens have been moved back.”
“Good,” Rachel replied, her eyes scanning the perimeter where the few townsfolk remaining had finally relented and retreated.
“Ma’am, do you need anyth—” the officer began, but his words were suddenly drowned out by the deafening crack of gunfire.
Rachel’s heart leapt into her throat as she instinctively counted the shots—one… two… three—all in rapid succession. The sound echoed off the trees, making it difficult to discern the direction they came from. But countless days spent tracking through the wilderness told her the shots had originated from somewhere to her right.
“Get down!” she shouted, her voice barely audible above the storm. She pushed the officer to the ground, diving behind the nearest patrol car for cover. Her pulse raced as adrenaline coursed through her veins, sharpening her senses.
Other officers were moving quickly now, reaching for their own weapons, scanning the tree line she’d indicated.
A pause. A shout.
And then another gunshot.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The sounds of the gunshots resounded in the still, desolate road outside the oil town.
The pitch-black sky hung heavily above them, pierced only by the glaring red and blue lights of the police cars. Rachel Blackwood’s steely brown eyes scanned the scene before her from where she crouched low by a police cruiser.
The desert road outside the small oil town seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness.
“Stand down!” a law enforcement officer shouted, his voice trembling with fear.
Her eyes were fixed on the figures in the tree line. In the dim light, Rachel saw a man gripping a gun, his face a mask of grief and desperation.
It took her a second to place the moving figures.
Two cops, both of them trying to calm the man.
The man looked like an oil worker. His gun was aimed at the sky, and a thin trail of smoke wafted past them, like a glaze of mist.
He was weeping, his hand trembling where he clutched his weapon.
Rachel stared, slowly emerging from where she crouched, frowning at the odd scene. The man kept his gun pointed at the sky.
He didn’t strike her as an immediate threat.
But he was sobbing, and tears streaked down his face. He had soft features and long eyelashes that belied his upraised weapon and aggressive shouting.
She could just make out what he was saying.
His screams tore through the night, each word laced with anguish.
“Where is she?” he was yelling. “Where’s Emily!”
Rachel stood up straight now, feeling a pit form in her stomach.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s the husband.”
Ethan, who had crouched next to her, spit into the earth, further darkening a patch of soil wet from the rain.
Both of them knew this part of the job, and neither of them liked it.
The man was clearly beyond himself. He kept his gun raised above his head, but his finger was tightening, as if preparing to fire off another salvo at the rain clouds above.
The water continued to drum around them, tapping against the windshield of the car.
