17. Mara
MARA
“Did you enjoy kissing Doc?”
The words keep replaying in my head.
Not because Robert Vance saw us.
Not because he wants Grant’s lockbox.
Because of what he said next.
If you want him alive tomorrow.
I turn in a slow circle, searching the dark windows along Main Street.
Nothing moves.
No curtains fall back into place.
No shadow slips between buildings.
That doesn’t mean Vance isn’t there.
It means he’s good at hiding.
Doc still has one hand wrapped around mine.
His other rests near the weapon at his side.
Wolf’s truck stops crooked across two parking spaces. Trigger is out before the engine shuts off.
“What happened?”
Doc looks toward the rooftops.
“Vance.”
The humor vanishes from Trigger’s face.
Wolf reaches us a second later. “Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it was him?”
“He called Mara.”
I hold up my phone.
“He wants Grant’s lockbox brought to the McKinley cellar tomorrow.”
Trigger scans the street.
“What time?”
“He didn’t say.”
Wolf looks at me. “What else?”
I glance at Doc.
His jaw tightens.
“He threatened Colin.”
Trigger’s eyebrows rise.
“Colin?”
“Not now.”
“I’ve never heard you call him Colin.”
“Trigger.”
“Right. Not now.”
Wolf takes my phone without asking.
“Unknown number?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear traffic? Music? Anything in the background?”
I replay the call in my mind.
The voice.
The faint rasp of his breathing.
Then something else.
“A bell.”
Doc turns toward me. “What kind of bell?”
“I don’t know. It rang twice.”
“Church bell?”
“No. Smaller.”
“Door chime?”
“Maybe.”
Wolf looks toward the businesses along Main Street.
Most are closed.
Last Stand Tavern isn’t.
Neither is Millie’s Diner.
The gas station at the edge of town stays open all night.
Trigger points toward the tavern.
“That’s where we were when he called.”
“No,” I say. “We were here.”
“I mean that could be the bell you heard. Last Stand’s front door.”
Doc looks at Wolf.
“How many people were inside when you left?”
“Fifteen. Maybe twenty.”
“Anyone you didn’t know?”
Wolf’s expression changes.
“There was a man at the far end of the bar.”
Trigger nods. “Baseball cap. Gray jacket.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Nora did.”
Doc releases my hand.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like the sudden emptiness where his fingers were.
I especially don’t like the way he starts toward the street as if he plans to find Vance alone.
I catch the back of his shirt.
“Where are you going?”
“Last Stand.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
The warmth of our kiss disappears completely.
“You do remember that he called my phone.”
“He threatened me.”
“To make me bring the box.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
Trigger makes a noise.
Doc looks at him.
Trigger coughs into his fist.
Wolf lifts his radio. “I’ll have Blaze cover the back entrance.”
Doc starts moving again.
I keep hold of his shirt.
He looks over his shoulder.
“Mara.”
“Colin.”
Then Sheriff Tate’s SUV tears into the parking lot with its lights flashing.
He brakes beside us, throws open the door, and points at me.
“Why are you outside?”
“I was going home.”
“You were told to wait for an escort.”
“I had an escort.”
Tate looks at Doc.
Doc lifts one shoulder.
Tate closes his eyes.
“This is not what I meant.”
Wolf hands him my phone.
“Vance called.”
Tate’s eyes open.
“What did he say?”
I tell him.
His expression grows colder with every word.
When I finish, he reaches for his radio.
“Lock down Main Street. Nobody leaves Last Stand Tavern, Millie’s, or the gas station until we’ve identified everyone inside.”
Doc nods toward the tavern.
“We’re going in.”
“No, you’re not.”
Tate looks at me.
“You’re going back inside the station.”
“I’m a deputy.”
“You’re also the person Vance is watching.”
“Which means putting me inside doesn’t make him stop watching.”
“No. It makes it harder for him to shoot you.”
Doc steps closer to me.
“I agree with Tate.”
I stare at him.
“Of course you do.”
“He threatened to kill me to control you.”
“And your solution is to control me first?”
Trigger winces.
Wolf quietly says, “Bad choice of words.”
Doc’s face changes.
“That isn’t what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And I’m trying to do the same thing for you.”
For a second, neither of us speaks.
The street feels too quiet.
The darkness feels too close.
Doc lowers his voice.
“I just found you.”
The anger drains out of me.
He looks almost furious about the admission.
Almost afraid.
I step closer.
“And I just found you.”
His eyes hold mine.
“So we don’t separate,” I say. “We don’t make decisions for each other. We work together.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it.”
“That seems unfair.”
“You’ll survive.”
Trigger looks at Wolf. “Are they always like this?”
Wolf nods. “Pretty much.”
Sheriff Tate points at the station.
“Both of you inside. Now.”
I start to argue.
He reaches for his radio.
“I will put you in the cell beside Hampton.”
From inside the building, Hampton shouts, “I’d like the company!”
Tate turns toward the door.
“Nobody asked you!”
I look at Doc.
He looks at me.
We go inside.
Not because Sheriff Tate ordered us to.
Because neither of us wants to spend the night beside Hampton.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Ten minutes later, the station is chaos again.
Blaze, Ace, and Havoc search Last Stand Tavern with Wolf and Trigger.
Two deputies check Millie’s.
Another pair heads to the gas station.
Sheriff Tate pulls up traffic-camera footage while I sit at my desk, with Doc standing so close beside me that his thigh touches my chair.
Every few seconds, he looks toward the window.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking like you’re waiting for a bullet.”
“I am waiting for a bullet.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
I turn my chair toward him.
“Vance wants us frightened.”
“It’s working.”
I blink.
Doc doesn’t look away.
He isn’t afraid for himself.
He’s afraid for me.
That realization feels warm and terrifying at the same time.
Before I can answer, Sheriff Tate comes out of his office carrying Grant’s lockbox.
My heart stutters.
“You said you put it somewhere safe.”
“I did.”
“Your office?”
“No.”
“You just came out of your office.”
“It was somewhere safer before I brought it into my office.”
“Where?”
He sets the box on the conference table.
“None of your business.”
Hampton calls from down the hall, “It was in the evidence locker.”
Tate’s head turns slowly.
“How do you know that?”
“I heard the deputy bring it back.”
“You are becoming a problem.”
“I shot one of your deputies. I thought I already was a problem.”
A voice comes from the front desk.
“Parker says you’re definitely a problem.”
Hampton sighs.
“Tell him I said I’m still sorry.”
The lockbox looks smaller than it should.
Old metal.
Scratches along the lid.
Grant’s initials carved near the latch.
G.E.
Doc reaches toward it, then stops before touching it.
“Vance has the key.”
“Yes,” Tate says.
“And he wants the box.”
“Yes.”
Doc studies the lock.
“What do you think Grant put inside?”
“We don’t know,” I say. “The lock was damaged when we found it. We couldn’t open it without destroying the latch.”
“And now Vance has the key.”
“Which may not work anymore.”
Doc looks at me. “He doesn’t know that.”
“No.”
Sheriff Tate places both hands on the table.
“We’re not taking the real box to the cellar.”
“I agree,” Doc says.
I look at him. “That was quick.”
Wolf walks in. “The stranger from Last Stand is gone.”
Every person in the room goes still.
“When?” Tate asks.
“According to Nora, he left less than two minutes before we arrived.”
“Did anyone see his vehicle?”
“Black pickup. No one got the plate.”
Doc’s jaw tightens.
“Description?”
“White male. Late fifties or early sixties. Gray hair. Medium build.”
“Vance?”
“I don’t know. I only saw the back of his head.”
Trigger walks to the table.
“Nora said he ordered one beer and barely touched it. He spent most of the time watching the front window.”
Watching us.
Watching Doc kiss me.
A chill moves over my skin.
“Was there a bell?” I ask.
Wolf frowns. “What?”
“Did the door at Last Stand ring when it opened?”
“Brass bell above the frame.”
Twice.
“The bell always sounds twice,” Wolf says.
“He made the call from the tavern,” I say.
Doc looks toward the windows again.
“He wanted us to know he could get close.”
“No,” Hampton says from the hallway.
We all turn.
He stands behind the bars, watching us.
“He wanted you looking in the wrong direction.”
Doc walks toward him.
“What does that mean?”
Hampton grips the bars.
“Vance doesn’t sit in public places unless he wants to be seen.”
“You said you’ve been hunting him for fifteen years.”
“I have.”
“Then how do you know where he sits?”
“Because I found him once.”
Silence falls over the station.
“When?” Doc asks.
“Six years ago.”
“Where?”
“Dallas.”
“What happened?”
“He saw me first.”
“That’s becoming a habit.”
Hampton ignores the insult.
“He left something behind.”
“What?”
“A photograph of Grant.”
My pulse jumps.
“You weren’t here six years ago.”
Doc steps closer to the bars.
“You could have found me.”
“I did find you.”
Doc goes still.
Hampton continues.
“You didn’t want to listen.”
Something passes over Doc’s face.
Recognition.
“When?”
“Outside the hospital in Fort Worth. You’d just finished a shift.”
I look at Doc.
He remembers.
“You were in a black sedan.”
“Yes.”
“You followed me home.”
“I tried to talk to you.”
“You pulled a gun.”
“So did you.”
“You told me Grant had left evidence.”
“He did.”
Doc’s hands curl into fists.
“And you let me believe you were trying to kill me.”
“I thought you already knew who I was.”
“I’d seen you once in Afghanistan.”
Hampton looks down.
“That was a mistake.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
Sheriff Tate walks into the hallway.
“What was in the photograph?”
“Grant. A piece of paper.”
“What was written on it?”
“I couldn’t read all of it.”
“But you read something.”
Hampton looks at Doc.
“McKinley.”
No one speaks.
The cellar.
The pasture.
Grant’s phone.
A property connected to Robert Vance.
None of this began when Doc came home.
It began before Grant died.
The front door opens.
A woman wearing a state-police jacket walks inside carrying a hard plastic case.
Sheriff Tate straightens.
“Lieutenant Ross.”
“Sheriff.”
Her eyes move over the crowded station, the Rangers, the prisoner in the holding room, and the lockbox on the table.
“I heard Eagle River was quiet.”
Tate looks exhausted.
“Someone lied to you.”
She sets the case on the desk.
“I brought the replacement battery and equipment for the phone.”
Doc moves before anyone else.
“How long will it take?”
“If the phone still works? A few minutes.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Longer.”
She pulls on gloves.
Tate retrieves the evidence bag containing Grant’s flip phone.
I stand beside Doc while Lieutenant Ross photographs the device, documents the condition, and carefully removes the dead battery.
Nobody jokes.
Nobody moves.
Even Hampton stays silent.
The replacement fits.
Ross connects the phone to a small machine inside her case.
A light appears on the screen.
Then another.
The Motorola vibrates once.
Doc’s breath catches.
The screen glows blue.
Grant’s phone comes alive after fifteen years.
Lieutenant Ross checks the call log.
“Most of the records are gone.”
“What about messages?” I ask.
She presses another button.
“One saved voice message.”
Doc turns pale.
“Play it.”
Ross looks at Sheriff Tate.
He nods.
She presses the speaker button.
Static fills the room.
Then Grant’s voice comes through the tiny speaker.
My brother.
Alive.
Breathing.
Scared.
“If Doc finds this, tell him I’m sorry.”
Doc closes his eyes.
The recording crackles.
“I should’ve told him before we entered the valley. Kane knows who the Colonel is, but he won’t give him up unless he has a way out.”
Grant pauses.
A sound echoes behind him.
Boots.
Maybe gunfire in the distance.
“I found the list. Twenty-three names. None of them officially exist. Vance is bringing the Colonel to Site Seventeen.”
My heart pounds.
Grant’s breathing grows faster.
“If I don’t come back, the proof is in?—”
The message cuts off.
“No,” Doc whispers.
Lieutenant Ross checks the screen.
“That’s the end.”
“It can’t be.”
“The recording stopped.”
Doc stares at the phone.
Grant was about to tell us where he hid the proof.
One more word.
That’s all we needed.
One word Grant never got to say.
The station phone rings.
Everyone turns.
Sheriff Tate answers.
“Eagle River Sheriff’s Department.”
A man speaks.
“Put Mara Ellis on the phone.”
Doc reaches for the receiver.
I catch his wrist.
“We work together.”
He doesn’t like it.
But he releases the phone.
Tate places the call on speaker.
“This is Deputy Ellis.”
The man laughs softly.
Not Vance.
This voice is rougher.
Older.
Familiar to Doc.
I know it from the way all the blood drains from his face.
“Mara,” the caller says. “You don’t know me, but I knew Grant.”
Doc steps closer to the phone.
“Kane.”
A pause.
Then Daniel Kane laughs.
“Hello, Doc.”
“Where are you?”
“Close enough to know Vance has been lying to all of you.”
“About what?”
“He doesn’t need Grant’s lockbox.”
I look at the battered metal box on the table.
“Then why does he want it?” I ask.
“Because he thinks Grant hid the list inside.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
Kane goes quiet.
Doc grips the edge of the desk.
“You heard Grant’s message,” he says.
Another pause.
Too long.
Kane is listening to us.
Or watching us.
“I heard it fifteen years ago,” he says.
Cold moves through the room.
“You had the phone,” Doc says.
“Yes.”
“You took it off Grant’s body.”
“Yes.”
Doc’s voice becomes deadly.
“Why?”
“To keep the Colonel from finding it.”
“And then you hid it in Vance’s cellar?”
“No.”
Kane’s answer comes fast.
“Vance took it from me.”
Outside, a rifle cracks.
The front window explodes.
Doc throws me to the floor.
Glass rains over us.
Rangers move.
Weapons clear holsters.
Sheriff Tate shouts into his radio.
I’m beneath Doc, his body covering mine.
The phone lies on the floor beside my hand.
Kane is still on the line.
“Mara,” he says calmly.
I grab the receiver.
“What?”
“That was Vance’s warning.”
Doc lifts his head, searching the rooftops through the shattered window.
Kane’s voice drops lower.
“Tomorrow, he won’t miss.”