Chapter Fifteen
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Laney kept her arms folded tight across her chest, trying to ground herself as Brannigan pulled a phone from his pocket. His smug grin made her want to slap the expression off his face, but she forced herself to focus when he hit the play button.
The recording was gravelly, the voices distorted by background noise, but there was no mistaking Sherry’s clipped drawl. She was haggling, her tone sharp and impatient, as she pressed for a lower price on the components that Brannigan claimed were for the explosive.
Laney’s stomach turned. This wasn’t proof that Sherry had planted the device or fired the shots at them, but it was damning all the same. Buying that kind of equipment off the books wasn’t legal.
Sheriff Barnes cursed under his breath and shut off the recording. “We’ll see what a forensics team can make of it,” he muttered, “but this doesn’t look good for her.”
No, it didn’t. Laney’s heart pounded harder with each beat, torn between the rush of vindication and the fresh wave of dread. If Sherry really had gone this far, then they were staring at a woman with plenty to lose and plenty of motive to make sure Laney never unearthed the truth about David.
They left Brannigan’s interview room and crossed the hall. Barnes knocked once on the closed door before pushing it open.
Empty.
The chair sat pushed back from the table, the cup of water still sweating rings onto the surface, but Sherry herself was nowhere in sight.
Laney’s pulse jumped into her throat. “Where the heck is she?”
The sheriff’s jaw locked. He swung back toward the hallway, muttering a curse that carried enough heat to singe the walls.
Laney hurried down the hall with Harlan and the sheriff at her side, scanning every doorway and corner. But there was no sign of Sherry.
“She must have slipped out the side exit,” Barnes growled, cutting toward the break room door.
It stood ajar, and through the narrow gap Laney could see daylight spilling in from the parking lot beyond.
The sheriff cursed, yanked his radio from his belt, and barked orders.
“All units, APB on Sherry Dalton. Former deputy. Last seen at the sheriff’s office while awaiting interview.
She left the building through the side exit and is possibly armed and dangerous.
Repeat, she is possibly armed and dangerous. ”
Laney’s stomach twisted harder. Sherry on the run meant the woman was cornered. And someone that desperate was twice as deadly.
“She’ll come after us,” Laney whispered, hearing the tremor in her own voice. “Or worse… Evie.”
Harlan’s hand closed around her arm, steady but fierce. “That’s exactly why we’re getting back to the ranch right now.”
They pushed through the exit, the morning air cold against her skin, and jogged across the lot toward their SUV. Laney kept her eyes darting, every shadow looking like it could hide a gun barrel.
Then a deafening boom split the air.
The ground rocked beneath her feet, and heat slammed into her chest. Laney instinctively dropped, her ears ringing.
Not their SUV.
It was a truck just three spaces down that was engulfed in fire, the hood blown wide, metal shrieking as it twisted.
Brannigan’s truck.
Laney’s knees hit the asphalt as another piece of metal whistled past her head, landing hard enough to send sparks skittering across the concrete surface of the parking lot.
Harlan shoved her toward the bumper of their SUV, shielding her with his body as chunks of flaming debris rained down from what was left of Brannigan’s truck.
Screams rose around them, high-pitched and panicked. There were some people calling out for help.
The sheriff’s deputies who had been inside poured out of the building, weapons drawn at first until they realized what they were facing. Smoke billowed thick and black, curling into the morning sky, and the heat rolled over her like a living thing.
“Get back!” the sheriff shouted, the order lost in the mix of voices.
A woman shrieked in pain, clutching her arm where a shard of glass had sliced through. Another deputy dragged her toward cover, his shirt already singed by an ember that had floated too close.
Laney lifted her head just enough to take in the scope of what was happening.
The truck was barely recognizable, the fire eating its way through the frame, spitting and snapping.
The nearest row of cars was only a few feet away, paint already blistering under the rising heat. If the flames reached their gas tanks…
Her stomach dropped. This wasn’t over.
“We need the fire department, now,” Sheriff Barnes bellowed, already herding people back. He obviously realized the potential for things to get a whole lot worse.
Laney’s pulse hammered, and she shot glances all around them. The building itself wasn’t far. If the fire spread, if there were more explosives hidden in that truck…
She pressed closer to Harlan, not caring about the grit biting into her palms or the acrid stench burning her lungs. Every instinct screamed this was a setup, that whoever had planted the bomb hadn’t just wanted Brannigan gone. They wanted chaos. They wanted everyone scrambling.
And it was working.
But why create this? Was it to try to kill them? Or was something else going on?
Before Laney could even try to come up with some answers, the world split open again.
A second blast erupted from the burning truck, sharper and louder than the first. The ground shuddered beneath her boots, and the shockwave knocked her back against the SUV.
The roar was followed by another chorus of screams, raw and terrified, as shrapnel tore through the air.
Laney covered her head and curled close to Harlan, the pungent smoke clawing at her lungs. She could taste it, thick and metallic, and her ears rang from the force of the explosion.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught some movement that jolted her focus. Brannigan barreled out of the building, his face twisted in rage.
“Son of a bitch!” he bellowed, pointing at what remained of his truck.
His curses ripped through the chaos, but before anyone could stop him, he charged straight into the wall of smoke. His figure blurred, swallowed up in the haze, and then he was gone.
“Brannigan!” the sheriff shouted, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the commotion.
Laney’s heart pounded. None of this made sense. Not unless—
“This feels like a distraction,” she blurted, her voice hoarse.
She gripped Harlan’s arm, needing to steady herself as much as she needed to get the words out.
“Harlan, what if this isn’t about killing Brannigan at all?
What if Sherry or Brannigan set this up to pull everyone’s attention on the chaos so they could go after Evie? ”
Her blood ran cold just saying it out loud. The chaos, the fire, the injured deputies—it was the perfect cover for someone to slip away, unseen.
And her little girl was miles away with Garrett and her mother.
Laney shoved past the smoke to look at Harlan, her fear sharp and cutting. “We have to get back. Now.”
He certainly didn’t argue with her about that. They got moving. Fast. Laney’s boots pounded against the pavement as she and Harlan sprinted to the SUV. Her pulse was racing, loud in her ears, nearly drowning out the shouts and the crackle of flames behind them.
She yanked the passenger door open and slid inside, adrenaline urging her to scream at Harlan to drive, to put as much distance between them and that chaos as possible.
But another thought hit, cold and hard.
“What if someone planted a bomb on this SUV too?” she blurted, her hand frozen on the door handle as if she might need to jump back out.
Harlan’s eyes cut to hers, sharp and steady. “This rig’s outfitted with security. Nobody could get near it without setting off the alarm.”
It helped, but not enough. Fear pressed hard against her chest.
“Still,” he added, grim as he stepped back out, “I’m checking.”
Laney held her breath while he crouched low, scanning the undercarriage, his movements quick and methodical. Every second stretched, her nerves wound tighter. Finally, he came up, gave the hood and trunk a fast once-over, then yanked the driver’s door open.
“All clear,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.
Laney exhaled hard, her body trembling with relief and urgency both. She slammed her door shut just as he threw the SUV into gear.
They tore out of the lot, the blaze and chaos shrinking in the rearview mirror, sirens cutting through the air. Laney twisted in her seat, watching until the orange glow of the burning truck faded into the distance.
Her thoughts shot straight to home. To Evie. To her mother.
Please let them be safe.
She clutched the door handle tight as Harlan pushed the SUV faster.
Every mile between them and the sheriff’s office felt like an eternity, but it was nothing compared to the fear clawing inside her.
Whoever was behind this, they were running out of distractions to play with.
Which meant the next move might go straight for the people Laney loved most.
“I’m texting Mom,” she let Harlan know.
Laney’s thumbs flew over her phone as the SUV bumped along the road out of town. Take extra precautions. There could be trouble.
Her mother’s reply came fast, as if she had been sitting with the phone in hand. We’ll be careful. Don’t worry about us.
Easier said than done. No way could Laney shove aside the fear that her little girl might be in danger.
Laney shoved the phone back into her pocket, her gaze fixed ahead, and her hand on the butt of her gun. The landscape thinned into the familiar stretch of countryside, but her chest tightened the closer they got to that curve. The place where David had been hurt.
The crime scene tape still fluttered near the culvert, bright against the early light. Not from years ago but from just days back, when the bomb had been planted.
But that wasn’t all.
Her breath caught. “Harlan,” she said, her voice low and sharp.
Something else was there.
It wasn’t just the tape. Fresh gouges in the dirt marred the roadside. And down near the culvert’s edge was a dark shape, too solid, too deliberate to be scrap.
Harlan slowed the SUV, the weight of the moment pressing down on the cab. Laney’s hand pressed instinctively to her sidearm, and when Harlan braked to a crawl, she drew it.
The culvert loomed closer. The dirt gouges. The dark shape.
Her nerves fired hot. Every sound seemed louder—the grind of the tires, her own shallow breathing.
“Stay sharp,” Harlan muttered, his weapon up now, eyes scanning.
Laney’s gaze locked on the shadow by the tape. She opened her door and stepped out, boots crunching gravel. The morning air was cool, sharp against her skin, but her pulse beat fast and hot.
They advanced in careful sync, weapons raised, her shoulder brushing Harlan’s as they closed the gap. And she soon saw something.
A body.
It was a woman.
It was Sherry.
Blood stained her shirt, the dark patch spreading across her side. Her face was pale beneath the dirt, her eyes closed.
She wasn’t moving.
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