A F T E R

H E

S N A P P E D

(A Sloane Riddle Mystery—Book 3)

R y l i e   D a r k

Rylie Dark

Bestselling author Rylie Dark is author of the SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books; of the TARA STRONG MYSTERY series, comprising six books; of the ALEX QUINN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the KELLY CRUZ FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the JESSIE REACH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising seven books (and counting); of the BECCA THORN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the CASEY FAITH SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the ARIA BRANDT SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the HAYDEN SMART SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); and of the new SLOANE RIDDLE SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Rylie loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.ryliedark.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2025 by Rylie Dark. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS BY RYLIE DARK

SLOANE RIDDLE MYSTERY

AFTER HE TOOK (Book #1)

AFTER HE STRUCK (Book #2)

AFTER HE SNAPPED (Book #3)

AFTER HE WAITED (Book #4)

AFTER HE WATCHED (Book #5)

HAYDEN SMART MYSTERY

ALL FOR ME (Book #1)

ALL FOR NOTHING (Book #2)

ALL FOR VENGEANCE (Book #3)

ALL FOR YOU (Book #4)

ALL FOREVER (Book #5)

ARIA BRANDT MYSTERY

THE UNKNOWN WOMAN (Book #1)

THE UNKNOWN WIFE (Book #2)

THE UNKNOWN NEIGHBOR (Book #3)

THE UNKNOWN GUEST (Book #4)

THE UNKNOWN PAST (Book #5)

CASEY FAITH MYSTERY

BEHIND HIS EYES (Book #1)

BEHIND HIS SMILE (Book #2)

BEHIND HIS MASK (Book #3)

BEHIND HIS LIES (Book #4)

BEHIND HIS THOUGHTS (Book #5)

BECCA THORN MYSTERY

GONE COLD (Book #1)

GONE DARK (Book #2)

GONE SILENT (Book #3)

GONE HOLLOW (Book #4)

GONE FOREVER (Book #5)

JESSIE REACH MYSTERY

HIS OTHER SIDE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER SELF (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER WISH (Book #4)

HIS OTHER PLAN (Book #5)

KELLY CRUZ MYSTERY

WHERE YOU GO (Book #1)

WHERE YOU HIDE (Book #2)

WHERE YOU SLEEP (Book #3)

WHERE YOU RUN (Book #4)

WHERE YOU FEAR (Book #5)

MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITH MALICE (Book #1)

WITH ENVY (Book #2)

WITH VENGEANCE (Book #3)

WITH RAGE (Book #4)

WITH YOU (Book #5)

ALEX QUINN SUSPENSE THRILLER

FIRST, MURDER (Book #1)

SECOND, DEATH (Book #2)

THIRD, ENVY (Book #3)

FOURTH, LUST (Book #4)

FIFTH, WRATH (Book #5)

TARA STRONG MYSTERY

GIRL WITHOUT A CHANCE (Book #1)

GIRL WITHOUT A HOME (Book #2)

GIRL WITHOUT A TRACE (Book #3)

GIRL WITHOUT A NAME (Book #4)

GIRL WITHOUT A PRAYER (Book #5)

GIRL WITHOUT A PAST (Book #6)

HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

BEHIND YOU (Book #1)

BESIDE YOU (Book #2)

AFTER YOU (Book #3)

WATCHING YOU (Book #4)

JUDGING YOU (Book #5)

FOLLOWING YOU (Book #6)

SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

ONLY MURDER (Book #1)

ONLY RAGE (Book #2)

ONLY HIS (Book #3)

ONLY ONCE (Book #4)

ONLY SPITE (Book #5)

ONLY MADNESS (Book #6)

MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SEE HER RUN (Book #1)

SEE HER HIDE (Book #2)

SEE HER SCREAM (Book #3)

SEE HER VANISH (Book #4)

SEE HER GONE (Book #5)

SEE HER DEAD (Book #6)

CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NO WAY OUT (Book #1)

NO WAY BACK (Book #2)

NO WAY HOME (Book #3)

NO WAY LEFT (Book #4)

NO WAY UP (Book #5)

NO WAY TO DIE (Book #6)

MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

TOO LATE (Book #1)

TOO CLOSE (Book #2)

TOO FAR GONE (Book #3)

TOO LOST (Book #4)

TOO BROKEN (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

"What do you want from me!" Gordon Pike tried to scream out, but the gag in his mouth muffled his words. The words could be made out, but they didn't convey his level of anger and fear as he was led through the desert. "Untie me!"

The person held him tightly by the wrist as they led Gordon. He could not see the landscape with the rough burlap sack over his head, but he could feel the heat beating down on him and smell the dusty aroma he knew all too well. He knew he had been taken to the desert. His anger had been bubbling and fizzing since being attacked and bound, but it was slowly giving way to his fear as the unknown figure continued to lead him silently to what he knew was not an agreeable ending.

They stopped. Gordon could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck in the midday heat. A kick came to the back of Gordon’s knee, and he fell forward into the dirt—his knees hit the hard ground, and then he fell forward again, unable to stabilize himself; his covered face smacked into the dirt. He let out a long grunt through the thick fabric gag in his mouth.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he was brought up to his knees. The hood was pulled from his head.

Gordon had to close his eyes when the sunlight struck him like pinpricks to the eyes. He had been shrouded in darkness and had finally been given light, but it was too much, overwhelming. He held his eyes closed for a few seconds, fighting back against the brightness, and then he slowly opened them, squinting at the white light that bounced off the pale golden sands.

His hunch had been right. Whoever had captured him had led him into the middle of the Sonoran Desert, a place he had been to many times before. The familiarity was usually pleasant, but not that day. Not when his hands were bound behind his back, and a gag filled his mouth.

Gordon craned his neck, hoping to see his captor. If he could figure out who was behind this, he could begin a line of reasoning that might help.

Help what? They’ve brought me out into the middle of the desert. This doesn't end well.

As soon as he moved his head, his captor pushed the side of his head to stop him from looking around. He didn't risk trying a second time. The hood, gag, restraints, and throb in the side of his head made it hard for him to put up any sort of fight.

Instead, he took in his surroundings, hoping for a way out to present itself. He had wandered the desert many times, but always with a safety net. He would take food and water, he knew the area, and he had a way out. He couldn’t lick his lips through the gag and could feel them drying out.

The golden sands stretched as far as the eye could see. Gordon knew he had been taken to a patch of the desert he had not been to before, but it was still familiar. The sand still reflected the sunlight in the distance, creating a glinting mirrored effect on the horizon. Cacti dotted the landscape, some in low clusters and others standing tall like mighty sentinels in the hot land, pale green arms reaching up toward the sky as if to touch the rich blue above. The sky was a vast ocean of blue stretching as far as the golden desert below it.

And to his right, the fiery red blossoms on the cactus crowns, a brightness that was only overshadowed by the sun itself. He did not find the yellow flowers as his eyes scanned the new yet familiar landscape—he always gravitated toward them on his hikes. There was so much beauty and life to be found in the desert if you knew where to look.

The spell was broken when Gordon was pushed to the side, and he felt pain shoot through his arm. He looked to his left and slightly behind to find a jagged grey rock, almost as big as he was, standing tall like a sharpened monolith. He pushed himself away from the rock, shards digging into his shoulder, but was immediately shoved back into the rock, bringing another sharp shot of pain. He looked at his sleeve but didn't see any blood yet.

There was a time when he might have fought back against whatever was coming, but he knew when he was beaten. He moved his hands one more time to check, but the restraints were firmly bound. He had felt something in his head when he was knocked to the ground and knew his balance was not functioning. He needed a minute to get his thoughts in order.

It smelled like rain. There was barely a cloud in the sky, and the ground was bone dry. A creosote plant was near, petrichor filling the air like a memory of the rain that had fallen in the past.

In the near distance, a jackrabbit darted back and forth.

That’s my only hope of escaping whatever madness this is. I need to make a run for it.

Gordon heard something clink from behind, and he took it as his opportunity to run while his captor was busy with something else. He shifted his weight, pain shooting through his arm again, and pushed himself to his feet—he almost pushed himself to his feet. He had one foot planted on the ground when the person behind grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back into the rock.

The wind was taken from him as he slammed into the jagged stone. Pain shot through his body again, and he could feel the wetness on his sleeve where the sharp rock pierced his skin.

"I don't know what you want! Let me know what I need to do!"

The words were muffled again by the gag.

A chain was tossed across his chest, the hard metal cracking into his ribs. It was pulled tight a second later, and then another whip of metal as the chain was wound around him again. The metal binding tightened, and the rock-cut into him some more.

Gordon grunted as he was bound to the large rock in the middle of the desert. He twisted his body from side to side, but it only caused him more pain.

It’s a sick joke! Let me see your face!

A click came from behind. He couldn’t see it but knew it was a padlock. Someone had chained him to the rock.

Gordon tried to speak through the gag in his mouth but knew it was futile. Even if the person had heard his previous words, they didn't react to them.

Then, a warm breath in his ear sent a chill down his spine.

"Justice will be served," the person whispered.

"No!" Gordon shouted through the gag. He tried to push it out of his mouth with his tongue, but it was bound too tight. "No! You can't do this!" He shouted through the fabric, pleading for his captor to let him go. He stopped and listened. An eerie silence filled the air. He could not see behind him, but he knew in the silence that his captor was gone.

He was alone in the desert with no hope of escape.

CHAPTER ONE

"Why don't we go through your main triggers?" the therapist asked.

Sloane looked around the sparse office. It made her feel more stressed; there was no clutter, nothing to focus on, though that did push to the forefront one of her main triggers.

"I guess enclosed spaces," Sloane replied.

"Okay, good," the therapist said. "That makes a lot of sense if you spent a lot of time working as a correctional officer. I don't want to delve into your experiences there just yet. What other triggers do you have?"

Sloane wondered if being asked questions that made her uncomfortable could be considered a trigger. She rubbed her arms as she thought.

Is this what it feels like when I am interrogating a suspect? Why do I feel like I am being interrogated?

Rubbing her arms did nothing to help her feel any warmer—she was sure there was a chill in the air, but the therapist didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe unexpected touches," Sloane said. "That doesn't really happen with the people I work with, but in my line of work, I have to bring in people who don't want to be brought in, and that can become physical. If I know it’s coming, it’s not a big deal, but when suspects or anyone else freaks out and lashes out or does something unexpected, it feels like I’m back in the prison."

"Okay," the therapist said soothingly.

"I do my best to hide it," Sloane said. She felt stupid at adding that but didn't have a reason why. "That’s probably not the right thing to do." Sloane was usually so sure of herself in her line of work, but every answer she gave here seemed wrong.

"There is no right or wrong thing to do," the therapist assured her. "We all do what we need to survive. The problem comes when there is a better way to do things, but we don't often see that looking from the inside out. That is why I am here to help you. This will take time, but opening up like this is the first step. I don't want you to change anything you are doing right now, but I do want you to recognize your triggers when they come. If you find yourself in a confined space, recognize it. You can even recognize that there is nothing you can do about it. If someone lashes out at you, react as you normally would, but recognize that it is a trigger. Are you still having the dreams?"

"Yes," Sloane said. "They come sporadically and are vivid when I wake, but they disappear quickly."

"Have you been writing them down?" the therapist asked.

"I have. Most of them are me in the prison. It’s not Thornwood Prison as I remember it, but it’s Thornwood in my dreams, a different place but the same. I’m always in a small room somewhere and in danger. Sometimes, I’m falling. I always feel like I am about to be attacked, but it doesn’t happen. It’s the anticipation of waiting for it."

Sloane felt her heart beat faster as she spoke and hated the feeling of not being in control of her emotions. She felt weak that she had lingering effects from her time working in the prison when so many did the job just fine. Others were attacked on the job, and they seemed fine.

We don't always know what is going on inside anyone else’s head.

Sloane needed to make sense of herself, much like she made sense of evidence as a detective. Chasing killers felt much easier than trying to work out what was going on in her head.

"I know this is hard," the therapist said, "but you are doing well. We are only three sessions in. It will be a slog, but I’m here with you every step of the way. Things will get easier, and you’ll be more in control of your life. Your PTSD might always be with you, but you’ll be able to manage it."

"Yeah, I know," Sloane said. She didn't know, but she needed to hope that things would get better. She could manage her life as it was, but she would rather live it than manage it.

"It will," the therapist maintained. "I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but things will improve."

"It’s been like this for years," Sloane complained.

"And you are finally getting help," the therapist reminded her. "Sometimes, these things take time, but now that you have sought me out, things will snowball. The best time to start something is when you notice the problem. The second best time is today. You are two weeks and three sessions in. You are already ahead."

‘Yeah," Sloane replied, still wary about trusting the therapist.

"Okay, that is all we have time for today, but I’ll see you again in a week."

"Thank you," Sloane said as she rose. She didn't feel any different but had made the decision to trust the therapist. She left the office and made her way out of the building.

Sloane walked slowly to her car and got in. She didn't start the ignition immediately. She gripped the wheel tightly, trying to ground herself after her session. She had sat in the chair and said some things, but the therapist had done more of the talking. Still, she felt drained. She took three deep breaths, something her therapist had told her to do in their very first session together.

It helped a little, and Sloane finally started the car.

I can't solve all the problems in my life, but maybe I can still help my brother.

***

Sloane pulled up at her brother’s apartment building, ready to get the conversation over with. She was worried about him but didn't know if there was any helping him. He had fallen back in with his old crew, and there was a big score lined up. Sloane hoped she could dissuade Brendan from taking part in it.

She got out of her car and went to the entrance. She pressed the buzzer for Brendan’s apartment.

A moment later, "Yeah?"

"It’s me," Sloane said.

"What are you doing here?" Brendan asked.

"It’s nice to hear your voice, too, Brendan. Can I come up"

"What are you doing here?" Brendan repeated.

"Just let me in," Sloane pleaded. "I need to talk to you, Brendan. It’s important."

A moment of silence and then the door buzzed as it unlocked. Sloane pushed through and headed for the stairs. Her brother had spent some time in prison for assault, and as much as he claimed he was set up or he had the wrong lawyer, he could have gone to jail for a lot more. Sloane wished she had a normal relationship with her brother where they saw each other regularly and talked, but instead, she was on her way to ask him not to participate in whatever heist was being set up so he wouldn’t go back to jail again.

She reached the second floor and went through the fire door and then down the hallway to the open door. Music played from within, some hip-hop song she had never heard before.

"Brendan?" Sloane called.

There was no answer. Sloane stalked through the small apartment hesitantly, looking for signs of her brother. Nothing looked out of place. She turned the corner and gasped as she almost ran into Brendan.

"What are you doing?" Sloane asked. "You scared the life out of me."

"You weren't expecting to find me in my own apartment?" Brendan asked.

"I called out, and you didn't answer," Sloane pointed out.

"And I’m supposed to be at your beck and call?" Brendan asked.

"Does everything have to be an argument?" Sloane asked. "I only want to talk to you, Brendan. I’m worried about you."

"How many times do I have to tell you that there is nothing to worry about?" Brendan replied.

Sloane took a deep breath and counted to three. If she sank to his level and argued back, it would spiral downward until they were both deep in the mud. She needed to break the cycle of seeing her brother and having the visit instantly turn into an argument. She rubbed her head as she breathed.

"How is your head?" Brendan asked.

Sloane’s breath was taken away for a moment. One of the last times they had seen each other was when she had woken up in the hospital after being attacked in an abandoned copper mine. She had taken a blow to the head and been knocked out.

She was touched that he asked about it now and had been even more touched that he was the first face she saw in the hospital, even though he had left quickly.

"Don't look at me like that," Brendan said. "I’m just making conversation."

"You care about me, don't you?" Sloane teased.

Brendan shook his head. "Do you want a beer?" He walked off toward the kitchen before she could answer.

Sloane followed him.

Brendan went into the fridge and pulled out a beer, offering it to Sloane.

"No, but thank you," Sloane said.

Brendan shrugged and closed the fridge, twisting off the cap and tossing it in the trash. He picked his phone up from the kitchen counter and scrolled through some messages. "So, what do you need to talk to me about?"

"I’ve been hearing rumors of something going down soon," Sloane said.

"Yeah?" Brendan said dismissively. "Something going down, huh? What does that even mean?"

"It means that I keep hearing stuff about the crew you used to run with, and there is constant talk about shipments coming in over the next month. It sounds to me like someone is planning something big."

"And what’s that got to do with me?" Brendan struggled to look up from his phone, and his finger was not scrolling anymore.

"I know you are running around with your old crew again, Brendan. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

"So, what? You came here to bring me in for hanging out with a few people from the past?"

"These are not only people from the past, they are criminals," Sloane said. "If they are planning something, I don't want you to have any part in it."

"Okay, Mom." Brendan sniped.

"Please, Brendan," Sloane begged. "This is serious. I want to help you, but I can't do that if you put up this front with me. I know you are hanging around with people who will get you into trouble, and I can’t help you when that happens. I know something is being planned. You need to step away from this because it is not only me who knows something is going down soon. You will get caught, and you will go back to jail, and I don't want that to happen to you."

Brendan snorted. "Well, it’s a good thing I’m not planning any criminal activity." Brendan set his phone and beer down and pushed past Sloane on his way to the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door closed, her instincts kicked in, and she went to his phone. It was locked. She tried 1234, 0000, 1111, and 9999. None of them work. On a whim, she tried their mother's birthday. The screen unlocked. Sloane went straight to messages and scrolled through them as quickly as she could, not knowing where to look.

One message caught her eye about eight messages down. She tapped to open it. The message was sent from Anton.

Warehouse District. The seventh. 9 pm.

She checked the details. It was sent two days ago.

That means the sender is talking about next month.

Sloane had no proof that it was connected to any sort of criminal activity, but it was all she had to go on.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt the vibration in her pocket. She quickly placed Brendan’s phone down and locked it before answering her own.

"Yeah," she said.

"Where are you?" Max Callahan, her partner, asked.

"I’m at Brendan’s place. What’s happened?

"They found a second body," Max replied. "Sarge wants us down there now before the animals can do their thing. He wants this wrapped up before someone else is killed."

"I’m on my way," Sloane said.

"On your way where?" Brendan asked from the doorway.

"Work calls," Sloane said.

"Well, it was nice of you to drop in for a chat," Brendan said sarcastically.

"I would stay longer if I could; I—" Sloane stopped herself before she fell into another argument. "I’ll come back and visit soon. Please try and stay out of trouble, Brendan, and if you ever need to talk, you know where I am."

Brendan raised his eyebrows and flashed a sardonic smile by way of saying goodbye.

Sloane walked quickly for the door and made her way back through the building. It shouldn’t have been, but another dead body was a good distraction from the trouble her brother might be caught up in. She didn't know yet what she would do about Brendan. Until she did know what to do, she would focus on making sure they got another killer off the streets.

CHAPTER TWO

Sloane drove toward the officer at the end of the dirt track, where the dirt beneath began to change from a rich brown to a more pale yellow. He waved her down when she approached, and she drew up alongside him, rolling down her window. She fished out her ID and held it up for the officer.

He nodded and pointed toward the open desert. "You can keep going for a little ways. You’ll see the other vehicles parked. You have to go the rest of the way on foot."

Thank you," Sloane said. She rolled up her window, creating a barrier against the sand and dust. She drove for ten more minutes before seeing the other vehicles and pulled up behind Max’s car. He stood by it, waiting for her.

"I’ve been here for hours," Max said when Sloane exited the car. "What took you so long."

"I took the scenic route," Sloan replied.

"I thought that," Max said. "I’ve been telling everyone here to wait for you because you probably wanted to do some bird spotting or something like that on the way."

"Oh, you know me so well, Max," Sloane said. "I’m sure you’ve had time to get the lay of the land, so why don't you lead me out there?"

"Right this way," Max said.

The joking and lighter conversation helped deal with the heavier topics of their job, and as they walked toward the crime scene, they became more solemn.

A dustiness hung in the air, as did the sun in the sky above. It had long since passed its zenith and was working its way back down toward the horizon. Even at night, the temperatures in the desert didn't drop all that much at this time of year.

The golden sun picked out subtle hues of red and gold in the rocks in the distance framed by low, jagged mountain peaks. The desert was not a place Sloane visited very much, but there was a subtle beauty to it. Life found a way to survive in the desert, and that was exactly what she needed to do: find a way to survive.

"So, you were at your brother’s?" Max asked. "How did that go?"

"About as well as expected," Sloane replied.

"Yeah, don't get me started on brothers," Max told her.

"Still not playing happy families with yours?"

"No, and I don't know if we ever will. It’s been what? Two weeks since Dad went into remission, and I know he’s gone to visit Dad, but not a word to me. Seven months on total."

"And this is all because of something that you don't really remember?" Sloane asked as they walked across the sand that gently slipped beneath their feet. "I’m only asking because I’m having trouble with my brother because I'm worried he’s going to slip back into his old ways."

"Yeah, go ahead and poke fun, but us Callahan's are a different beast."

"Oh, I’m well aware of that," Sloane told him.

"We have Irish heritage, and if there’s anyone who can hold a grudge for a lifetime, it’s the Irish. Maybe that’s not true, but it feels like it is sometimes. I won't be the one to reach out this time."

"You’re too stubborn for your own good, Max."

"My stubbornness and charm have gotten me this far," Max said with a smile. "So, how was it with Brendan?"

"It was okay," Sloane admitted. "He still won’t let me into his life. I’ll keep trying with him because I’m stubborn, too, but I use my stubbornness positively."

"Mmm-hmm," Max replied.

"Hey, have you heard about anything going down in the Warehouse District?" Sloane asked.

"The Warehouse District? Not specifically, but there’s always stuff passing through there. Do you want me to ask around?"

"Maybe," Sloane said. "Yeah, can you?"

"Of course. Do you want to know about anything specific?" Max asked.

"Just whatever comes up," Sloane replied.

"Is this connected to Brendan?" Max stopped walking. The golden sun highlighted his brown eyebrows and the small crease in his nose where he had broken in previously. He looked like a prized fighter with the spotlight shining down on him.

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "I want to cover all my bases. I don't know for sure that he’s mixed up with everything, but he is running around again with his old crew, so it’s only a matter of time. I can't come out and explicitly say that to him, or he’ll accuse me of not trusting him, but I know it is true."

"I’ll keep my ear to the ground," Max said. "Come on, we’re almost there."

The pair continued on. The body was far enough away from any areas frequented by the public that no tent was needed to cover the body. Someone would be spotted long before they got close enough to see the body that half a dozen people currently surrounded.

One of the officers broke off from the group when he saw Sloane and Max approaching. The detectives took out their IDs to show him, but he waved them off.

"I know who you are," the officer said. He held out his hand. "Officer Lemming."

Max shook his hand first, followed by Sloane.

"What do you have for us?" Sloane asked.

"The victim had his ID and phone on him," the officer said. "Gordon Pike, fifty-four years old. The address on his driver’s license shows him living in a small town on the outskirts of Tucson. This is the second body found in four days out here in the desert."

"Yes, it is," Max said.

Sloane took a look around to get her bearings. Two dead bodies in four days in the desert, placed in different places, but it was already too much of a coincidence not to be connected.

"Stabbed and left to bleed to death?" Sloane asked the officer.

"No, Ma’am," he replied. "This one was tied up like the last one, chained to a rock instead of tied with rope, but no signs of any external injuries except for a bruise on the side of the head, but the forensic team didn't think it was the cause of death."

"Let’s take a look," Sloane said.

The officer led them over to the rock, which was visible from their point of view, and when they got closer, they saw the body of Gordon Pike chained to the jagged boulder. Sloane got closer and addressed the forensic team.

"He wasn’t stabbed or otherwise injured before he was left out here?" she asked.

"It doesn’t look like it," came the reply. "We won't know more until we get him back to the medical examiner’s office, but all signs point to dehydration and heat exposure. He has a wound in his arm, but it looks like that was caused by being bound to the rock. He lost some blood, but not a lot."

"Do we know how long he was out here for?" Sloane asked.

"Around twenty-four hours before he died."

"That doesn't seem very long," Sloane said.

"We won't know more until we can get him back to the city and open him up," the forensic officer said.

"Sorry," Sloane replied. "I don't mean to push you. Keep me updated if you find anything."

"Will do," the forensic scientist replied.

Max joined her at the dead body. "So, what are we looking at?"

"Going by the wound on the side of the head, we have to assume that was to subdue the victim before bringing him out here. I didn't see any tracks out here, but we haven’t searched the entire area yet. You can only get your car so close to here, but maybe an all-terrain vehicle?"

"Maybe," Max agreed. "Seems more likely the killer would have walked the victim out here. Give them a blow to the head to keep them disorientated, and then have them walk the rest of the way from their vehicle."

"It doesn't make as much sense as the first murder," Sloane said. "Both victims were found out here, tied to rocks, one with a rope and the other with a chain. Marvin Shaw was stabbed after he was brought out into the desert and left to bleed to death, but Gordon Pike was not. He was relatively unharmed when he was left out here unless they found something to suggest otherwise in the autopsy. That seems very risky to me. It would take what? Two? Three days? To die of heat exhaustion and dehydration out here?"

"Yeah, about that," Max agreed.

"So, why risk leaving someone out here for that long when they could be discovered?" Sloane asked. "This part of the desert is not frequented much, but there’s still a chance."

"What are you saying? Did the killer do something more? Maybe poison this time instead of letting them bleed out?" Max asked.

"Maybe," Sloan said. "We’ll have to wait on the autopsy for that. Did you notice the chain?"

"I saw there was a chain this time," Max replied.

"It looks old," Sloane noted. "I don't know if that means anything, but why switch to a chain this time, and why an old one?"

"Maybe the killer had one lying around," Max suggested. "Is there a chance the murderers are not connected?"

"It feels like too much of a coincidence for them not to be connected," Sloane said. "Two victims tied to rocks in the middle of the desert? One was stabbed, and the other wasn’t, but other than that, it feels to me like the same killer."

Sloane looked back at Gordon Pike. He was a burly man who had a stern face, even in death. He didn't strike her as the sort of man who would be led easily to his death, but she didn't know anything about him except for the impression she got from his vacant stare out into the desert.

She looked where he was looking. It would have been the last thing he saw before he slipped away into the next world. Their previous case had been centered around an old copper mine, and even thinking about it made her feel claustrophobic. It was a welcome change to be outside in so much space. More murder was not a welcome change.

"We need to know more about Gordon Pike," Sloane said. "If he has a family, that’s where we start. If we can find a connection between this murder and the last one, we get closer to finding the killer."

"And if there is no connection?" Max asked.

"Then we have a killer who kills indiscriminately, and that is a worrying thought."

"Let's find his family, then," Max said. "We can't talk to the victim anymore, but we can speak to his family. We have to hope we get something from them, or we might not be able to stop the killer from killing again."

CHAPTER THREE

Sloane knocked on the door and then waited with Max on the doorstep of the small house. They were in the town of Trenton on the outskirts of Tucson, at the home of Gordon Pike. They had driven straight there from the crime scene so they could inform the family of Gordon’s death and get started on finding a possible link between him and Marvin Shaw.

Sloane knocked again, and the door was opened a moment later by a middle-aged woman.

"Mrs. Pike?" Sloane asked.

"Yes?" Miranda Pike answered. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Detective Riddle," Sloane said, showing her ID. She jerked her thumb toward Max. "This is my partner, Detective Callahan."

"What can I—oh, my goodness! Is it Gordon? Has something happened? Is he okay?" Miranda covered her mouth with her hands.

"Maybe we should come in," Sloane said.

"Oh, my goodness!" Miranda exclaimed. "What happened? Please tell me what happened to my husband."

"Please," Max said, taking Miranda by the arm and trying to guide her back into the house. "Let’s get off the street."

"Please, no," Miranda muttered in a daze. Her hands shook as Max took her into the house and guided her toward the living room.

Sloane followed them into the house and closed the door.

So much for breaking it to her gently.

It was never easy telling people that their loved ones were gone. After five years of relaying the news to people, Sloane didn't find it any easier. She found Miranda and Max in the living room, Miranda pacing with her hands over her mouth and Max watching her with concern.

He looked at Sloane, and she saw it, too. There was nothing they could say to make it any better; all they could do was wait for the acceptance to kick in. Sloane walked over to Miranda and placed a hand on her shoulder. Miranda rubbed her forehead with one hand, messing up the front of her hair. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her hands continued to shake uncontrollably. Through it all, she didn't make a sound, not even a whimper.

Sloane took in the living room as she tried to comfort the woman. The house looked like one that had been lived in for some time. The furniture was well-worn, the carpets faded, and the coffee table had water rings permanently imprinted on it. A framed picture on the bookshelf caught Sloane’s eye. It showed Miranda and Gordon Pike arm in arm together. They had the comfortable smiles of two people who had spent their entire lives together.

"I can’t…" Miranda managed. "I can't live without him. Please, is he really gone?"

"I’m sorry," Sloane said, tightening her grip on the woman’s shoulder. "I know there is nothing I can say to make this better, but you can help us. I understand that this is not the best time to discuss all of this, but could you help us by answering a few questions?"

"What happened?" Miranda muttered, her voice cracking as she spoke. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Was it the boat?"

"The boat?" Sloane asked.

"Did… Arthur, too?"

"Arthur?" Sloane asked. "Who’s Arthur, Mrs. Pike?"

Miranda brought both hands to her face and rubbed her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. "I have to call Leslie. No, no, no, no. He can't be gone. He can’t be gone!"

Max moved over to join them, and he took Miranda by the arm again, guiding her over to the large armchair and pushing her down into it. He crouched down by the side of the chair.

"Mrs. Pike, we can have someone come to talk with you and help you through this, but we want to catch the person who did this. We need to ask you a—"

"Did this?" Miranda interrupted. "I don't understand. I don't understand anything! Where is he? I need to see him!"

"You mentioned a boat," Max said soothingly. "And someone named Arthur?"

"That’s who he went fishing with," Miranda moaned.

"He went fishing?" Max asked. "When did he go fishing, Mrs. Pike?"

"Two days ago. Please just tell me what happened," She begged.

"We will," Sloane said. "You’re sure he went fishing two days ago?"

"Yes, I already told you that," Miranda snapped.

"With a man called Arthur?" Sloane probed.

"Yes, with Arthur."

"Mrs. Pike, who is Arthur?" Sloane asked.

"I don't understand why you won't tell me what happened to my husband. Who did this to him? Did Arthur do it? He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t ever do anything."

"Okay, let’s just take a moment," Sloane said. She moved to the couch and sat down. "We have a disconnect here. Your husband was found in the desert, but you said he went fishing two days ago?"

"The desert?" Miranda asked. "I don't understand. What about Arthur? Is Arthur dead?"

"We have only found your husband," Sloane said.

"I have to call Leslie," Miranda said.

"Leslie?" Sloane asked. "Arthur’s wife?" she guessed.

"Yes!" Miranda snapped. "You’re not making sense with any of this. It can't have been Gordon. You must be mistaken. I’ll call them and clear all of this up."

"Okay, take a breath," Sloane said. She looked at Max, and Max nodded in reply. "Call Leslie, but we need you to put it on speaker, okay? We need to know where Arthur is right now."

Miranda’s eyes were wide, but she nodded. She had the look of a woman who was aiding the police in their investigations and not a woman who had just been told her husband had been found dead in the desert.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Leslie, tapping the screen to put it on speakerphone. She held the phone out as if they might not hear the conversation if the phone were too far away.

"Hello?" Leslie answered.

"Hello, Leslie!" Miranda shouted at the phone. "This might be an odd question, but have you heard at all from Arthur the past couple of days?"

"Arthur?" Leslie asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Have you heard from him?" Miranda shouted.

"Heard from him? He’s right here."

Sloane looked at Max, who frowned in reply.

"What about the fishing trip?" Miranda asked.

"That was canceled," Leslie said. "Arthur, what happened with the trip?" There was some murmuring on the other end of the line as Leslie listened to Arthur speak. "Yes, it was canceled. Your Gord called Arthur that morning and said he couldn’t make it on the trip this time around and that they would organize the trip for another time. What’s going on? Is everything okay?"

"No, no, no, everything is fine," Miranda said. Her hand shook again as she tapped the button to hang up the call without saying goodbye. "I don't understand. He didn't mention that to me at all. If he didn't go on the fishing trip, then where has he been?"

Sloane let out a breath. "That is what we are trying to figure out."

"Just take your time," Max said. He stood up from his crouched position and made his way over to the sofa. "I’ll have someone go over there and check for an alibi. Mrs. Pike, do you have a last name for Leslie and Arthur?"

"Golden," Miranda murmured.

"Thank you," Max said. He pulled out his phone to make the call.

"Mrs. Pike, how are you doing? Can I ask you a few questions?"

The tears flowed again, and Miranda nodded.

"Your husband and Arthur Golden planned a fishing trip. Was this a spur-of-the-moment thing, or had it been planned for a while?"

"No, it had been planned for a while," she replied.

"And he left in the morning two days ago?" Sloane asked.

"Yes," Miranda managed.

"Do you remember if he packed up his fishing gear into his car?"

"I don't know. He left early. I was just up and having breakfast."

"Did he say anything to you before he left?" Sloane asked. "Did he mention that he might not be going on the fishing trip? Maybe he was acting different?"

"No, he didn't say anything. I mean, he said goodbye and came to me at the kitchen table to kiss me on the head before he left; that’s what he always did. He wasn’t acting odd in any way."

Gordon’s car would be out there somewhere, and if they found it, it might give them a better idea of his movements on the day he had gone missing.

"Mrs. Pike, what can you tell me about your husband? Anything might help. What did your husband do for a living?"

"He’s retired," Miranda said. "He worked as a prison guard until two years ago when he took early retirement."

"A prison guard?" Sloane asked. It felt as if the universe was messing with her. She was a former prison guard, and it was where her PTSD stemmed from.

"Yes," Miranda said, sitting forward. "Does that mean something?"

"No, no," Sloane said, shaking her head. "No, please go on. He’s retired now? What does he fill his time with?"

"Fishing mostly," Miranda replied. "I don't understand how this helps. He didn't go fishing, did he? He was found in the desert? What was he doing there? How did it happen? Please, I need to know?"

Sloane sighed as she thought about it. "He was murdered, Mrs. Pike. Someone took your husband out into the desert and left him there to die."

"Left him there to die," she muttered, shaking her head. "How did… he wouldn’t just…"

"They chained him to a rock," Sloane told her.

"Chained him to a rock," Miranda repeated as if she had been hypnotized to repeat everything Sloane said. "Why? Why should someone do that?"

"We were hoping you could help us with that," Sloane admitted. "Do you know if Gordon had any enemies? He spent time working in a prison. Maybe he made some enemies there. I know how it can be."

Sloane hadn’t made any formal enemies in prison, but she had been attacked on multiple occasions by inmates. She had been lucky to escape with only some cuts and bruises. If it were not for the other wardens, she didn't know what could have happened to her.

She had witnessed firsthand how the inmates could be. In prison, life was confined and without purpose. If a guard looked at the inmate the wrong way or said something they didn't like, it could become blown out of proportion. It was easy to make enemies in prison, both as an inmate and a guard.

"That’s it," Miranda said, her eyes snapping open wide. "Yes, that’s exactly it! I know who did this to him. I know exactly who did it."

"Who?" Sloane asked.

"It was… it was… Mark. A man named Mark. I remember he came to the door looking for Gordon. Gordon shooed me off when he saw him. He was a big guy, scary-looking. I was upstairs, but I could hear the two of them shouting at the door. I don't know what they were shouting about, but when Gordon came up a few minutes later, he was as white as a sheet."

"Do you know what they spoke about?" Sloane asked.

"No, he wouldn’t tell me," she replied.

"And his name was Mark?" Sloane asked. "Do you know his surname?"

"No, but Gordon mentioned the prison. Said that was where he knew him from. He was definitely one of the inmates, not a guard. I could tell from the moment I saw him. I don't know what he said to Gordon, but I haven’t ever seen Gordon look like that before."

"When was this?" Sloane asked.

"It must have been three months ago. You need to find him," Mirada ordered. "You find him, and you lock him back up. I want him found, and I want him to pay for what he did to my Gordon. Do you hear me?"

Miranda was shaking so much that the armchair almost vibrated.

"Just take it easy, and we will follow up on this," Sloane said. "For now, I want you to remain here, and we will have someone visit to take you through what happens next. It will be hard, but we still need someone to positively ID the body. We’ll also need a description of the car Gordon drives. And if you think of anything else that might help or anyone else who might have wanted to harm your husband, you call me immediately."

Sloane took out a card and handed it to Miranda.

"Is he really gone?" Miranda asked softly.

"I’m sorry," Sloane said.

Miranda looked toward the framed photo on the bookshelf.

Sloane stood. "Before we leave, we’ll make sure there is someone here with you in your time of need, okay? A family member of a friend. Do you have the number of someone I can call for you?"

Miranda nodded sadly. "My sister." Miranda wrote down the number for Sloane.

Sloane left the living room and found Max waiting for her in the hallway. She gestured with her head toward the front door, and the two of them left silently after calling Miranda’s sister and explaining the situation.

"They are sending a patrol car over to the Golden house to take a statement and check for an alibi," Max said once they were outside.

"We also need to put out an APB for Gordon’s car. It might tell us where he went after he left the house that morning. For now, we need to find a man named Mark."

CHAPTER FOUR

The man sat cross-legged in the desert, his shirt lying on the dry earth beside him. The soil had a reddish hue, and small dust clouds were picked up by the swirling breeze and spun around before the red dust dropped to the ground again. The man placed his sweaty palms face down on his knees and closed his eyes. The hot midday sin fell on his back, becoming more and more uncomfortable.

He thought of the two men he had left to die in the desert, and he felt no remorse for either of them. They both deserved to die for what they had done. The two men had been weak, and that weakness had been their downfall.

The man opened his eyes as the sun continued to heat his body. He needed to endure the heat to become one with nature. He didn't want his skin to burn from the exposure, but he needed to feel some pain. It was only right that he endured.

There were clusters of cholla cacti to his left, their spiny branches glinting like silver in the full glow of the sun. He had chosen a place where he could meditate undisturbed and a place far from the two murder sites. He knew what he had done had come with risks, but he was not a risky man. Everything had been measured and planned out. There were more to come, and he could not risk being caught before it was over. He could not risk being caught at all.

He had not thought himself a vengeful man, and he had never imagined killing anyone—he did not believe in the death penalty. He did, however, firmly believe in punishment. If someone did wrong, they should be punished for it. He had always let the justice system take its course, but it was ineffective this time. He had to take matters into his own hands and dish out the vengeance that was deserved. If he had stood by and watched, they would not have paid for what they had done.

The breath caught in his throat as a coyote popped up on the ridge before him. It stopped dead when it saw him and stared at him. They shared a moment together, the man counting to ten in his head before the coyote hung its head a little lower and continued on its way.

He could feel the heat on the back of his neck, the sweat dripping down. He brought no water with him, opting to take the full heat of the desert with no respite. He knew that even though he’d had the strength to murder two men, he could not trust himself to have the strength not to drink from a water bottle when his thirst peaked. It was better not to bring any water and not have the temptation.

He closed his eyes again and could feel the slight resistance that had come when he had slid the knife into Marvin Shaw. The knife had slid in easily enough, but it had not felt quite as he’d expected. He expected the feel of cutting through meat, but it was more like pushing his hand through water.

The man had dwelt a lot on the act of murder. He would not call himself a courageous man by any means. He was decisive when needed, but he was not a man people turned to when action was needed. Yet, when it had come to the act of murder, even if he had not witnessed the moment of death, he had found it too easy.

That scared him more than murder. When it came time to tie the rope around the rock and slide the knife into Marvin’s side, there had been no hesitation. He had done so swiftly and with no fear. As he walked away from Marvin, leaving him to die in the desert, there had been no second thoughts. Even now, as he meditated alone in the desert, he knew it was the right thing to do.

The same was true for Gordon Pike. The man had no remorse about leaving Gordon in the desert to die a slow and painful death. Gordon needed to suffer, and he had suffered. With his eyes closed, the man could hear the clinking of the chains echoing across time in the desert. It created a tune reminiscent of the melodic hammers hammering in spikes for the railroad.

For progress to happen, some must die.

The man opened his eyes again. He smiled to himself.

When I think about the two men I have murdered, I feel no discomfort. Yet, four hours in the harsh sun brings me so much discomfort. Not as much discomfort as when I first started coming out here, but some. You can become used to anything if you practice it long enough.

He had seen some prickly pear cactus on his walk to his meditation place, but there were none visible from where he sat.

Gordon did not beg for his life as Marvin did. It is fascinating to listen to the fear of men through their words or their silence. They were both afraid; I could feel it, but they acted very differently. In the end, they both died.

The sunbaked sand was hot beneath him. He would leave soon; there were things to be done, preparations to be made. He breathed in, his chest expanding, and then let the breath out. There were smells out in the desert that could not be found anywhere else in the world.

The sweat dripped from his brow, staining the red dirt with spots of black that dried almost as quickly as the drops fell. The man wiped his brow with the back of his hand and picked up his shirt. He stood up and put his shirt back on to gain some respite from the burning sun. His lips were cracking, and his throat was dry.

The water back in his vehicle would taste like liquid gold when he drank it.

He stretched his back, reaching up toward the sky with his hands. Then, he set off on the half-hour trek back to his car.

There was more work to be done. He did not need to take any risks, but he did not want to take his time. He had murdered two men and found it incredibly easy. He wondered what he would feel when he took the life of the next one.

He would not have to wait long to discover that.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sloane sat in the passenger seat of Max’s car as they drove to the medical examiner’s office. The sun had only just risen, bringing a new day filled with possibilities. Sloane hoped those possibilities would point them in the direction of the killer.

Max picked up his incredibly large cup of black coffee and took a long drink from it. Sloane did the same with her smaller cup. They had found a motel the previous night, preferring to stay in the area than to drive back and forth between Phoenix. The motel didn't serve breakfast, which meant a quick stop at a bagel place on the way to the medical examiner’s office. The bagels had been consumed, and the coffee was doing a great job of washing them down.

"How did you sleep?" Max asked.

"About as well as expected," Sloane replied. "I always find it hard to sleep in motels. You?"

"Apart from my feet hanging over the end of the bed, I had a great sleep. The more uncomfortable the bed, the better I seem to do."

"Thankfully, I’m not as tall as you. My feet were nice and snug under my blanket and not hanging over the edge. Of course, I still didn’t sleep as well as you did, so I don't know who wins here."

"Oh, I win for sure," Max claimed.

"Let’s hope we get another win at the medical examiner’s office," Sloane said. "The autopsy is done on the second body, and if there was more than Gordon Pike just being left out there to die, we might have an additional lead to follow up on."

Max nodded and drained the last of his coffee before he slowed his car and turned right. He made another right into the professional building’s parking lot and easily found an empty space so early in the morning. They both got out and headed into the medical examiner’s office.

Sloane approached the desk once inside and showed her ID.

"Dr. Lescott is expecting you both," the receptionist said. She pointed to a door. "I will call him now, but he said to send you through as soon as you got here."

"Thank you," Sloane said.

She and Max went through the door to find a long corridor with mostly open doors on both sides. A man with a warm smile stuck his head out one of the open doors.

"Dr. Lescott?" Sloane asked.

"And you must be Detectives Riddle and Callahan," the doctor said. "All the way from the big city, huh? Come on in."

Sloane and Max walked the corridor and entered the sterile-smelling room. A large metal table was positioned in the center of the room with small tables around it. The tables were on wheels, and various tools sat on top. The metal table was covered with a large cloth, the shape of a body visible beneath.

"Gordon Pike?" Max asked.

"Yes," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "His wife came in last night to positively identify the body."

"Can you tell us anything we don't already know?" Sloane asked.

"I believe I can," the doctor said. "One of the forensic team informed me that you thought it suspicious that he had only been out in the desert for twenty-four hours, and your suspicions were well-founded. I obtained Mr. Pike’s medical history, and the autopsy confirmed it: he died of heart failure. He suffered from heart disease and diabetes. Dehydration and heat exposure are what caused the heart failure, and that was brought on a lot quicker by his medical conditions."

"Okay, so we can assume the killer knew his medical history," Sloane said. "Marvin Shaw also died from heart failure, but that was brought on quicker by the blood loss."

"That is correct," Dr. Lescott said.

"So, he takes Marvin Shaw out into the desert, ties him to a rock, and then stabs him to speed up the process. He knows it would take two or three days to die out there, and he can't risk the body being discovered before then. With Gordon Pike, he doesn't need to do anything to speed up the process because he knows the diabetes and heart disease will take care of it."

"I can't confirm any intention of the killer," the doctor said, "but your assumptions fit with the evidence."

"Okay, so we can be relatively sure that both victims were killed by the same person," Sloane said. "Even though one victim was stabbed and the other wasn’t, we can be sure that the first victim was stabbed to speed up the process, and that wasn’t needed with the second victim. Is there anything else you can tell us, Dr. Lescott?"

"Gordon Pike suffered a blow to the side of the head, but that didn't contribute to his death. It might have knocked him out or disorientated him. There were no signs of a struggle, and while we did find a pretty deep cut in his upper left arm, that was due to the rock he was chained to. From the angle and depth of the cuts, we can assume that he was thrown against the rock two or three times, the rock piercing his skin more each time."

"Okay, so he is led out, thrown against the rock. Maybe he tries to get up, and he is thrown against it again," Max said. "He might be disorientated by the blow to the head, but I got the impression that he was in decent shape, so the killer must have some strength. He would have had to control Gordon when taking him through the desert."

"Gordon Pike was in good shape for a man his age, but he would not have been able to exert himself too much due to his heart condition. Now, we know he was restrained at the wrists, the bindings were still on him when he was found, and his mouth was gagged. The abrasions on his wrists suggest he was held for up to thirty-six hours before his death."

"That fits with the timeline we have," Sloane said. "He left home almost two days before he was found, so he could have been held at a different location before being taken out into the desert. How about Marvin? Could he have been held at a separate location before he was taken out into the desert?"

"He could have been, but we found no signs to confirm that," the doctor said.

"We know the killer at least has a knife, but he might also have a gun for crowd control," Max said. "Threaten to shoot them unless they take a walk in the desert with him. A knife might be enough, but we don't really know what we are dealing with here."

"No, we don’t," Sloane admitted.

"That’s about everything useful I have for you right now," Dr. Lescott said.

"Thank you, doctor," Sloane said. "We are heading into the County Sheriff’s office after this, so if you have anything else, please give us a call."

***

Sloane sat in a small office in the precinct with a cup of lukewarm coffee. Max sat to her left, his desk at right angles to her. They had been set up in a small office in Bolton, the nearest town to the access point in the desert.

"If there’s anything you need, please ask," Sheriff Munoz informed them from the doorway. "All of our resources are at your beck and call."

"Thank you," Sloane said. "We have everything we need for now, but we’ll let you know if we need anything else."

Sheriff Munoz nodded before he left them to it.

"Alright, we have two crime scenes and dead bodies so far," Max said. "Both were found in the desert, and we are sure the killer at least knew the victim's medical history, suggesting the killer knew the victims."

"Possibly," Sloane agreed. "He stabbed the first to speed up the death but knew the medical conditions would take care of the second victim. It fits. I can take a look at the two victims and see if there is any connection between them. How about you see if you have any more luck tracking down Mark? He was possibly an inmate at the prison Gordon Pike worked at."

"Sounds good to me," Max said.

Sloane fired up her laptop and logged into the system. She went out into the main office area of the Sheriff’s department and spoke to the officers who had been locating information on the victims. She did the rounds, picking up pieces of information here and there, before going back to the small office and running searches on both men.

"Hey, did you hear about Arthur Golden?" Max asked when she returned.

"An alibi?" Sloane asked.

"A patrol car went over there last night, and he gave a long statement. He gave the same story as when Leslie was on the phone with Miranda Pike. He got a call that morning from Gordon to cancel the fishing trip, and that was the last he heard from him. Arthur hasn’t left the house much over the past three days, and any time he did, it was with his wife. They spoke to the wife separately, and her statement matches his. They had nothing to do with it."

Sloane nodded and went back to the information on her desk. She started with the call logs and texts from Gordon Pike’s phone. The text messages gave nothing—no one had contacted him to meet unless those texts had been deleted.

The search made her think of Brendan, and Sloane took out her phone to send him a message.

Out of town for a while on a case. Please call me if you need anything.

She sent the message, not expecting a reply any time soon, if ever, and then went back to the call logs. There were no incoming or outgoing calls from the morning he had disappeared, except for the call he had made to Arthur Golden. She went back over the call logs for the week before, searching each of the highlighted unknown numbers. Most of them came back as answered or unanswered spam calls, but there were two unaccounted numbers, both calls lasting less than thirty seconds.

So, you plan this fishing trip, and then you leave the house to go on the trip, calling your friend soon after to cancel.

If they found the car, they would know if the fishing equipment was packed, and that could give them some insight into what Gordon was thinking. Had he packed up his stuff to go on the trip and decided not to go after leaving the house, or had he left the house with his fishing gear?

Sloane left the office again. She hadn’t thought it at the time, and she didn't know if it would lead them anywhere, but the fishing equipment was a loose end that could fit the larger puzzle.

"I need someone to go over to the Pike house," Sloane said. "Can we make a call and see if a patrol car is in the area or if someone is still at the house?"

"I can do that," Officer Raymond said.

"See if you can find out from the wife whether the fishing equipment is still in the house or if it was packed up into the car."

"On it," Officer Raymond said.

"Who went through the phone logs for Gordon Pike?" Sloane asked.

"That was me," Officer Carter responded.

"You’ve highlighted all of the unknown numbers. How about the known numbers? Is there that stands out? Maybe someone he hadn’t contacted in a while or who called out of the blue?"

"I cross-referenced all the known numbers with the wife," Officer Carter said. "She knew almost all of the numbers. Lots of friends from his working days at the prison and a couple of guys he had kept in contact with over the years. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

"Okay, thank you," Sloane replied.

Sloane returned to her office again to find Max getting to his feet.

"Do you have something?" Sloane asked.

"Maybe," Max replied. "There was an inmate at the prison called Marcus Trenton. He could be the ‘Mark’ that came to the door. I’m getting a picture right now, and I’ll contact Miranda Pike and see if she recognizes him."

"Good," Sloane said. "Let me know if we have a match and where we can find him if we do."

Max nodded and hurried out of the room.

Sloane looked into the two victims' work history. Gordon Pike worked at a prison in Tucson, joining almost right out of school. He climbed the ranks to become a supervisor at the prison, a role he worked in for over ten years. He looked like a model employee. No record of him ever being late or missing a day of work. He was not written up at all at work. He had retired early, but there was no suggestion he was forced out or made to retire.

Marvin Shaw also lived and worked in Tucson, but he was a businessman, owning a chain of hardware stores. He was succeeded by his wife and two adult children. Again, there was no real reason to dislike the man. He had built his business from the ground up and employed over a hundred people. He was a man who paid a fair wage for a job well done, and he donated to various charities in the city.

The two men didn't have an obvious connection.

"Hey, I have it," Max said from the doorway. "Miranda Pike confirmed that Marcus Trenton is the man who came to the door and argued with Gordon. He was released from prison a little over three months ago, which means he would have visited Gordon soon after. Maybe he had unfinished business with the ex-prison guard."

"Where is he now?" Sloane asked.

"Tucson. I have the address for him."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Sloane asked. "Have them send a patrol car to his residence and pick him up. We’ll see what he has to say for himself as soon as we get there."

"From his rap sheet, he has a long history of violence," Max said. "Let’s find out if he is capable of murder, too."

CHAPTER SIX

Max drove them into the city of Tucson while Sloane was on the phone. Locating Marcus Trenton was not as easy as they had expected. A patrol car had gone to his registered address, and he had not been found. The neighbors had not seen him in days. The same was true of his work, a small mechanic shop in the suburbs. He was supposed to be working there part-time, but he hadn’t shown up for a couple of days. It looked like Marcus had disappeared.

"We might have something," Sloane said when she got off the phone. "Marcus’s mother works at a small diner, and she should be there right now. The local cops were about to try her next to see if she knew where her son was, but they haven’t spoken to her yet. They went to her house first and she wasn’t in, and when they spoke to the neighbors, they hadn’t seen anyone matching Marcus’s description coming and going from her house, but maybe he went back home and is holed up there. We have patrol cars at both houses in case he shows up at one of them, and they can pick him up for us."

"So, we head to the diner and talk with the mother," Max said.

"One-seventeen twenty-ninth Ave," Sloane told Max.

Max punched the address into the GPS, and they headed in the direction of the diner.

"Hey, we were so caught up with everything going on at the murder scene, and there’s been so much going on before that that I haven’t had a chance to tell you how happy I am about your father. It’s really great news, Max."

"Thanks." Max broke out into a large grin. "He really went through it with the chemo, but Dad’s a fighter. There’s always a chance the cancer could come back, but he’s officially got the all-clear."

"Your Mom must be so relieved," Sloane added.

"Oh, you have no idea," Max said. "Mom is amazing, and she always takes on way too much and still makes it work, but I’ve seen how she’s been. She’s like this tightly wound ball of springs that are barely being held together. If he hadn’t got the all-clear at the last consultation, she might have exploded, and her springs would have shot out everywhere. She’s like a different woman now, though she is annoying my dad a little with her constant planning for the future. She wants to do everything they talked about doing in case something like that happens again, while he just wants to live his life normally again."

"Which would you choose?" Sloane asked.

"I’d be back out with you catching criminals," Max said.

"I don't know if that is the exciting life or the dull one," Sloane said. "A mountain of paperwork interspersed with the occasional person who puts up a fight when we try to talk with them. Did you find out much about Marcus? Is he the type to put up a fight when we catch up with him?"

"A few counts of aggravated assault," Max said. "Looks like he was in a fair few bar fights in his time. A drunk and disorderly charge from a while back. I don't know much about what he’s been up to since he was released, but I guess he paid Gordon Pike a visit, and he works as a mechanic but hasn’t shown up for work in a few days."

"That looks like the place." Sloane pointed as they closed in on the diner.

Max pulled into the alley on the side of the building and parked in one of the parking spaces along the side. They exited the vehicle and headed for the diner. The door chimed when they entered.

"Take a seat wherever you want, and I will be with you in a sec," the older woman said.

"We’re not here to eat," Max said. He approached the woman and showed his ID without letting it be known to the rest of the patrons who they were. He lowered his voice a little. "We’re looking for Mrs. Trenton? She’s working today, right?"

"Um." The server looked around as if she was the one in trouble. "Yeah, she is here. What, um…"

"Don't worry, she’s not in trouble," Max assured. "We’d like a word with her somewhere private so your customers can get on with their meals in peace."

"Yeah, I just need to talk to my supervisor and let them know," the woman said.

"Do what you need to do," Max said.

They didn't expect that Marcus’ mother would make a run for it, but Sloane was ready in case she saw a woman running past the diner to make an escape. The server returned a moment later with a hesitant smile and a younger woman.

"Can I see your ID again?" the younger woman asked.

"Of course," Max said, showing it.

"Great," the young woman said with a smile. "Emilia is in the back. I will take you through, and you can speak to her back there."

"Thank you," Max said.

They followed the young supervisor back through to the hallway past the main dining area. The smell of greasy food filled the air, and Sloane could almost taste the food. A worried-looking woman stood in the hallway, and when she locked eyes with Max, she shook her head.

"What has he done now?" Emilia asked.

"We’re hoping you can tell us that," Max said softly, putting the woman a little more at ease.

The supervisor lingered with them for a moment before she left the two detectives to interview her employee alone.

"When was the last time you heard from your son, Mrs. Trenton?" Sloane asked.

"The last time?" she asked. "He doesn’t ever call his mother. He’s been out of prison for what? Four months? How many times do you think he’s come to visit me? Once and that’s it! I can barely get him on the phone."

"So, you have no idea where he is?" Max asked.

"What has he done?" Emilia asked.

"We don't know if he has done anything," Sloane told her. "We only want to speak with your son, Mrs. Trenton. He’s not at home, and he hasn’t shown up for work in a few days. Is there anywhere else he might go?"

"How would I know?" she replied. Emilia fidgeted with her hands, and for the first time since they began talking with her, she had trouble making eye contact.

"Mrs. Trenton, it’s important we talk to your son," Sloane said. "If you know where he is but are not telling us, then you are obstructing our investigation."

"I don't know where he is," she claimed. "He doesn't tell me anything."

"I can sympathize with that, believe me," Sloane said, thinking of her brother. "Where might he be, Mrs. Trenton? The sooner we can talk with him, the sooner we can get to the bottom of everything. I know you know something."

"I… I don't want him going back to jail. I know he did wrong in the past, but he’s a good boy. He just needs some help."

"I understand that; I really do," Sloane said. The more Emilia talked, the more Sloane saw the similarities between Marcus and Brendan. "Are you worried that he’s falling in with some people who might lead him astray?"

"When he’s working and has his head on straight, he’s fine, but they poison his mind," Emilia said.

"Can you give us a name or an address?" Sloane asked.

Emilia brought her hand up to her mouth and chewed on a nail. "Douglas Boyd," she said.

***

It was easy to find Douglas Boyd’s address, and he was a known entity to the local police in Tucson. Sloane and Max headed straight there from the diner, taking them around the south side of the downtown core of Tucson and back out into the suburbs.

Douglas Boyd’s house was a single-level dwelling that had seen better days. The shingles on the roof were in dire need of replacing, and Sloane couldn't help but imagine there were leaks inside. The paint on the front of the house was almost non-existent in places, and the front lawn was overgrown and dotted with rusted old bikes. As they pulled up outside the hose, the closed blind in the front window moved as someone looked out.

"We better do this quick," Max said. "If he is hiding out in there for some reason, he won't stay there for long once he finds out who we are."

Max and Sloane exited the car and walked quickly to the front door. Sloane noticed the blind shift again. Max pounded on the door.

"Police, open up!" he shouted. He pounded on the door again when there was no answer. "Douglas Boyd!" he called. "Open up, or we will be forced to come in."

There was a noise from inside, and the door was answered.

"Douglas Boyd?" Max asked.

"Yeah? Who’s asking?" Douglas answered.

Sloane noticed two things: the blind still moving as someone looked out from behind and the bulge in Douglas’ shirt that indicated a weapon.

"I’m Detective Callahan," Max said. "We’re looking for Marcus Trenton."

"Don't know who that is," Douglas said.

"Really?" Max asked. "That’s not what we heard."

"Well, you heard wrong," Douglas replied.

"Are you alone in the house, or are there other people in there with you?" Sloane asked.

"All alone, but I don't have to be." Douglas licked his lips as he stared at Sloane.

"Do you have a license for your weapon, Mr. Boyd?" Sloane asked.

"Do you have a warrant to search my house?" Douglas asked.

"We won't need one if we suspect there’s criminal activity going on inside," Sloane said. "You told us there was no one inside, but I can see your blinds moving, and what reason do you need the gun for?"

"People told me this is a bad neighborhood, so I have protection. Do you want to see my weapon?" Douglas asked.

"How about you just let us talk to Marcus, and we don't have to take you down to the station for questioning?" Sloane replied. She looked at the blinds again, but they had stopped moving."

"As I said, there’s no one else in here," Douglas maintained. "If you really want to come in, then by all means, but you’re wasting your time. And I do have a license for the gun if you want to—"

"I’ll go through," Max interrupted, realizing that Douglas was playing for time.

"I'll take the back," Sloane shouted.

She sprinted from the front door, pushing her way through the tall grass as Max bundled past Douglas. Her hand touched the gun in the holster on her hip, making sure that she was ready to draw it if needed. She hadn’t laid eyes on Marcus Trenton, but someone was in that house, and it was a good bet it was Marcus. Douglas had tried to play for time so he could escape.

He could be violent, and if Douglas was armed, Marcus might be, too. The last thing she wanted to do was draw her gun and shoot, but she was prepared to defend herself. Sloane rounded the first corner, sprinted down the side of the house, and glanced at the gate ahead. The lock was on the other side, but it was sitting slightly ajar. Sloane crashed into it, sending it swinging as she barged through.

"Marcus Trenton!" she screamed as Marcus dropped out the window and took off running. "Marcus, stop!" Sloane commanded. She thought about drawing her gun.

Max poked his head out of the window Marcus had just dropped out of.

Sloane groaned and took off after the fleeing suspect.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Max was halfway out of the window when Sloane bolted past it. Marcus leaped the short wooden fence separating Douglas Boyd’s backyard from the neighbor’s. Sloane reached the fence, grabbed the top of it, and vaulted the fence in one swift movement. Her feet hit the grass on the other side, and she was sprinting again, chasing down the tall, muscular suspect and hoping that Max was right on her tail.

"Marcus, stop!" Sloane shouted again. "We only want to talk to you!"

"Go to hell!" Marcus screamed as he ran. He went to the next fence, taller this time, leaped up, grabbed the top, and pulled himself up before throwing his body over and disappearing.

Sloane did the same, jumping up and hauling herself to the top of the fence. She hesitated a little. It would be an excellent spot for Marcus to stop and ambush her. When she looked over, Marcus was ducking and slipping through a hole in the back fence. Sloane threw herself over the fence and dropped to the other side. She stumbled forward toward the gap in the fence, crouched down to look through, and then scrambled through the gap.

Marcus was still up ahead. She wasn’t gaining on him, but he wasn’t getting any further away either.

"Don't make this harder on yourself, Marcus!" she called after him as he headed for the trees. "We just want to talk with you!"

Marcus didn't respond this time and continued running. Sloane saw both of his hands were empty, but that didn't mean he didn't have a gun on him. He slipped into the darkness of the trees, invisible because of the contrast between the light and dark. Sloane didn’t hesitate. She pounded the ground and entered the tree line, worried that she might come face to face with him, but not worried enough to stop her going into the trees.

As soon as she entered the trees, she stopped. She couldn’t see him up ahead. She swung to the left and right but didn't spot him.

 For a moment, her breathing quickened. She was out in the open, but the trees made it feel too enclosed. They stood straight and tall, poplar trees reminiscent of prison cell bars. Sloane felt her head spinning as she tried to control herself. She needed to take some deep breaths, but there was no time for that.

"Where did he go?" Max asked as he arrived beside her.

He instantly grounded her, and the trees seemed to move back and open up.

"I don't know. He’s in here somewhere," Sloane said.

"Let’s spread out," Max said.

They both drew their guns. Max went left, and Sloane went right. They fanned out at an angle from their entry into the trees, checking to the side and ahead. Sloane kept Max in her peripheral vision. The trees were significant but not wide enough to hide behind, except for—

Sloane saw him up ahead. She could not alert Max without alerting Marcus that she knew his position. She looked at Max, but he was looking ahead, so she couldn’t signal to him.

Marcus was behind one of the trees up ahead, partially concealed behind one. He was silent but breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling. Sloane kept her gun trained on him, waiting for any slight movement. If he was not running or giving himself up, then it meant he had something else planned.

Sloane watched her step, treading lightly to not make a sound. She closed in, ten yards from him. The figure behind the tree twitched slightly as if he were making a move.

"Don't make me shoot you, Marcus!" Sloane called.

Marcus froze behind the tree.

"Let me see your hands, Marcus," Sloane called, the gun still trained on him.

Marcus did not move from behind the tree. Sloane slowly stepped closer, aiming her gun toward his chest.

"Nice and slowly," Sloane ordered. She saw Max moving toward Marcus from the side. "Hands where I can see them."

There was silence for a moment, and then Marcus moved. He was quick, and Sloane's finger pushed gently on the trigger, but not enough pressure to fire.

"Don’t!" Max warned, pointing the gun at Marcus’s head from the side.

Marcus finally put his hands in the air, and Sloane could see him more clearly. She kept the gun pointed at him as Max holstered his. He pulled up Marcus’ shirt and removed the gun tucked into his belt. Marcus had been reaching for it before Max had stopped him.

"Let’s take a trip down to the station and have a little chat," Max said.

***

"He’s in violation of his parole," Detective Brooks said. They had taken Marcus Trenton to a police station in Tucson to be processed. "He’s not supposed to go anywhere near his old gang members, he’s to report to his parole officer if he is leaving his immediate area, and he’s not allowed to carry any firearms. There are a dozen other conditions that he might have violated also."

"Do you know him well?" Sloane asked.

"No, I don’t," Detective Brooks admitted. "I’m only going by what they have on him in the system. He’s been out of prison for almost four months, but it looks like he was falling back into his old ways. He’s ready for you in interview room three when you are ready to talk with him. We have Douglas Boyd in a holding cell. What do you want done with him?"

"Have someone take a statement from him," Sloane said. "Find out what Marcus Trenton was doing at his house and what they might have had planned. I want to know their movements from the past week."

"Alright," the detective said.

"Shall we find out if Marcus Trenton is hiding something more than just a parole violation?" Max asked.

Sloane nodded. They made their way to interview room three and knocked before they went in.

Marcus Trenton was handcuffed, and the cuffs were attached to the table. He had run from them when they went to Douglas’ house and had been apprehended with a gun in his possession. With his history of violence, the handcuffs were warranted.

"Marcus, we finally get a chance to speak face to face," Max said as they entered.

Max scoffed but, otherwise, didn't respond.

"Are you ready to speak with us, Marcus?" Sloane asked.

There was still no answer from the apprehended suspect.

Sloane and Max sat down slowly on the opposite side of the table from Marcus. Marcus Sloane had not looked as big when he had been running from them, but up close, he looked formidable. Marcus was well over six feet tall, and that height was apparent, even when sitting. He was muscular, his biceps and shoulders bulging, and had tanned skin. He was attractive, with sleek brown hair and chestnut eyes, but the scar on his left cheek hinted at trouble.

The look in his eyes did more than hint. He didn't look directly at them when they sat, but the disdain was clear. Marcus was a man who had been in trouble many times with the law, and he had grown an apparent dislike for any law enforcement.

"Marcus, you have quite the rap sheet. You’ve caused trouble all over Tucson," Max said.

Marcus ran his tongue around the underside of his lips and stared down at the metal table between them.

"Marcus, why were you hiding out at Douglas Boyd’s house?" Sloane tried.

No answer.

"And why did you have a gun, Marcus?" Sloane added. "That’s in clear violation of your parole."

Marcus remained silent.

"It might be better to list the parole conditions you are not in violation of," Sloane told him. Almost four months out of prison, and you end up back with one of your old crew. You held down a job for a while, had your own apartment, a loving mother who wanted to see you, and then you broke your parole. Why now, Marcus?"

Marcus did not give them anything. He glared down at the metal table as if he needed to bore a hole in it to escape.

"You’re going back to prison, Marcus," Sloane told him. "You are in clear violation of multiple parole conditions, and there really is no other option than to send you back to jail. That doesn't sound like something you want to happen, but you have to face the consequences of your actions."

"So, send me back," Marcus said. "Why are you in here with me? What is it you want?"

"So, you can talk," Max said. "I thought were were dealing with a mute, but this is far easier."

"Will you just get on with it," Marcus said. "What is it you want? You want me to rat on someone in exchange for not going back to prison? I ain’t a rat."

"That would be an interesting conversation for another time," Max said. "You must know things about people. When we are done with you, we can pass you over to the local police, and maybe they can talk more about that."

Marcus looked up and glared at Max with a fiery intensity. "What do you want from me?"

"You were in the Tucson County Correctional Facility for three years for aggravated assault," Sloane said.

"Yeah, what of it?" Marcus replied.

"Do you remember a guard called Gordon Pike?" Sloane asked.

"I remember him very well," Marcus said. "He retired when I was in there doing my time. A good thing, too, as I likely would have killed him if I’d had to be in there with him any longer."

"Yeah, is that right?" Max asked.

Marcus leaned forward in his chair, a snarl playing on his lips. "Yeah, that’s right," Marcus stated.

"So, you wanted to kill him?" Sloane asked.

"That’s not a crime, is it?" Marcus asked.

"That depends on if you act on it or not," Max said.

"Then it’s a good thing I didn't act on it." Marcus continued to lean forward and stare directly at Max. "Do you want to know what I’m thinking about you right now?"

"Is it that you can't believe how handsome I am?" Max asked.

Marcus suddenly lunged forward at Max, the handcuffs stopping him from getting to the detective. Max sprung backward, standing up and knocking his chair over. Sloane moved back a little in her seat. Max laughed as he walked back and forth by the table.

"Trying to give me a little kiss, eh?" Max asked.

"Why don't you come closer and find out," Marcus warned.

"This is fun and everything, but we need answers, Marcus," Sloane said. "You wanted to kill Gordon Pike. Is that why you visited him at his house three months ago?"

"Yeah, it is," Marcus said matter-of-factly.

"What happened when you visited him?" Sloane asked.

"I told him exactly what I thought of him," Marcus said. "I went there wanting to beat the crap of him, to inflict as much pain and punishment as he inflicted on us, but you know what I saw when I got there? A feeble old man who didn’t deserve my time."

"So, what?" Max asked from the side of the table. "You went to his house, wanting to kill him, and when you got there, you decided not to? You hashed it out with him, and you both went on your merry way?"

"We didn't hash anything out," Marcus said. "I pinned him to the wall and told him that I would be back to finish the job. He’ll be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. There’s no law against that."

"No law against threatening someone’s life?" Max asked. "Do you understand the law at all?"

"It’s funny you should mention the rest of Gordon Pike’s life," Sloane said. "We found Gordon Pike chained to a rock in the desert yesterday. The man whose life you threatened is now dead, Marcus."

"Good," Marcus said. "I’m glad he’s gone."

"Are we really going to keep doing this?" Max asked. "Come on, Marcus. You might not fully understand the law, but how about you just confess to it."

"Confess to it?" Marcys asked. "I’ve got nothing to confess to."

"You see how this looks, right?" Max stepped closer to the table but still kept some distance between him and Marcus. "You wanted to kill him, you went to his house and threatened his life, and when he was found, we find you breaking your parole and hiding out at a friend’s house. You’re not an idiot, Marcus."

"I didn't kill him." Max sat back and shrugged.

"I find that hard to believe," Max replied. "You wanted him dead, Marcus. You went to his house and threatened him. We found you hiding out at Douglas’ place. Come on, how about you admit to it, and we can all go home." Max leaned in a little closer. "Well, you won't be going home unless you call prison home."

Marcus sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I didn't kill no one, so if you are going to arrest me, go ahead and do it, but you would have done that already if you had any evidence."

"Don't worry, we are just getting started," Max said.

"Give us an alibi, and we will let you go free," Sloane said. "Until then, I’m sure you can see how it looks."

"I’m not giving you anything until I speak to my lawyer," Marcus said.

"Marcus, you can make—" Max started.

"My lawyer," Marcus stated.

"Let's give him some time," Sloane said. "We’ll get his lawyer down here, and then we can talk to him again."

"A lawyer won't be able to get you out of this one, Marcus," Max said.

Marcus raised his eyebrows and flashed Max a slight smile.

Sloane took Max by the shoulder and pushed him out of the room.

"What was that back there?" she asked. "You can't let people get under your skin like that."

Max sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I’m sorry. I didn't like him from the moment I stepped into that room."

"I wouldn’t have guessed," Sloane said sarcastically. "We do this right. We get his lawyer down here and then see what he has to say."

"He’s guilty," Max said.

"It does appear that way," Sloane said. She looked past Max when Detective Brooks approached from down the hallway.

"Did he speak?" the detective asked. "Did you get what you needed?"

"Not yet," Sloane said.

"Don't worry, Douglas Boyd was eager to save his own skin," Detective Brooks said. "He told us everything."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rita Caldwell looked around the small office and shook her head. Everyone had already gone home hours ago, leaving only her. She moved her cursor over the payroll spreadsheet, making sure there were no errors flagged. Most of her colleagues would only do that, making a quick pass at the sheet, but that was the reason they had to do twice the work when a mistake was found further along the line. She was the only one who checked every number, looking for irregularities. It took a little longer at the outset, but no work ever came back to her with errors.

Rita sighed. She knew that a few of her colleagues had gone to the bar two blocks from the office after work, and she could be there with them. She had only been invited because she had overheard someone talking about it, but it would have been fun to go.

They all see me as some sort of workaholic, stern-faced monster. Is that the price I pay for doing things right? Should I not take pride in my work?

Rita finished going over the numbers and approving them all. Then, she hit the send button and shut down the workstation. As soon as it was shut down, it sucked with it all the noise in the office, causing her ears to prick up at the sound of someone in the hallway.

She initially thought it was someone returning to work because they had forgotten something. They would certainly not come back to do any additional work after hours. She looked toward the door, bending down to lift up her purse. She dipped her hand into it and took out the small can of mace. She held that in one hand while she gathered her jacket and bag with the other.

She didn't take her eyes off the door for a second. She listened and was sure she heard a small squeak. She didn't know what that meant but was sure someone else was in the building with her. She did what she did with anything in her life and dived straight into it. She walked with purpose, shoulders back, and mace held out, ready to spray it at her attacker.

Rita passed through the door and swiveled to the left and the right, holding the can of mace out like a gun. There was no one there. She walked straight ahead toward the corner that led around to the elevators. Rita held the can aloft, tightening her grip as she reached the corner.

She rounded the corner and came face to face with her attacker. Rita almost pressed on the top of the spray but fumbled the can instead when she saw who it was before her.

"My goodness, Alphonso," she said. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Are you okay, Miss Caldwell?" Alphonso asked, bending down to retrieve her can of mace.

"I didn't realize it was you," Rita said, taking the can from his. She looked at her watch. "My goodness, is that the time already? I didn't realize I was here so late."

"You like to work hard. So do I." Alphonso pumped his fist in the air.

"Yes," Rita said. "Well, you must excuse me." Rita continued on and pressed the button for the elevator.

Alphonso carried on through the office with his cleaning cart.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Rita put the mace back in her bag and took the elevator down to the first floor. She got out and escaped into the night. There was a coolness in the air, and not many people were out in the street. Rita pulled her jacket tight around her neck and walked toward her car. In the mornings, the streets were crammed, and there were few parking spaces to choose from. She usually had to park a block or two from the office. She set out to walk to her car, heading in the opposite direction from the pub.

They likely won’t be there anymore, and they don't really want me there with them.

Rita brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. As she walked, she realized how quiet it was, as if all sound had been sucked from the world again. Her ears pricked up again, and she heard a dissonance in the only sound audible on the quiet street.

She could hear her footsteps, but they sounded wrong as if they were out of time with her steps. She tried to work out how that was possible, and it struck her. She was not alone on the street. Someone was walking behind her, and they kept time with her steps. Rita quickened her pace slightly, and she heard the difference. A moment later, the sound merged once more, and an icy chill ran down her spine.

Rita brought her bag to the front of her body and dipped her hand in to clasp the mace can. She took some deep breaths and tried to work out how far behind her the person was. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw a figure behind her; his head mostly obscured with a scarf and hat.

Her car was on the same side of the street as she walked, but Rita made the decision to cross over the street, not waiting for a crosswalk. She got to the other side of the street and glanced out of the side of her eye to see the man still on the other side of the road. He didn’t move to cross the street.

Rita let out a sigh of relief and almost laughed. Twice, she had thought someone was there to attack her. She didn't know what had put her so on edge. She continued on, keeping her hand in her bag and on the mace just in case. There was something in the air, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

There was still one problem. Her vehicle was on the other side of the street, and she would have to cross back over to get to it.

I can slow down when I get there and wait until he has gone down the street.

Rita was careful, but she was impatient. It wouldn’t be long until she was back at work again, and she didn't want to be unnecessarily held up. She kept hold of her weapon and slowed a little. She couldn't see the man in her periphery anymore. She turned to look at her car. The man was gone.

Rita moved her hand from the can of mace to her keys, but her hand quickly jumped back when she heard the noise behind. She spun around, taking the can from her bag and pointing it at the man. She didn't have time to spray him. He grabbed her hand and crushed it over the can. Her thumb wiggled, trying to get free enough to press down on the button on top, but he was too strong for her.

"Let it go," he hissed.

"Please," she begged.

The man squeezed her hands tighter until it became unbearable, then moved her hand to release the can below. It clattered to the ground. Rita tried to dislodge her hand from his grip, but he wouldn’t let go. She opened her mouth to shout out, but he lifted his other hand and clamped it to her jaw.

Rita scrambled and scratched with her free hand, trying to injure the man. He quickly spun her around, pulling the hand in his grip up behind her back and then swinging his hand back over her mouth to grab her from behind.

She felt his warm breath in her ear, chilling her to the bone.

"Do that again, and I will hurt you." To show he was serious, he pushed her arm up behind her back.

Rita gasped through his hand. She let her free hand drop to her side, and the man relieved the pressure on her arm.

"Please," she begged, her words muffled by the hand clamped over her mouth. "Please, let me go."

"Stop begging," the man hissed. "Your time has come. Let’s take a little walk together and talk about your sins. You shouldn’t have done what you did, Rita."

It was time for Rita to pay for what she had done. No one cared about justice, so he would be her judge, jury, and executioner.

CHAPTER NINE

Sloane and Max walked into the room behind Detective Brooks. Douglas Boyd sat at the metal table, but he wasn’t tethered to the table or handcuffed. He looked a lot more docile than he had when they had arrived at his door. He hung his head, not because he wanted to be all salty and angry like his friend, Marcus, but because he had ratted out his friend and was now regretting it.

"How about you tell the two detectives what you just told me," Detective Brooks said.

Douglas rolled his head from side to side, not making eye contact with anyone. He was a lot smaller than Marcus Trenton. He had felt more threatening back at his home, but that was likely due to the possession of a firearm.

"Douglas?" Detective Brooks probed.

"Alright, yeah," Douglas moaned. "Yeah, Marcus was holed up at my house, and I was letting him stay with me for as long as he needed."

"Why was that, Douglas?" Detective Brooks asked.

"I already told you why that was," Douglas said.

Detective Brooks walked over to the table and placed his palms down on the surface. "Yeah, and I’m telling you to tell the two Detectives here, Douglas. Hurry up, or we have a different kind of conversation."

"Yeah, alright," Douglas moaned, shaking his head. "So, yeah, Marcus went to visit an old buddy of his a few days back, a guy he used to run around with back in the day. I guess they don't see eye to eye anymore, and the guy ended up in the hospital. Marcus wasn’t sure if the guy would rat him out or not, so he needed a place to lay low. He didn't want to go back to prison again."

"So, you rat him out instead," Detective Brooks said with a smile.

"You threatened me," Douglas said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"How about not carrying around an unlicensed firearm?" Detective Brooks asked.

"Okay, hold on a minute," Sloane said. "When did the altercation happen?"

"Four days ago," Douglas said.

"And he came to you after it happened?" Sloane continued.

"Yeah, he appeared at the door and told me he had just put someone in hospital, and I didn't want to be the second guy he put in the hospital that day, so I let him stay with me."

"Has he been in the house with you since then?" Max asked.

 "Yeah, we’ve been planning… we’ve just been playing video games and crap. He wanted to stay a couple more days and then go back home. Oh, man! Is he going back to prison because of me? I can't stay in the city if he finds out. How long will he go back for?"

Sloane looked at Max and then at Detective Brooks. "It’s getting late. We’ll be in the city for the night. Can you take a formal statement from Mr. Boyd confirming the alibi?"

"Yeah," Detective Brooks said.

"And we’ll leave you to deal with whatever comes from this," Sloane said, gesturing toward Douglas.

"Never a dull day," Detective Brooks said.

"Food?" Sloane asked Max.

"Yeah, I could go for that."

***

Sloane stuck her chopsticks into the noodles and picked up a long string of them, bending her head and lowering the noodles into her mouth. Max walked back into the restaurant from being on the phone outside.

"Alright, that was Detective Brooks," he said. "He has a formal statement from Douglas Boyd confirming exactly what he told us back at the station. They called around the hospitals and were able to find someone matching the description. A guy with a long record was admitted four days ago unconscious with severe wounds to the body and face. They sent someone over there, but the guy won't say who did it to him. All they have is Douglas’ word that Marcus put him in there, but it would be far too much of a coincidence for all of this to play out as it has."

"I believed the story when Douglas told it, and I didn't feel that Marcus was trying to cover his tracks when he spoke about Gordon Pike. He spoke frankly about his disdain for him from their time in prison, and I believe that he didn't know Gordon was dead."

Max sat down and picked up a dumpling. He bit half of it and talked as he chewed. "So, we can rule out Marcus Trenton from our investigations?"

"Yeah, we can," Sloane said. "Did Detective Brooks say what he would do with Marcis and Douglas?"

"No, he didn't. It’s not our problem anymore."

Sloane nodded and picked up more noodles with her chopsticks. She couldn't help but feel frustrated at the dead end in the case. From the moment she had caught Marcus leaping from the window and running, she had been sure he was running because he was guilty. He was guilty, just not of the crime he had been accused of.

"Where do we go from here?" Max asked.

"We have an ex-prison guard and a businessman. The only connection we have between them both so far is that they lived in the same city. The killer dragged them both out into the desert, tied them to rocks, and left them out there to die. That’s not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That was intentional. The killer wanted them to suffer. To me, that makes it personal. The killer must have known about the heart conditioner diabetes, or he would have stabbed Gordon Pike, too. That makes it even more personal—he knew something of the victims."

"So, if the killer knows the victims in some way and needs them to suffer, there must be a connection somewhere, right?"

"There has to be," Sloane said. "Tomorrow, we head back to Bolton, or we find somewhere here to work; maybe talk to Detective Brooks. We need to keep looking into Marvin and Gordon. Family history, medical history, work crossover, friends, businesses, fishing trips, hobbies, everything. I want to know everything there is about the two men. After everything with Marcus, Gordon Pike might have had more enemies from his prison days. We will focus on that and see if we can find a link there with Marvin Shaw. It’s not that we are missing something, we just haven’t found the connection yet."

"Some good old police work," Max said as he chewed on the other half of the dumpling. "We hit the road and put names to faces, pound the sidewalk, take names and numbers. That sort of thing."

How did you ever become a cop, Max?" Sloane asked.

Max laughed and then took a swig of his beer. "The luck of the Irish, I guess."

After dinner, they walked back to the hotel together. It had not been hard to find a couple of cheap rooms for the night. The hotel had a swimming pool right in the middle, the rooms surrounding it on all sides, three levels high. The pool was filled with brown water, topped with leaves and beer cans. Still, the hotel was cheap, and the rooms were warm.

"Alright, we’ll meet back out here at six and figure out what the next steps are," Max said. "I have a good feeling about this."

"The case?" Sloane asked.

Max looked at the door to his room and smiled. "The bed. I don't know why, but I have a hunch that the bed is going to be more than accommodating. I bet my feet don't hang over the edge at all."

"I can't wait to hear all about it in the morning," Sloane said.

"I can see the expectation and excitement on your face," Max said.

"Goodnight."

"Night," Max replied, unlocking his door.

Sloane walked to the next door and unlocked it with a key, which felt very old-fashioned compared to the keycard most hotels now had. She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket over the chair by the door. She sat down on the bed. Then, she swung her legs up and lay down to check how long the bed was. She smiled to herself, imagining Max next door.

Her phone chimed, and she sat back up. She checked it to see a picture sent from Max. It showed his feet hanging off the end of the bed. Sloane tagged the picture with a laughing emoji. She didn’t put her phone down immediately. She went into her messages and looked at the last message she had sent her brother. There had not yet been a response. She sent him another message.

I was thinking about you a lot today. I don't want to meddle in your life, but I hope you’re doing okay, and I am here for you.

She sent the message off into the aether, not expecting a message back. Sloane placed her phone on the bedside table and picked up the remote to turn on the TV. She flipped through a few channels before turning the TV off again. She got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to wash before bed. She and Max had both picked up toothbrushes and toothpaste before going for food, and she brushed her teeth extra well after forgetting to buy some before getting a room at the motel the previous night.

Sloane went back to the bed, got in, switched off the light on the bedside table, and closed her eyes. It took a while, but she eventually fell asleep.

Sloane sprinted. She ran through the polar trees, chasing the suspect. She knew he had… she couldn’t remember what the suspect had done, but she knew it was something awful. It didn't matter the crime he had committed, she had to catch up with him and bring him in.

She looked behind and to the side as she ran between the trees. Her partner was not there. Max was usually by her side through everything, but he had… she couldn’t remember what had happened to him or where he had gone, but she was sure he had been with her a moment ago. He was not there now; it was up to her to bring this guy in.

Sloane tapped her hip, but her gun was not there. Everything felt against her, but she had faced worse odds before and come through unscathed. Besides, the suspect was running for his life. He would have stopped to turn and fight with her if that was the better option, but he was running as fast as he could to escape her.

New determination flooded her. She didn't need a gun or her partner to bring in the perp. All she needed was her resolution.

The wooded area that she ran through darkened as the trees became thicker. Almost no light filtered in, but Sloane kept her eyes on the suspect, seeing the movement up ahead even if his figure became blurred. Small branches and leaves reached down and whipped at her face. She brought her hands up as she ran to protect herself.

The trees thickened, and more branches scratched at her. Sloane tried to duck as she ran through the trees but was slowed down as the branches clawed at her, not only scratching but grabbing at her. She pushed her fists ahead, trying to break through. Blood ran down her cheeks and forehead, but that wouldn’t stop her from catching up with him.

Sloane screamed out, and it did something. The trees didn't grab at her as much, and she was able to run quicker after the man she was chasing, and then she burst through from the trees and out into the desert. The sand slipped under her feet as she ran. The heat beat down on her, bringing pain where she had been cut by branches and leaves.

The man ahead ran for a large rock, meaning to use it to escape. Sloane didn't understand how he could but knew she had to get to him before he got to the rock. She pushed against the slipping sand, her thighs burning as she ran. She closed in on him, ten yards, five, two, and then—Sloane reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder, stopping him dead.

She yanked him back, and he stumbled. She stepped back to stop him from falling into her, and the man tumbled to the dry sand. Sloane took a step back, waiting for an incoming attack. The man grunted and turned to face her, looking up from the yellow-brown dirt.

"You," Sloane said. "What are you doing here?"

"You can't stop me! You won't ever stop me!" Brendan, her brother, screamed.

"I don't understand," Sloane said.

"You never will!" Brendan shouted. He grabbed a fistful of dirt and tossed it in Sloane’s eyes.

She brought her hands up, but the damage was done. She blinked and wiped her eyes, the dirt scratching. She forced her eyes open to see blurs. She wiped them, and it was enough to see Brandan running again.

Sloane haled out her arm. "No!"

Brendan ran and hurled himself at the large, black, jagged rock.

"No!" Sloane screamed.

Sloane sat bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping from her brow. Her chest heaved. Her throat was dry and sore. She looked around the room into the darkness, feeling a presence with her. There was enough light to see by. The room was empty.

She looked to the side, her ringing phone providing the illumination She picked it up.

Sheriff Munoz

"Hello?" Sloane answered.

"I thought you would want to get back here as soon as you can," the Sheriff said. "We just found Gordon Pike's car."

"Don't touch it," Sloane said. "We are on our way."

CHAPTER TEN

Sloane and Max found themselves back close to the Sonora desert. Gordon Pike’s car had been found thirty miles from the closest access point that would have allowed the killer to get Gordon to where he had died. A team was waiting by the car for Sloane and Max to get there before they touched it.

"Okay," Sloane said once she ended the call. "I have them searching the area in a fifty-mile radius for any buildings that the killer might have used to hold Gordon Pike before he was taken out into the desert. If that doesn’t turn up anything, then we move into a hundred-mile radius."

"So, he leaves his house on the morning of the fishing trip and then his car ends up over this side of the desert. Maybe someone got in and made him drive over here," Max suggested.

"No, I don't think so," Sloane replied. "It doesn't work logistically. That person would either have had a car waiting at the location of the car and had to make their way to Gordon initially, or they were not working alone. The not working alone part is still possible, but the murders still feel too personal for it to be a shared vision."

"So what do you think happened?" Max asked as he drove them toward the car. He indicated to pull off the main highway and head down a dirt road. The dirt was compacted, and it didn't look like the road was used much.

"He left the house at the expected time of the fishing trip, so we have to assume until we get to the car that he was planning on going on the trip. If we find the fishing gear in the car, that backs the assumption. There were no unusual calls leading up to his disappearance, and Miranda Pike had not mentioned any visitors or unusual actions on Gordon’s part before he left.

"The first theory is that the killer contacted him in some other way, and Gordon kept that a secret, playing along about the fishing trip for some reason. The more reasonable theory is that the killer met Gordon on the morning he was leaving for the fishing trip. That is why I have asked a couple of officers to canvas the area to see if anyone remembers anything from the morning he disappeared. I would expect that Gordon drove out here and then switched vehicles, or he was attacked out here and forced into another vehicle."

"Which backs your theory that the killer was someone either known to the victims or who knew about the victims," Max noted.

The car bumped up and down on the dirt road.

"If I were making an educated guess, I would say that Gordon Pike left his house on the morning of the fishing trip, fully intending on going on the trip, and then he ran into someone he knew but didn't know was a killer. On speaking with the person, he was convinced to change his plans, either agreeably or forcefully. Gordon Pike drove out to where we were going now, or to another location and then to this location after, and at some point that morning, he called his friend and canceled the trip. When Gordon Pike got out to this location, the killer took him off in another vehicle and to a place where he could hold him for up to twenty-four hours, as suggested from the evidence gained from the medical examiner, and then was led out into the desert to die."

"Yeah, I was about to say pretty much the exact same thing," Max said with a smile.

Sloane smiled with him. She was lacking sleep and the remnants of the dream still weighed on her, but she found comfort in Max’s company.

She would talk to her therapist about the dream, but its content was pretty self-explanatory to her. She had seen some of her brother in Marcus Trenton, and Marcus could well be on his way back to jail. In her dream, her brother running from her represented her inability to help him, and she chased him just like she had chased Marcus. The rock was death, an end. If she couldn’t help him, he would find a bad ending.

"So, did you sleep well with your legs hanging over the end of the bed?" Sloane asked, eager to forget the dream and her troubles with her brother. He had not responded to her last two messages.

"I slept like a baby," Max replied. "One of the best night’s sleep I have had in years. You?"

"Yeah, fine," Sloane lied.

Max slowed when he saw the people and vehicles up ahead. Sheriff Munoz was waiting for them with the forensic team. Max pulled up to the scene as close as he could, and he and Sloane got out.

Sheriff Munoz approached them, handing them both latex gloves. "We’ve taken pictures of the car’s exterior and the dirt track. It's likely another vehicle was here to transport Gordon Pike from this place, but I don't think we’ll have much luck getting any tire tracks we can match to a vehicle. The earth is too compacted to leave much of an impression."

"Thanks for waiting for us," Sloane said.

"Go do your thing, and then the forensic team will get in there and see if we can get any prints," the Sheriff said.

Sloane and Max donned the gloves and went to work.

"Unlocked," Sloane said, pointing to the rounded silver cylinder just inside the door by the window.

Max rounded the car to the passenger side while Sloane checked the driver’s side. She opened the door and looked in the ignition. No keys. She checked under the seat, but there wasn’t anything. Max checked on and under the seat on the passenger side, but there was nothing obvious. He clicked open the glove compartment, and it was messy inside, but nothing caught his attention, just some CDs, napkins, and the manual for the car.

They moved to the back seat next, attacking it from different sides. The car was relatively clean. Some scuffs on the floor mats and one stain in the middle of the back bench, but it looked like it had been there for a while. There was no sign there had been a scuffle in the vehicle or that anyone else had been in it on the morning Gordon went missing.

The forensics might tell them differently, but there was nothing they could pick out as they searched the car.

Sloane sighed and moved to the rear of the car. She tried the trunk, but it was locked.

Sheriff Munoz gave the order, and one of his officers stepped forward with a crowbar and thrust it under the metal beneath the lock. Sloane and Max stood back but leaned in to see what was in the trunk. There was a sense of apprehension as everyone waited for the trunk to be popped. With a final grunt from the officer, the lock gave way with a creak and a pop. The trunk snapped up and bounced down before bouncing open.

Sloane and Max stared into the trunk to see exactly what they expected: fishing gear. They moved forward in synchronization and rifled through it to check for anything they might have missed. There was only fishing gear in the trunk. It confirmed what Sloan had thought but gave them nothing to work with. They would have to wait for forensics to gain anything insightful, and Sloane had the foreboding feeling that there would be no forensic evidence in the car.

Sloane turned from the trunk and walked away a little before kicking up some of the dirt from the top layer of the dirt track.

"I just need something to get my teeth stuck into," she moaned. Two days since he was found, and we have nothing."

"Hey, you okay?" Max asked as he joined her. He made a show of kicking the dirt to show his solidarity.

"Two dead bodies, and we have nothing," Sloane complained.

"Come on, you are supposed to be the rational one," Max said. "You thought he was going on the fishing trip and would have the fishing gear in his car, and that’s exactly what happened. Your next theory will be right, too, even if you can't prove it straight away. Now, snap out of this tantrum, and let’s get back to work."

Sloane laughed. She was not sure anyone else could talk to her in the same way and make her laugh.

"Um, Detective Riddle," Sheriff Munoz said from behind.

"Your team can get started," Sloane said.

Sheriff Munoz ordered the forensic team to start going over the car. "There was something else," the Sheriff said.

Sloane and Max turned to him.

"We might have found someone who can tell us where the chain is from. I’m expecting his call later today, but if you want to pay him a visit, he works in the auction house in Bradley. It’s a thirty-minute drive from here."

Sloane took a deep breath and counted to there. "We’ll go and speak with him. Let us know if you find anything we missed with the car."

***

The auction house was a large red barn on the outskirts of the town of Bradley. Sheriff Munoz had called ahead and informed the auctioneer that two detectives would be visiting. Sloane presumed that the man standing in the doorway was their contact. He wore a pair of light blue denim jeans and a red and white checkered shirt. He waved to them as they pulled up.

Sloane and Max got out and walked over to him as he waited in the doorway for them.

"Come and get out the heat," the man said. "I have some lemonade inside for both of you. Connor Campbell." He extended a hand.

"Max Callahan," Max said as he shook the man’s hand.

Sloane shook his hand and introduced herself. "We’re not keeping you from your work, are we?"

"No, not at all," Connor said. "We don't have auctions during the week. I spend most of the time cataloging and making sure the shipments come in on time, and everything is ready for the weekend. It’s exciting to be a part of a police investigation."

"We’re thankful that you have time for us and might be able to tell us something," Max said.

"I hope so," Connor said. "Right this way." He led them through the main area of the barn, which was filled with what looked like farm equipment and country antiques.

"What is it you auction off here?" Sloane asked.

"Oh, a little bit of everything," Connor replied. "Mostly old farm equipment and machinery, but basically anything that will sell. We cater mainly to farmers and locals. Things that are historically native to the area do well. Here we go." Connor indicated the small, round table laden with a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses.

Sloane and Max joined him at the table. Connor poured the three of them lemonade. He took a large swig and smacked his lips.

"So, down to business," Connor said, gesturing eagerly for Sloane and Max to drink up. "I looked at the pictures of the chain sent to me, and the chain is, indeed, antique. It likely dates from the late nineteenth or early twentieth century."

Connor picked up the tablet from the table and turned it on, bringing up pictures of the chain. The photos showed the chain after it had been taken back to the lab for analysis, and it lay on a white background. No usable fingerprints had been found on it.

"The chain is definitely old. We’ve had some chains like this come through here before, and I checked our records, but this particular chain wasn’t sold here. I can ask around, but these types of things rarely come up on the open market, and when they do, they often go to museums."

"Museums?" Sloane asked.

"Yes, exactly," Connor said, becoming more excited. "I can see from the look of it that the chain is old, and it is definitely an American chain. Now, look right here." Connor zoomed in on one of the photos. "The chain is made of iron, and the metal links are thick. Do you see the markings on the metal where it has been scraped? At one time, there would have been shackles attached to the chain. You can see the abrasion marks paced along the chain. The chain would have been used for a chain gang."

"A chain gang?" Max asked.

"The prisoners would have been shackled to the chain, and they would have been used for hard labor," Connor said. "Maybe building railroads or roads, buildings, anything that cheap or free labor could be used for."

"Prisoners," Sloane said.

"You said the murders were personal," Max said. "If the killer is using chains from an old chain gang, that means something."

Connor paled a little at the mention of murders.

"It brings us back to the prison," Sloane said. "We have a chain used in the past for prisoners doing hard labor and an ex-prison guard. We can't connect that to Marvin Shaw yet, but it’s worth looking into more. We head back to Bolton and see if we can find something that connects Marvin to the prison in some way."

***

It was dark outside when Max finally found the connection.

"A donation," he said. "Marvin Shaw was well off, and he made a number of charitable donations. It’s this one here. The charitable foundation is ‘The Rehabilitation Project,’ but when I looked into it, the money is distributed to various help centers around Tucson, but the bulk of the donations, at least fifty percent, goes to correctional facilities in Tucson. It’s almost like a private subsidization of the prison system in Tucson."

"It’s something," Sloane said. "It gives us the final link in the chain. Two dead bodies, both linked to the prison system in some way. It’s not a revelation by any means, but it’s a thread to be pulled at."

Sloane and Max both smiled. It had been a long day, but it finally felt like they were going in the right direction. They lost their smiles when Sheriff Munoz walked in, and they saw the look on his face.

"Gordon Pike’s car?" Sloane asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. "A bunch of teens just found a dead body tied to a rock in the desert."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A canopy of white twinkling stars hung above the Sonoran Desert in the inky black sky. The area was bathed in serenity as Max and Sloane drove to the crime scene. The desert took on an eeriness in the darkness. The long, spiny arms of cactus stood in silhouettes like people spread out across the desert. The moon was out to play, and it bathed the pale golden sands in a smidgeon of light—not enough to pick out any desert details, but enough to make out the humanlike forms of the taller cacti creepier.

Sloane and Max came to the first stop, where a patrol car and an officer blocked the road. He had a red glowing stick in one hand, waving it for them to stop. He recognized Sloane when the car stopped, and she recognized him from the first crime scene.

"Same as before," he said. "You can drive part of the way, but then it gets too sandy, and you have to go on foot. It’s about a half-hour hike from where you can park.

"Thanks," Sloane said. She rolled the window back up. The desert looked more ocean-like in the darkness, but the dry dustiness still hung in the air.

Max drove on for another ten minutes before they came upon the other vehicles. No one was waiting there for them, but it was not hard to know where to go next. The light in the distance polluted the night sky, and it almost looked like a tall, rounded beacon reaching up toward the darkness.

Max stopped the car, and they got out to continue on foot, taking flashlights with them.

The beams sliced through the darkness. They could see where they were going by the light of the moon, and the desert was flat enough that they could avoid larger obstacles like rocks and cacti. The beams from the flashlights picked out the color of the rocks and the subtle shades of the sandy dirt beneath. Sloane swung her flashlight after a moving object, but it disappeared before she combined it with the light.

"What was it?" Max asked after she swung her beam.

"It might have been a scorpion," Sloane said.

"It’s probably more scared of us than we are of it," Max said.

"Have you heard anything about the warehouse district?" Sloane asked.

"With everything going on here, I’ve not had much of a chance to look into what might be happening except through the official channels. I did put some feelers out to some informants, but it will take time. Do you want to tell me what is really going on? This is not something Brendan is mixed up in, is it?"

Sloane had been torn about what she wanted to tell Max, but she knew her partner had her back.

"It is," Sloane said. "I spoke to Detectives Molsen and Bridges after the last case. Cobb Volker is still out there after he escaped from prison, and he was targeting houses for a while. Taking jewelry and cash and stuff."

"We were on that case before we knew he was the one involved," Max said.

"They believe Cobb is joining with a crew for a bigger heist, but they don't know what that is yet. They showed me some pictures. I couldn't see his face, but I think Brendan was with the crew."

Max sighed. "I’m sorry. I know how hard you are working to be there for him and keep him out of jail. Have you spoken to him?"

"I tried," Sloane said. "I went to visit him a few days ago, and I did come straight out and ask him, but I made it pretty clear that I knew something was going down. If he’s caught up with his old crew, he will get himself into trouble again. And if Cobb Volker might be involved, it becomes dangerous. Cobb has limited himself to stealing what he needs to keep going for now, but we know he is capable of a lot worse. Cobb was in jail for manslaughter, but we know he’s done other things, even if we can't prove it. And the more we found out about him from the other escaped convicts as we brought them in after the prison break, the more we heard of the evil Cobb talked about. I’m not letting my brother go back to jail."

"I know," Max said. "I’m with you all the way on that, but if he gets caught with that crew doing something, there’s nothing you can do about it. Your best bet is to talk him out of it."

"I don't think I can," Sloane admitted. "It will take him being caught for doing something stupid for him to realize the mistakes he is making, but by then, it will be too late."

"So, you liaise with Molsen and Bridges to find out when something might be going down, and you stop your brother from going. Heck, arrest him or something, but make sure he doesn’t go down there."

"The last I spoke to them, they didn't know when something was going down, but I saw a text on my brother’s phone that might be the date and time of whatever was happening. It’s not enough for a warrant, but it’s enough for me to be watching my brother around that time."

"Okay," Max said. "Let me think for a minute. How sure are you that it was your brother in the photos you saw?"

"About seventy percent," Sloane replied.

Max walked in silence for a minute before he spoke again. "Do you know if he’s done anything with his old crew?"

"I don't know what he is up to, Max. I’m completely in the dark here. I don't even know if the message means what I think it means. It could be a friend organizing a meeting; it could be something else. If I go to Molsen and Bridges with the information, I could implicate my brother. It might be a big waste of everyone’s time."

"Yeah, yeah," Max said as he thought some more. "I’ll pass on the information. I can tell them I received it from an anonymous source and that it’s worth checking out. They don't need to know where it came from. Obviously, you can't tell Brendan that he can't go, or he might try to warn his crew, and no one gets anything. I’ll go with you, and we pay a visit to Brendan close to the time. I don't know what we did, but we stopped him from going. I will physically restrain him if we have to. Once he sees that the heist is a bust, he knows you protected him, even if he is angry about it. Maybe he doesn't talk to you for a while, but you keep him out of prison."

"Is this the best thing to do?" Sloane complained. "Should I just let him go to prison and be done with him? He seems intent on that anyway."

"I might not get along with my brother, but if I had a chance to sort him from going to prison, I would do everything in my power."

Sloane reached out and rubbed Max’s upper arm. "Thanks, Max. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Yeah, I shudder to think."

Sloane didn't look at Max, but she could almost hear the smile on his face. Even though they were walking to a third murder scene, Sloane could not help but smile, too.

 Soon after, they saw the large lights that had been set up in the desert. The square lamps pointed at the body tied to the rock in the middle of the desert night looked too harsh. They illuminated too much, the light splashing across the area. It felt like loudspeakers brought into a library to play loud music.

Officer Raymond was there to greet the two detectives, and she left the group to approach and give an update.

"The third victim, for sure," Officer Raymond said. "Rita Caldwell, thirty-nine years old. Tied to a rock like the others and a stab wound in her side."

"Tied or chained?" Sloane asked.

"Tied," the officer confirmed.

"It’s late," Max said. "Who found her?"

Officer Raymond pointed off to the side, away from the dead body and main lights but still close enough not to be shrouded in darkness. A small group of teenagers talked with an officer. The four teens were wrapped in silver blankets to ward off the cold of the shock.

Sloane sighed. "I can't imagine them being out here and finding this. Do you know what they were doing out here so far from anywhere?"

"From the bottle of vodka they were carrying with them, I think they wanted somewhere to drink and goof off without anyone catching them," Officer Raymond said. "To their credit, they called it in right away. They could have just gone home and made an anonymous call, but they waited here for us to arrive. A lot of the vodka had been drunk, but the discovery sobered them up. Do you want to speak to them?"

"No," Sloane said. "I find it very unlikely four drunk teenagers did this and then called it in. Take their formal statements, and we will review them, but get them home as soon as possible."

"Sounds good," the officer said.

"Let’s take a look," Sloane said.

She and Max made their way over to the dead body, the hope of making a new discovery filling Sloane’s mind. She couldn't stop thinking about her brother, but it helped to take her mind off him for a few minutes.

"What are we looking at?" she asked the forensic team.

"Same as the first one," the forensic scientist said, stopping and standing up from her crouched position. "We won't know everything until the morning, but if I were to guess, I would say she was brought out here and then stabbed. Maybe we find blood traces leading to the murder site, but I don't think so. No wounds to the head or anywhere else obvious. She was tied with her back to the rock, her hands tied behind her back. There is some blood on the rope, and it looks like she was tied first and then stabbed. The gag in her mouth stopped her from making too much noise, not that it would have helped all the way out here. I don't have an exact time of death for you."

"Okay, thank you," Sloane said.

She stepped closer to the body. It was easier to see every detail in the woman’s face with the lights shining down on her than it had been to see the other dead bodies in the daylight. Rita Caldwell has the same sternest as Gordon Pike, but that didn't provide any connection. She was of medium build and didn't look tall from her seated position against the black rock. Her hair was cropped, her eyes closed. Even though she had wrinkles that suggested she frowned a lot, there was a peacefulness in her death.

"This gives us nothing, does it?" Max asked, talking about the crime scene.

"No," Sloane admitted. "Not yet, anyway. Maybe something comes back from the autopsy. " She sighed. "We had just found a connection between Marcus and Gordon, as loose as that connection was."

"Now, we have to find a connection to Rita Caldwell," Max said.

"Yeah," Sloane moaned. "It has already been a long night, and that long night is about to turn into a very early morning. Let’s get back to the Sheriff’s Office and see if we can piece this thing together. I don't think our killer is done."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sloane and Max walked into the empty Sheriff’s Office and headed for their small office to get some work done through the rest of the night and into the morning. The office might be empty, but people were still busy. The officers were out at the crime scene and would get as much sleep as Max and Sloane.

"Hey, anything?" Sheriff Munoz asked from the doorway of his office, and Max and Sloane passed through the building.

"It’s the same killer," Sloane said. "We don't have anything from the crime scene except for the name of the victim."

"Keep me updated," the Sheriff said.

Sloane nodded and had to stifle a yawn as she and Max got back to work.

"Okay, we can be reasonably certain that the prison or prisons in general are a connection," Sloane said as she sat down at her desk. "Gordon Pike worked at the prison in Tucson his entire life, Marvin Shaw made donations that went into the prison system, and an old chain from a chain gang was used in the second murder. The killer doesn't throw an antique chain into the mix without a reason."

"That means we can narrow the search to ex-convicts," Max said. "Someone who was in the same prison as Gordon Pike."

"It’s a good place to start," Sloane said. "You take care of that, and I will look into Rita Caldwell. Look at the prison Gordon worked at first, but extend the search to anyone who was released from prison in the past few months. Maybe someone who made claims of being wrongly convicted, look for harsh sentencing, anything that suggests an ex-con who is angry at the system. I understand Gordon being targeted if he targeted inmates in prison, but why target a local businessman who donated to the prison system? Surely there are more prominent targets?"

"I don't ever claim to know what goes through their heads when they snap like this," Max said.

"Maybe someone local," Sloane said. "You heard what Connor said at the auction house. People like to invest in the history of the area. Put some feelers out and see if we can get a hit on the purchase of the chain. Go back as far as you can. Maybe that plays into it, too. The historical aspect. Someone who is upset at the treatment of prisoners dating back a hundred years ago?"

"I’ll see what I can find," Max replied.

Sloane fired up her workstation and began to look into the life of Rita Caldwell.

"Rita was a payroll clerk," Sloane said out loud, not having a conversation with Max but feeding him information as he worked to her right. "She’s worked for a few companies, with the most recent being a firm that does payroll for dozens of companies across the state."

Sloane looked into the company to see what she could find.

"No, no prison payroll through this company," Sloane said. "It doesn’t look like she ever worked for a prison with this company or any previous payroll work."

Sloane sighed. It would have been nice and neat if she could find an immediate link to the prison system and solidify the connection, but Rita Caldwell had no contact with any of the prisons in Tucson or beyond.

"Hey, I might have something," Max said.

"The prison or the chain?" Sloane asked.

"The prison system," Max said. "It’s loose again, but a lot of coincidences are stacking up."

"What do you have?"

"I’ve been looking into ex-cons who went to prisons in Tucson, and I started with the prison Gordon Pike worked at. There’s an inmate named Luke Harper who was released six months ago."

"I’m assuming there is more to the story than just that," Sloane said.

"I have a copy of his release form on my screen. He was released into the custody of Brian Caldwell. His wife passed away six years ago, and he never remarried, so she’s not his wife. I haven’t found any obvious link to Rita Caldwell, but what are the chances of the same name popping up? There’s no mention of them being related, but there’s a lot we don't know."

"What time is it?" Sloane checked her phone. "Three a.m.. If we find Brian Caldwell, we’ll hopefully track down Luke Harper next, and that means we need to be in…?"

"Back to Tucson," Max said. "I don't have an address for Luke Harper, but I do have one for Brian Caldwell. That is where Rita was from, too."

"If we leave now, we get there for the early morning," Sloane said. "I can work on the way and see what else we can discover."

"Coffee first and then another road trip to Tucson," Max said.

***

Sloane and Max arrived in Tucson with the dawn. It was beautiful to see the city skyline bathed in the soft orange glow of the rising sun. They made a quick stop for food, not wanting to arrive too early at Brian’s house, and then were on their way again.

"No sign of any chain gang chains being sold anywhere remotely near here in the past fifty years," Sloane said. "We don't know if the chain was bought privately or was handed down between generations. We’ll keep looking into it, but if feels like a dead end. I do feel it is important to the case, but I don't think we get to the killer through it."

"Where are we at with Luke Harper?" Max asked.

"There’s not much about him. He went to prison for burglary at a jewelry store. Spent a year in the same prison as Gordon Pike worked. Then to prison again, a different one, for breaking and entering, and back to that prison for assault. There’s a connection to two of the victims. Other than that, we don't know much about him."

"Then let’s hope Brian Caldwell can fill in the gaps," Max said.

It was pleasant to drive through Tucson so early, missing rush hour before it began. It also gave the advantage that they would find Brian at home if he was working on the weekend. He would not have left yet. Although they didn't know if or where he worked, so they wouldn’t know if he was home or not until they knocked on his door.

"Maybe we get a couple of rooms at the same hotel here when we have found Luke," Max said. "I feel pretty amped after all the coffee, but we’ll both crash at some point."

"Let’s see what we get here, and we can decide whether to travel back to Bolton or bed in here for the night," Sloane replied. "It feels weird talking about sleep when the sun is just coming up, but I can feel the tiredness starting to creep in."

They didn't go anywhere near the downtown core and didn't have to traverse the city all that far to get to Brian Caldwell’s house. He lived in a brick townhouse in a long row of red-bricked buildings. Max parked as close as they could get, and they walked up to his door. No one was out on the street; it was still early.

"Let’s hope he’s home and awake," Max said before he knocked. He waited for thirty seconds and knocked again.

They heard the soft thumps of someone descending the stairs inside. Brian Caldwell opened the door, still dressed in his pajamas. "What time do you call this?" he huffed.

"Sorry for the intrusion," Max said, taking out his ID. "We need to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. Can we come in?"

He changed from angry to more agreeable on the sight of the detective badge, and he nodded sleepily for them to follow him on. Brian lived in a top-level townhouse. The bedroom was obviously upstairs, and a living room and kitchen took up most of the lower level.

"I’m putting some coffee on," Brian said. "Can I get you both a cup?"

"Thank you, but no. We had some on the way," Sloane said.

They waited in the living room for Brian as he rustled up some coffee. When he reappeared from the kitchen, his eyes looked less bleary. He carried a large mug.

"So, what is this all about?"

Sloane was put at ease with Brian. From the initial annoyance at the door to the quiet understanding and time taken to make coffee before answering, she only saw Brian as a man who wanted to help and was sure he had no connection to the case, even if he had a connection to the deceased.

"We are in the midst of a murder investigation," Max told him. "We’re hoping you can help us find Luke Harper."

"Luke?" Brian asked. "No, he wouldn’t be mixed up in anything like that. Luke’s a good kid; he’s on a good path now."

"A good kid?" Sloane asked with a smile.

Brian chuckled through his nose. "I guess you get to my age, and you see everyone as kids."

"How do you know Luke?" Sloane asked.

"He’s part of the family," Brian said. "I have a cousin in Tulsa who married into some big family over there, and Luke is Betty’s cousin’s niece? I don't remember the exact relationship. Anyway, Luke and his family moved to Tucson when Luke was about five. I always saw him as a nephew, even though he wasn’t."

"You picked him up from prison the last time he was released," Sloane said.

Brian hung his head a little. "Yeah, he’s done things in his past, but he’s beyond all of that now. It was a bad mistake, but he’s paid for his crimes, and he’s off that path."

"What was the assault charge for?"

Brian’s jaw tightened, and he inclined his head a little. "Yeah, he shouldn’t have done that," Brian said slowly. "Luke is a changed man now, but he always had problems with authority. He won't ever talk about what happened when he was in prison the second time—the breaking and entering charge—but I know something pushed him over the edge. He found a couple of the prison guards in a local bar, and he put both of them in the hospital."

Sloane glanced at Max.

"I know how it sounds," Brian said. "When you talk to Luke, you’ll understand he’s changed. He was a different man back then, and even back then, he wouldn’t have done what he did without good reason." Brian put his coffee down and raised his hands in the air. "I’m not advocating for violence, but I heard some stories from his time in prison, and those were the ones he wanted to share. Things go on in there. You’re here because of a murder, and I’m telling you that he didn't do it."

 "Mr. Caldwell, do you know Rita Caldwell?" Sloane asked.

"Rita?" Brian asked. "Yeah, I know Rita. Haven’t seen her in a long time."

"Are you related?" Max asked.

"She’s my cousin’s daughter," Brian said.

"So Luke and Rita are related?" Sloane asked.

"Not by blood," Brian said. "Luke’s family married into our family. When Luke first moved here, Rita must have been nine or ten. They grew up as cousins, and boy, did they butt heads. Rita always had a stubbornness to her and a strong sense of justice. Luke was a little wilder and would get himself into trouble. I don't know what happened as they grew up, but I don't think they’ve spoken in years. Rita did something, and Luke blew up because of it. That was right before he went to prison for the first time. He won't talk about that either, but it was enough for him to never talk to her again."

It was Max’s turn to glance at Sloane.

"As I said," Brian pleaded, "Luke isn’t involved in anything like that anymore. Rita wouldn’t be caught up in any criminal behavior. Talk to both of them, and you will see for yourselves."

"That’s the thing, we can’t," Max said. "We’re hoping you can point us in the direction of Luke, but I’m sorry to break this next part to you; Rita Caldwell was found dead last night."

"What?" Brian gasped. "Dead?" He brought his hand to his mouth. "No, no, no. You think Luke did it, didn't you? You can take all the stuff I told you with a pinch of salt. All of that is in the past for Luke. What time is it?" Brian glanced past his watch. "I know exactly where Luke will be right now. St. Matthew’s Presbyterian Church. He’ll be there for a while, but you are barking up the wrong tree. I know Luke, and I know he is innocent. He wouldn’t murder anyone. He didn't murder Rita."

"You’ve been very helpful," Sloane said. "We’ll go and speak to Luke."

"Yes, do that," Brian said, confident in his beliefs.

Max waited until they were back outside before he spoke. "A falling out with the woman we found murdered, and he attacked a couple of prison guards. I think we’ve come to the right place. Let’s get to that church before Luke catches wind of us coming."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sloane expected the church to be busier when they went there, but there were almost no cars in the parking lot of St. Matthew’s—only a few cars were dotted about. She got out of the car and looked up at the brick building, similar in color to Brian’s townhouse but a lot grander. A large round, stained glass window had been visible on the rear side as they had driven past, and the large set of double doors on the front was equally as grand.

Max joined her after exiting the car, and they both walked up to the front doors of the church. They hesitated and looked at each other, not knowing if they should just go in or not. It was Sloane who eventually pushed for the open, and the two detectives entered.

They found an open but completely empty church. Sloane rubbed her forehead as she stepped into the main area of the church, walking between the pews. The large stained-glass window was visible at the other end of the church above the altar, and it was incredible. The lack of anyone in the church, especially Luke Harper, was incredibly frustrating.

"He’s messing with us," Max whispered. "Brian sent us on a wild goose chase, and Luke is probably long gone by now."

"He seemed on the level," Sloane whispered back. The interior of the church was serene, and she didn't want to do or say anything to ruin that.

Someone emerged from the small door at the other end of the church, and Sloane and Max were immediately put on guard. Any tension was quickly lost when they realized it was a young priest coming their way.

"Good morning," the priest said." Always nice to see people here so early. If you have come for mass, we don't have a service until nine, and if there is anything else you need, I am here to help."

"Maybe you can help us, Father," Sloane said. "You wouldn’t happen to know Luke Turner?"

"I do indeed," the priest said. "I know him well."

"Is he here?" Sloane asked.

"Again, the answer is yes. Are you here to join the group?" the priest asked.

"The group?" Sloane asked with a frown. "No. Sorry, we should have introduced ourselves." Sloane and Max showed their IDs. "What group is Luke Turner a member of?"

"He is the one who set up the group," the priest replied. "A group asking for prison reform. He has a checkered past, but I assume you already know that. He has sinned, but he has atoned for those sins, and he is trying to use his negative experience positively in the present and future."

"You’re the second person this morning to tell us that Luke Turner is a changed man," Max said.

"I can't comment on his past," the priest said. "I know the things he has done, but I only know him more recently, and I can assume that he is very different from how he once was."

"So, he runs the group out of your church?" Sloane asked.

"He does," the priest replied. "Twice a week, every week for the past six months. I believe he had another location before that, but the group only really got off the ground once he started coming to St. Matthew’s. How about I take you through to our hall, and you can speak to him yourself. I am sure Luke will be more than happy to talk with you."

"Please," Sloane said. "What time did he arrive this morning?"

"He gets here around six," the priest said as he led them toward the door he had come through previously. "He likes to have a coffee before he sets up the chairs and tables."

"Were you here when he arrived?" Sloane asked.

"No, I wasn’t," the priest said. "I must have arrived half an hour after he did. The church is always open, so there is no need for anyone to carry a key."

"How did he seem this morning when you arrived?" Sloane asked.

"Tired," the priest said. "He had a restless night last night."

"He told you that?" Max asked.

"Yes," the priest replied. "He is very forthcoming with his emotions and problems."

"What other problems does he have?" Max asked.

"What I hear in the confessional is between the three of us," the priest said.

"The three of you?" Max asked.

The priest pointed up toward the heavens. "Of course, if I hear anything that puts someone in danger or I am told of a crime committed, I have to pass that on to the police, but Luke is not caught up in any of that anymore."

The two detectives were led to a small room off the main hallway in the back area of the church. The priest poked his head in and smiled before gesturing for the two detectives to enter the room.

Three medium-sized tables were placed around the room, with six chairs around each table. The six chairs were filled completely at one of the tables, but only two at each of the other two were occupied. A burly man walked between the tables, talking to the people seated as they discussed things in groups. When he spotted the priest, he nodded toward him. Luke Turner had a permanent scowl.

Luke finished talking to the older woman at one of the more emote tables, and he approached Sloane and Max.

"What are you? Cops? Can smell you a mile off." Luke glanced at the priest before adding, "Sorry, Father."

"I’ll leave the three of you to talk," the priest said, making his exit.

"Out in the corridor," Luke ordered.

"Prison reform," Max said. "You don't agree with how they do things?"

"I’m going to need to see some ID," Luke said. "You can't trust anyone nowadays."

Sloane and Max obliged, showing their badges.

"So, the prison system?" Max repeated.

"Do you know how much corruption goes on in our prisons?" Luke grumbled. His voice was hoarse, and his eyes shifted around as if he were constantly looking for a way to escape.

"You tell us," Max said.

"They're supposed to be state-run, buy they’re profit-making machines, and the stuff that goes on in them is horrible. It’s not just the inmates attacking each other, but the guards attacking the inmates. They like to take matters into their own hands a little too often."

"Is that why you took matters into your own hands, Luke?" Max asked. "You put two prison guards in the hospital"

"Yeah, I did. They beat me while I was inside, so I took my chance to beat them once I was outside. I don't regret it, and I did my time for it, and that’s that."

"That’s that?" Max asked. "You put two prison guards in the hospital, and you shrug it off like it’s nothing."

"It’s not nothing," Luke said frankly, "but they both deserved it."

"And now, what? You are advocating for prison reform?" Max asked. "Seems like the polar opposite of putting prison guards in a hospital bed."

"Yeah, well, I was foolish in my youth."

Max chuckled. "Foolish in your youth. That’s one way of putting it."

"I don't care what you think of it," Luke said. "I did what I thought was right back then, and I am doing what I think is right now. Prisons need to change, and I know we can't do much yet, but we’ll grow, and we will make real change. I still have the hate in my heart for what I was back then and what people did to me, and I’ll make it right."

"Do you know a man named Gordon Pike?" Sloane asked.

"No, I can't say I have," Luke replied.

"You didn't have to think very hard about it," Sloane said. "You haven’t ever met him?"

"No, I don't think so," Luke replied.

"He was one of the prison guards at Tucson Country Correctional Facility," Sloane told him.

"There were a lot of prison guards there," Luke said. "I didn't make it a habit to write down their contact information."

"Though you did track down two guards from the other prison you were incarcerated in," Sloane pointed out.

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"But you don't remember Gordon Pike?" Max asked. "This is important because the man is dead, murdered."

"I hope he rests in peace," Luke said, licking his lips.

"Do you hope Rita Caldwell also rests in peace?" Sloane asked.

"She’s dead?" Luke asked with no hint of emotion.

"She is," Sloane replied.

Luke looked off to the right and bit his bottom lip. "I always imagined her dead. Wondered how I would feel about it. Don't really feel much of anything. I’m glad, in a way. I hope she doesn't rest in peace."

"Why is that, Luke?" Max asked. "What happened between the two of you."

Sloane thought he might avoid the question, but he went ahead and answered. "She was always this stuck-up cow," Luke said. "From the moment I first met her when we moved to the city, you could tell she thought she was better than everyone else. Every chance she got to spoil anyone’s fun, she took it. She never wanted me in the family. Called me all manner of things when she thought no one was listening and made sure to comment frequently about me being adopted. I didn't care about that, and she hated that it didn't bother me. So, am I sad she is dead? Not at all." Luke smiled as he looked away again. "I might even be happy about it."

"Sounds like you wanted her dead," Max said.

"You really are a stellar detective, aren’t you? Is that how you put a case together? Take the slightest conflict from childhood and turn it into a reason for murder. If you want a real reason, how about the fact that she was the one who ratted me out for the burglary? Looking back, I deserved to go to prison, but to have a member of your own family be responsible for you going to jail? And it wasn’t even about doing the right thing. Oh, the look on her face when they came to take me away. She loved every second of it. I know all of these things were my fault, but she didn't need to do me dirty like that. So, if you are looking for a reason for me to kill her, there it is. Except I didn’t kill her. I wanted nothing to do with her. I’m not the person anymore."

"Yeah, so we keep hearing," Max said.

"Where were you last night?" Sloane asked.

"I was here at the church," Luke replied.

"At the church?" Sloane asked. "You spent the night here?"

"I did."

"The Father told us that you seemed tired this morning, but he didn't mention anything about you sleeping in the church last night," Sloane replied.

"I didn’t sleep here," Luke said. "And I didn't tell Father Ross that I spent the night here. He worries too much. I couldn’t sleep at home, so I came in here. It helps to calm my mind."

"What did you do in the church all night?" Max asked.

"Not much," Luke replied. "I sat in the pews with my thoughts. Walked around for a while."

"How about yesterday and the evening before?" Sloane asked.

"I was at home," Luke said. "I’ve not been feeling well, so I kept to myself."

"Can anyone confirm any of this?" Max asked. "Do you have any form of alibi for the past twenty-four to forty-eight hours?"

"No, I don’t," Luke sighed.

"I’m going to have to ask you to turn around," Max said.

"Don't worry, I will come quietly," Luke said. "As soon as we get to the station, I want to speak to my lawyer. I haven’t done anything wrong."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Max took Luke by the shoulder and guided him around to face the wall, taking out his handcuffs and restraining Luke while reading him his rights.

Luke didn’t put up any fight. Father Ross watched them escort Luke from the church, but he didn't intervene or say a word. They were almost back at the car when Sloane got a call from Sheriff Munoz.

"Hey, Sheriff," Sloane said.

"How are things going in Tucson?" the sheriff asked.

"We just apprehended a suspect, and we’re taking him to the local station now."

"Alright," the sheriff replied. "We have a development here. When they were doing the autopsy, they found skin cells under Rita Caldwell’s fingernails. We think she might have tried to fight back against her attacker."

Sloane’s eyes lit up. She watched Max guide Luke into the car, and Luke held Sloane’s gaze the entire time.

"Run the sample and see what comes back," Sloane told the sheriff. "I’ll see if I can get a sample for you to check it against."

For the first time since the start of the case, it felt like they had a solid lead to chase.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sloane and Max found them back at the police station in Tucson with Detective Brooks. They both sat at desks, but they were tired. The only thing they could do now was wait.

"His lawyer is on the way down," Detective Brooks said. "He’ll be here in maybe twenty minutes, and then we’ll have to wait to talk with your suspect. We can't take a DNA sample without the suspect’s consent. Do you want to have another go at talking with him?"

"No," Sloane said. "We tried in the vehicle on the way here, but he wouldn’t respond. He’s shut down completely and won't say a word until he’s spoken with his lawyer."

Max yawned. "Does that mean he is more likely to be our killer?"

"I don't know," Sloane said. "I need to do something to stay away. I’ll give Sheriff Munoz a call and see where they are at with things over there."

"Can I use a workstation?" Max asked Detective Brooks. "We don't have time to waste. If Luke Turner isn’t our guy, we need to keep moving forward with the case."

"Follow me," Detective Brooks said. He looked over his shoulder and addressed Sloane. "There’s coffee in the break room. Help yourself."

Kelsey wandered. Being on her feet and moving helped her to feel more awake. She found the break room and a pot full of pitch-black coffee. She grabbed a clean mug from the cupboard above, pouring a cup. She grabbed one of the cookies from the plate beside the coffee pot and took a large bite. Then, she called the sheriff.

"Hey," the sheriff answered.

"We won't have had the sample for a while yet," Sloane told him. "How are things on your end."

"Good," the sheriff said. "The sample looks good, and they are running it now."

"The prison is the key to this. Or the prison system. If this is an ex-con with a grudge, we should have their DNA on file. I’m feeling good about this, Sheriff Munoz."

"I’m glad," the sheriff said. "We all need a win on this case. Those poor kids, finding the body like that."

"Any luck with a building where Gordon Pike might have been held?" Sloane asked.

"My officers have visited a couple of locations, but they haven’t found anything. We’ll keep looking."

"The killer held Gordon Pike somewhere, but that could easily have been at a residence, we can't be sure."

"We’ll keep looking," the sheriff said.

"Thank you," Sloane replied. "I’ll call you as soon as we get a sample on our end. Luke Harper has every reason to want Rita Caldwell dead, and he’s attacked prison guards before. He fits the profile of who we are looking for, but the way he speaks has me thinking there’s more to him."

"What do you mean?"

"He’s very frank and forward. We know from speaking with Brian Caldwell that he doesn't tell everyone his business, but when we spoke to him, he answered, and his answers felt honest. Still, he did ask for his lawyer, so he wants some protection. I’ll let you know how we make out with him."

"Sound good," the sheriff said.

Sloane hung up, but before she put her phone away, she texted her brother again. Another suspect and another person who reminded her of her brother.

I know you don't want to keep hearing from me, but you need to channel your anger into something. I can see it within you, Brendan, and it will eat you up if you don't deal with it.

She sent off the message, not expecting a reply to that one either.

Sloane grabbed a second mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee for Max. She made her way through the office area and found Max near the back of the large open-plan room. He was typing furiously. Sloane set the mug down beside his hand. Max picked it up and took a large drink.

"I might have found something else," Max said. "I’ve been throwing searches out there, trying to find more of a connection than what we already have. I’ve cross-referenced the victims’ names, the potential suspects, the prisons, everything. This just popped up."

Sloane rounded the desk to get a better look. A picture on the screen showed Rita Caldwell holding a glass of champagne at an event.

"What am I looking at?" Sloane asked.

"This was an event two months ago for those advocating for stricter prison sentences. Something about wanting to abolish early release for good behavior with certain crimes and diverting funding from things like counseling and exercise equipment in prisons, that sort of thing. The group wants to make prison a place no one will ever want to go back to as a deterrent for repeat offenders. They sound outraged that prisoners get a basic level of care."

"Okay, so we know that Rita Caldwell is for harsher conditions in prison, which connects her more to the prison system."

"And puts her more at odds with her cousin, Luke Harper."

"Yeah," Sloane agreed.

"That’s not all," Max said. "Look at some of these other photos from the same event. Do you recognize anyone?"

Sloane stared at the man in the photo when Max stopped scrolling.

"Marvin Shaw," Sloane said. "We have two of the victims at the same event. They believed in the same thing, and they might have known each other."

"It means that we have two victims who were pro-the prison system and wanted worse conditions and harsher environments, and one ex-prison guard. That sounds to me like three people someone who had been incarcerated and treated badly might want to take their frustrations out on."

"Yeah, it does," Sloane agreed. "This is good work, Max. We have a stronger link between our three victims, giving us a lot more to work with. Can you see if you can get a guest list for that event? Maybe Gordon Pike was there, too. Everyone at that event is not a potential victim."

"I’ll see what I can find online, and if there’s nothing, I will make some calls."

"Hey!" Detective Brooks called. "That didn't take long. The lawyer is here, and they are ready to talk with you."

"You go on ahead," Max said. "Get what we need from Luke, and I’ll see what I can find here."

Sloane went after Detective Brooks, and she was led to an interview room. When she entered, Luke Harper was sitting at the table with his lawyer.

"Hello again, Luke," Sloane said.

"My client maintains his innocence," the lawyer said. "He has nothing to hide, and he will answer any questions you have, but the burden of proof is on you, Detective Riddle. If you don't have anything linking my client to the murder of Rita Caldwell, then he will be walking out of here this afternoon."

"That sounds reasonable, but the other thing that is reasonable is an alibi," Sloane said. "When we spoke to your client, he didn’t have an alibi for Rita’s death. Is that still the case?"

"It is," the lawyer said. "That doesn't prove anything."

"No, it doesn't," Sloane agreed. "It sounds like we both want concrete proof, and we have a way to obtain that."

"Go on," the lawyer said.

"Skin cells were found under Rita Caldwell’s fingernails. We believe that he tried to fend off her attacker. If your client consents to give us a DNA sample, it would go a long way toward proving his innocence."

The lawyer nodded and then leaned to whisper in Luke’s ear. Lue twisted his lips as the lawyer spoke. He glanced at Sloane before turning to his lawyer and nodding.

"My client consents to the DNA sample. When it comes back that there is no match for the skin cells, I expect him to be let go."

"We will have a conversation then," Sloane said. "We don't know yet for sure that the skin cells are from her attacker."

"Okay," the lawyer said.

Sloane left the room and ordered Detective Brooks to obtain a DNA sample and send it off to the lab via courier as quickly as possible. She went back to help Max track down the guest list from the event.

It took some time, but they managed to get a list of names who were at the same event as Rita and Marvin. Gordon Pike’s name was not on that list. They didn't recognize any other names on the list, but they were all people worth checking in with. Any of them could be next on the killer’s list.

With not a lot else to do except to wait for the DNA results to come back, Sloane and Max found hotel rooms in Tucson, and after checking through everything they had so far with a fine tooth comb, they finally retired to their separate rooms and beds—one of them slept with their feet hanging over the end of the bed.

The call came in twenty-four hours later. The DNA was not a match for Luke Harper. There were also no other matches to any other current or ex-inmate in the system.

***

Thomas Keane gripped his clipboard tightly. He never went anywhere without it. The clipboard was not only where he kept all the information needed for his day-to-day activities at the prison, but it also gave him a feeling of security. He walked the prison corridors of the Tucson County Correctional Facility and made his final checks for the day.

There was an inmate transfer request between their prison and one up in Phoenix. Thomas went back to his desk and opened his email client. There was still no email from his counterpart in the Phoenix prison. He navigated to the payroll reports and made sure they were all in order. There were some extra expenses this month from civilian employees, and that required different forms. He made sure they were the right ones. There were over a hundred payroll forms, and most of them sounded alike. The only way to differentiate them was through the seven-digit number at the bottom.

Thomas smiled to himself. He had been the administrative officer at the prison for twenty years for a reason. He might only be another cog in the machine to some, but he helped the machine run smoothly, which meant the prisoners were all exactly where they needed to be. Thomas went back to his email one more time in case the email had come through in the past sixty seconds, but his inbox didn't have any unread emails.

He put down his workstation and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door of the small office.

"All done?" Jerry asked when Thomas reached the security door.

"Back to do it all again tomorrow," Thomas replied.

Jerry hit the button to unlock the door. It buzzed, and Thomas pushed it open.

"Have a good night," Thomas said as he left the prison.

"Yeah, you, too," Jerry called back.

Thomas left the prison building and headed for his car in the parking lot. As he got in, he couldn’t help but think about Gordon Pike. He hadn’t kept in touch with him at all since he had retired, but he felt a great sadness at the loss. It was a horrible way to go, and Thomas couldn't imagine what the man had gone through before he died.

Thomas started his car and pulled out of the parking lot.

He had always admired and respected Gordon. Gordon was a man who knew how to deal with the inmates. He was strict with them, not giving an inch. If you gave an inch, they took a mile. The inmates needed to know who was in charge, and Gordon was a man who made sure they knew.

Thomas shivered, both at the death of a man he had once worked with and at the thought of being a prison guard. Thomas was a man who got things done, but he wouldn't be able to keep control of the inmates. He was glad that he didn't ever have to be face-to-face with them. He could watch them from afar and let other people deal with the criminals.

Thomas looked in the rearview mirror to see a car behind him. He didn't give it a second thought until the car began to gain on him. The prison was on the outskirts of the city, and the city skyline stood in the distance. As the car gained on him from behind, a deadly thought struck him.

Whoever killed Gordon has come for me!

He quickly shook the thought from his head. No one knew who had killed Gordon, but if it was someone with a grudge, then that grudge was not shared with Thomas. He stayed well away from anyone whom he might offend or hurt. Gordon had treated some of the prisoners badly, but Thomas never had. There was not the chance to do so.

The car got close to Thomas’ car, and for a moment, he worried it would ram into the back of him. He sighed in relief when the car indicated and pulled out to pass. That relief turned back to worry when the car held the same speed beside him. The man inside the car locked eyes and pointed to the front wheel before indicating that Tomas should pull over.

Thomas felt relief once more, going through a rollercoaster of emotion. He smiled at the man in the car beside, and indicated to pull off the road. He slowed, and the car beside slowed more and fell back in behind Thomas. They came to a stop together, and Thomas exited to see what the problem was.

He looked down at the wheel on the front driver's side but couldn’t see the issue.

"You had me worried for a second there!" Thomas called back to the man as he got out of his car. "I thought you were chasing me down."

"Oh!" the man replied with a laugh. "No, I just saw… with the wheel at the front and thought you should know. Do you see it?"

"I don't see anything," Thomas replied, shaking his head.

"Maybe I was mistaken," the man said as he closed in on Gordon. He looked up and down the road, making sure no cars were about to pass.

Thomas stared down at the wheel, trying to work out what was wrong with the wheel. He placed his hands on his ample belly and frowned. He was a man who had dealt with a lot of problems in his sixty years, and he was adept at dealing with them when there was a problem.

"What was it you saw?" Thomas asked.

The man looked up and down the road again.

"Do I know you?" Thomas asked. There was a hint of recognition, but he couldn’t place the man.

"Maybe," the man replied. "Not that it matters."

Thomas brought up his arm as the tire iron swung down toward him, but he was not quick enough. The hard metal connected with the side of his head. The arid landscape around him was listed and blurred, rushing up to meet him. He hit the ground with a thud and lost consciousness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Detective Brooks rubbed his hands as he went over to the desk where Sloane and Max were trying to accumulate as much data related to the event advocating for harsher prison conditions.

"Do you have anything else from Luke Harper?" Detective Brooks asked.

"The DNA from Rita Caldwell’s fingernails doesn't match, but he still doesn't have an alibi for the night of Rita Caldwell’s death. We’re working on corroborating his movements over the past two weeks. He has a reason to want Rita Caldwell dead, but if we can’t link him to the other two murders, then we have to let him go. I’m positive that the same person killed all three victims."

"We found a car," the detective said.

"What car?" Max asked, perking his head up.

"It was found this morning near the prison," Detective Brooks said. One of the prison guards was on his way to work and saw it by the side of the road. I sent someone over there to check it out. No signs of a struggle or a breakdown. The car belongs to Thomas Keane, an administrative officer at the prison. My team didn't find anything in his car, and I’ve sent them over to his house to see if he’s there. It would seem he was driving home after work, and something happened. We don't know if there was any ill intent yet, but with everything that has happened, we have to think he might have been taken."

Sloane felt an unsettling feeling in her stomach. "Yeah, I don't like it," she replied. "Keep me updated with anything they find at his house. We have to hope he left his car for some reason and maybe walked home, but I have this feeling in my gut that something is wrong."

"How about the desert?" Detective Brooks asked. "Can we close the net on the killer there?"

"I don't think so," Sloane replied. "There are too many access points and not enough personnel. Maybe we’ll get lucky, though. Give Sheriff Munoz a call and see if you can coordinate with him. Maybe if we have more patrol cars out on the roads, it deters the killer." Sloane huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "We don't even know if this is a victim or if something else happened. If we get more cars out there, it won’t be for long. The funds are not there. Call the sheriff and see what you can do."

"Okay," the detective said as he left.

"Do you really think this is the killer?" Max asked.

"I don't know," Sloane admitted. "It’s suspicious with someone at the prison seemingly going missing. The prison is connected in some way. Still, Thomas Keane is an administrative officer. That wouldn’t put him in contact with any inmates. If this is someone unhappy at the treatment in prison, then why target him?"

"What if it’s someone unhappy with prisons in general?" Max asked. "They want to take everyone and anyone down?"

"Then we don't have a fit for Rita Caldwell," Sloane pointed out. "All we have connecting her is an ex-prisoner who is some sort of distant cousin by marriage. We’re still in the middle of checking out Luke’s alibis, but he doesn't feel like our guy."

"How about his group?" Max asked. "He’s working toward prison reform. What if this is not one person acting alone?"

"Did you see his group?" Sloane asked. "Half of them were ladies in their seventies, and with the way the priest spoke about Luke? I mean, we can't rule him or his group out just yet, but I don't see it. Where are we at with this event Rita Caldwell and Marvin Shaw both attended? If we can tie her to him, and we have one, possibly two victims from the prison, maybe it comes together through that."

"There were a lot of people there, so we are still going through the names on the list. They were all there to advocate for harsher prison conditions, so we have a connection to the prison system for all of them. Does that make them all potential victims?"

"Unfortunately, it does," Sloane said.

"The best place to start might be Elijah Kent," Max said. "The pictures come from a blog post he wrote on the event, and he has been very outspoken on the prison system for a number of years. Before he was a blogger, he was an investigative journalist. He wrote about the event, but maybe he knows more about it and the people who were there."

"Do I even need to ask if you have an address for Elijah?" Sloane asked.

"It’ll be a nice change of pace to get out on the streets again," Max said. "I’m not cut out for doing research in front of a computer screen. Grab your coat, I’ll drive."

***

Sloane answered her phone as Max drove them to Elijah’s workplace. "Do you have something?" she asked.

"No, we don’t," Detective Brooks said. "Nothing from Thomas Keane’s car and nothing from his house either. We don't know if he’s been home or not since leaving his car. There’s no sign of him at his house, no sign of a struggle or anything there. The team is still going through his things, but it looks like he’s just vanished off the face of the earth."

"Or been taken," Sloane said.

"I looked into him," Detective Brooks said. "You’re looking for any connection to the prison, right?"

"Possibly," Sloane said. "What do you have?"

"So, he’s partly responsible for the running of the prison. He deals with payroll, prisoner transfers, health and safety, and all the stuff going on in the background. He might not have dealt with prisoners in person, but something seems off."

"What?" Sloane asked.

"The prisoner transfers," Detective Brooks said. "I looked at the numbers, and up until about two years ago, he rejected almost all of the transfers out of the prison while accepting transfers from other prisons. Then, two years ago, the numbers evened out. The inmates in and out become about the same."

"Maybe prisoners were scheduled for release during that time, and it didn't affect the numbers?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, I thought the same, so I called a buddy of mine at the prison up in Phoenix and got put in touch with their administrative officer. He tells me that the numbers are definitely off. The release numbers, the inmates coming in, and everything else are in line with what was expected, but the rejected transfers are not. Then, two years ago, the numbers fell back in line. So, I’m thinking that an ex-con wants revenge for him rejecting the transfer. Maybe there are multiple ex-cons out there who are unhappy with him."

"It’s food for thought," Sloane said. "It feels like another puzzle piece from the wrong puzzle. And we don't even know yet if he is involved in the case. If ex-convicts are unhappy at him, then they could be unhappy at Gordon Pike, too, but what about Marvin Shaw and Rita Caldwell?"

"Nothing seems to fit together," Detective Brooks said.

"We’re on our way to talk with Elijah Kent," Sloane said. "He might be able to shed some light on the connection between Rita and Marvin. If we get that, it might fit with the discrepancy in the numbers. You said that Thomas Keane dealt with the payroll there, right?"

"Yeah," the detective said.

"I haven’t found any link between Rita Caldwell and maybe some payroll work for any prisons, but maybe she has a payroll link to Thomas Keane. See if you can find anything with that."

"Alright," Detective Brooks said. "I’ll update you if we find anything else."

"Thank, detective," Sloane said. She hung up the phone.

"Nothing?" Max asked.

"No, not yet," Sloane replied. "A lot of pieces, but they don't quite fit together yet."

"But we have more pieces," Max reminded Sloane. "When we found the second body, we had two separate victims with no links whatsoever. Now, we have three, maybe four, and we have a network of links. It might not fit together yet, but the more we investigate, the more we can put it together."

"When did you become so reasonable, Max?" Sloane asked.

"About two minutes ago," Max admitted. He jerked his head forward as he slowed the car. "This is the place."

They pulled up outside a professional building, the type of place that was built with no specific business in mind and catered to any professionals who needed some office space.

When they entered the building, there was a list of business names on the wall by the reception desk but no mention of Elijah Kent or any sort of journalistic or blogging service.

Sloane took out her badge and showed it to the receptionist. "We’re looking for Elijah Kent. Does he work here?"

"Mr. Kent? Yes," the receptionist said. "Would you like me to call up and let him know you are here?"

"Please," Sloane said.

The receptionist picked up the phone and dialed four numbers. "Mr. Kent, I have two detectives down here who would like to talk with you. Okay, I will let them know. Thank you." The receptionist hung up the phone and turned to Sloane with a smile. "I’m sorry, but Mr. Kent is not available right now."

"Not available?" Sloane asked. "What did he say?"

"That he didn’t have time to see anyone."

Max leaned forward and placed his hands on the reception desk. "Where is Mr. Kent’s office?"

The receptionist frowned slightly, and her lips parted a little. She glanced at the phone and then back up at Max.

"We will talk to Elijah Kent whether you help us or not, and I would rather you didn't stand in our way," Max said.

"Second floor, office nineteen," the receptionist said quickly.

Max nodded and headed straight for the stairs and burst through the door. Max took the stairs two at a time, Sloane following close behind. They made their way to the second floor and through the door into the hallway.

Two men stood at the other end of the hallway. One of them spoke frantically to the second man and pushed him toward the door behind them at the opposite end of the hallway to Sloane and Max.

Max ran down the hallway, Sloane rushing with him.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, striding toward them.

"I’ll take the guy making a run for it," Max called to Sloane. Max reached the first man, and he raised his hands to buffer himself. Max turned to the side and pushed past the man, rushing toward the other door to chase whoever had left in a rush.

"Elijah Kent?" Sloane asked.

The man was gaunt with intense eyes and sallow skin. He wore a pair of brown slacks and a simple cream sweater.

"Are you here to arrest me?" the man shouted. "Are you here with a warrant? You force your way up here for what? I won't go quietly."

He drew the attention of the offices in the hallway, and three or four people poked their heads out of the rooms.

Sloane looked at the man and had one thought: you are Elijah Kent, an investigative journalist and blogger, and you would love for me to drag you out of here in cuffs so you could write about it or make a scene. You want them to watch this who of yours, and you want to gain something from this interaction, don't you?

"Mr. Kent, my name is Detective Riddle," Sloane said, taking all of her assumptions and working with them. I wonder if I might talk to you? I won't take up much of your time, and we don't need to go anywhere, certainly not the station. I must let you know that you are not under arrest, and we have no reason to suspect you of any criminal activity, but if we find out that you are engaged in criminal behavior, I am more than happy to take you down to the station to talk there. For now, can we go to your office?"

Elijah almost looked unhappy not to get his scene. He licked his lips, glancing around as the heads that had been poked out of rooms were drawn back in.

"What is this all about?" Elijah asked.

"How about we go to your office, and I’ll tell you," Sloane said. "We don't want to disturb these other people from their work. Can we do that, Mr. Kent? Can we go back to your office and talk?" She hoped Max would return soon with the second man.

"Yes," Elijah said.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sloane looked around the small office where Elijah Kent worked. A desk sat on one wall with a laptop on it. A small potted plant stood on the corner of the table. There was a filing cabinet on the other side of the room, but other than that, the room was unfurnished.

Sloane had hoped Max would be back already with the man he chased, but there was no sign of him.

"Who was the other man?" Sloane asked.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Elijah said.

"Come on," Sloane moaned. "Can we do this the easy way, or are you going to avoid all of my questions? I can take you down to the station, and I would be well within my rights to do so."

"And I am well within my rights not to answer any of your questions without a lawyer present."

The two of them stood in the room. There was one office chair, but Elijah had chosen not to sit in it.

"Is that what you want, Mr. Kent?" Sloane asked. "Do you need your lawyer present for this?"

"Not yet," Elijah replied. "It depends on what you want to know."

"I want to know why, when we arrived at your office, you told the receptionist that you were unavailable."

"I was busy," Elijah said. "Don't take it personally."

"Then, when we came upstairs, you were with someone else and clearly ordering them to make a run for it."

"It’s dangerous to make assumptions," Elijah replied. "I was busy with someone, and I bid them farewell. Your partner was the one who almost slammed me into the wall going past. If you’ve come here to arrest me, then go ahead and do it, but I have done nothing wrong."

"You see, I don't think that’s the case," Sloane said. "We came here simply to get information from you, but to me, it seems that we caught you doing something you shouldn’t. We are in the middle of a multiple homicide investigation, so you must excuse us for being a little jumpy, but when we come to talk with someone who might be able to help us and see them helping someone escape us, you can see how that looks."

"The murders in the desert," Elijah said, his demeanor changing. "You don't think that I…?"

"As I said, we came here to get information from you, and you turned it into a chase. My partner is out there right now chasing your friend down, and he doesn’t give up, Mr. Kent. I can wait until my partner brings him back here, and we talk to him personally, or you can tell me who he is."

Elijah glanced toward the door, but no one was there.

"He has nothing to do with the murders," Elijah said.

"Really? So why did he run when he saw us?" Sloane asked.

"I can't talk about that."

"And why did you tell him to run."

"I told you, I’m not talking about that. If you want to pursue that line of investigation, then we can go down to the station, and I will talk to my lawyer first, but I haven’t done anything wrong. If I can help you with anything else, I am more than happy to do so, but I don't have anything to say about the man who was here."

Sloane took a moment, sizing Elijah up. They had come for information, and Elijah had stated he would give them information. It was exactly what she wanted, but now, she wanted more; she wanted to know why the man he was with had run.

I’ll leave that to Max and get what we need from Elijah Kent.

"Alright, Mr. Kent. I will drop that line of questioning for now, but you better be telling me the truth because when my partner gets back here with your running man, I don't want to find out that you are hiding something that might be important to our investigation."

"Just ask your questions," Elijah said.

Sloane didn’t like his manner, but she needed information from him. Elijah Kent had a pale complexion with bird-like features. Even though he was very fair-skinned, he reminded her of an old crow.

"You were at the Punishment Not Praise event," Sloane said.

"I was," he replied, not giving her more than a direct answer.

"In what capacity?" Sloane asked.

"I was there to cover the event?"

"For someone?" Sloane asked.

"No, for myself."

"Do you often cover events like that one?" Sloane asked.

"I cover everything," Elijah replied.

Sloane sighed. "This would go a lot easier if you elaborated a little when answering the question."

"It would go a lot quicker if you asked the questions you wanted to know the answers to," Elijah shot back.

 Sloane did her best to keep her calm. She took her phone from her pocket, bringing up the photo of Marvin Shaw. She turned the phone to show Elijah. "This man was at the event. Do you know him?"

"Marvin Shaw," Elijah replied.

Sloane held up the phone and glared at Elijah.

"Alright, he owns a number of hardware stores and always attends these sorts of events. He’s a big donor to local justice causes and is a big believer in capital punishment and the death sentence. He was sentenced to death in the desert, it would seem."

"How about this woman?" Sloane asked, showing Elijah the picture of Rita Caldwell."

"Rita Caldwell," Elijah replied. "I don’t know much about her, but I spoke to her briefly at the event. Very passionate about locking criminals up and having them serve their time. She spoke a little about how early release did nothing for the community. She received an early release in the desert."

Sloane breathed out through her nose, not appreciating the attempt at humor. "You’re an investigative journalist, Mr. Kent. You strike me as a man who does his research."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Elijah said dryly.

"Did you see Marvin and Rita together at the event?" Sloane asked.

"No, I didn’t, but that doesn't mean they weren’t together."

"We know Marvin Shaw has a connection to the prison system in Tucson. He obviously attends events like this, and he has made donations to the justice system, as you say. How about Rita Caldwell? She attended this event, but does her connection go deeper? Is she connected to the prison system? Tucson County Correctional Facility in particular?"

Elijah shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"How about Gordon Pike and Thomas Keane?" Sloane asked. "Do any of those names ring a bell?"

"Gordon Pike is one of the victims," Elijah said. "I don't know the other man."

Sloane flipped through the photos of the other attendees at the event. "How about these other people? We’re looking into anyone at the event, but if we can get a head start on this, we are closer to catching our killer. Is there anyone else at the event who is connected to Marvin Shaw or Rita Caldwell? Anyone connected to Tucson County Correctional Facility?" Sloane asked.

"You think an ex-prisoner is killing these people, don't you?" Elijah asked.

"If I do, is there anyone on the list that might be in trouble?" Sloane asked.

Elijah looked around the room as he thought about it, taking far too long to give his answer.

"Mr. Kent," Sloane warned. "I know you are keeping something from me. If you know someone who might be in danger, then I need to know?"

Elijah took another few seconds. "What I am about to tell you is not public knowledge. It’s not entirely hidden either, but it wasn’t exactly advertised, and for a good reason."

"Tell me," Sloane said.

"Drake Bishop was at the event," Elijah said. "If anyone from the event might be in danger, then it could be him."

"Who is Drake Bishop?" Sloane asked.

"He’s the architect of a program called Fair Labor," Elijah said. "Maybe he spoke to Rita and Marvin at the event. I don't know much about the program, but Tuscan County Prison was involved. They used prison—"

"Labor," Sloane finished as she worked it out. "Wait, did the program end around two years ago?"

"Yeah, I think so," Elijah replied. "How did you know that?"

"A lucky guess," Sloane said.

It was why Thomas Keane had been targeted, Sloane realized. He had rejected transfers back when the program was running to keep the workforce stocked. That’s why the numbers had returned to normal two years ago. Gordon Pike had likely been involved on the prison side, too. If Sloane were to hazard a guess, she would assume that Marvin Shaw had donated money to the cause. Gordon and Thomas had helped run it, and Marvin had helped to fund it. That still left Rita Caldwell as the odd one out. If someone was targeting those who made the program happen, then Drake Bishop would be a target, perhaps the final one.

Sloane heard the panting before Max entered the room. Out of breath, he stumbled into the small office and went straight for Elijah, taking him by the collar. "Who was that, and why did you tell them to run from us?" Max demanded. "I chased him for four blocks before he disappeared down an alley and into thin air. Why was he intent on escaping us?"

Sloane grabbed Max by the shoulder and pulled him away. "Not now, Max. We have bigger fish to fry. I think Thomas Keane has been taken by the killer, and Drake Bishop might be next. We need to find him now."

"Who the heck is Drake Bishop?" Max asked.

"I’ll explain on the way," Sloane said. She turned to Elijah. "We’re not done with you yet. Don't leave town."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sloane was on the phone with Detective Brooks while Max drove them from the parking lot.

"I need an address for Drake Bishop," Sloane said. "As quickly as you can."

"Give me a second Detective Brooks said."

Sloane heard him tap on his keyboard.

"Almost have it," Detective Brooks said. "Just searching and… okay, here it is. 113 Dirt Road 102. Let me just bring up the map. Alright, it’s south of Tucson, about ten minutes from the city. Looks like there is only one house on that road, so that must be his."

Sloane quickly relayed the information to Max, and he spun the wheel to take the next turn and pull a U-turn to head in the opposite direction.

"I want you to look back at any prisoner who was in Tucson prison two years ago and before," Sloane told Detective Brooks. "Anyone who is now released and might still be in the area. On top of that, we need to contact any employees of the prison who might be connected to Fair Labor. They were running a labor program from the prison, and it wasn’t fully public knowledge. The only reason I can think that it was kept hushed was that someone was making money off it, and the conditions were not favorable for the prisoners."

"Wouldn’t the prisoners have spoken out about it once they were released?" Detective Brooks asked.

"Not if they were threatened or knew they wouldn’t get anywhere. We don't know how deep within the state the involvement goes. We have an ex-prisoner out there who is killing those involved to make them pay for what they did. Who knows, maybe it was legal. I’m guessing the prisoners were made to work in the desert. That’s why it is personal to the killer. They kill those responsible and chain them up in the desert, just like they were chained up to work there."

"It makes sense," Detective Brooks said. "Which means it’s more likely now that the killer has Thomas Keane. He might already be dead."

"Keep looking for him," Sloane said. "And get on the phone with anyone who worked at the prison back when the labor operation was going on. We need to warn as many people as possible."

"That’s a lot of people," Detective Brooks said. "There could be hundreds of people."

"Yeah, there could be," Sloane said.

"Alright," Detective Brooks said. "I’ll call Sheriff Munoz again and see if he has some labor to spare. Not free labor, of course."

Sloane winced a little. She’d already heard enough jokes from Elijah Kent.

"If you find anyone else missing, let me know immediately," Sloane said. She hung up the phone.

"Drake Bishop is the guy behind the labor program, so if an ex-con is out there killing people, he’ll go after Drake at some point," Max said.

"I think so. Drake is the king of this thing. Thomas Keane is missing, and Drake could be next. Although, Detective Brooks is right. There are hundreds of people who might be connected with the labor program. What does the killer mean to do? Kill them all? If the killer is angry at everyone involved, that means killing dozens of people, maybe more."

"Then we stop them before they can do that," Max said.

They hit the edge of the city, and Max pushed the vehicle faster. The GPS guided him, and eight minutes after reaching the south edge of the city, he turned onto the dirt road and continued down it for three or four minutes. They came to a small ranch house. Sloane noticed the vehicle parked in the open garage. She only hoped that meant Drake Bishop was home and hadn’t also been taken.

Max turned onto the short driveway and stopped the car in front of the house. No movement could be seen within.

Sloane was out of the car first, and she ran up to the door and knocked on it. There was no answer or noise from inside. She knocked again, and Max pounded on the door when he joined her.

"Drake Bishop!" Max called.

Sloane stepped back from the door and looked toward the window. There was no one inside.

"I can break the door down," Max said. He pounded on it one more time.

"Yes?" came the reply from inside.

Sloane ran back to the door. "Drake Bishop?"

"Yes, who are you?" he replied.

"I’m Detective Riddle," Sloane said. "Can you please open up?"

"What for?" the man used.

"Mr. Bishop, are you okay? Is someone in the house with you?"

"Is someone in the house with me?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"We need to talk to you about Fair Labor," Sloane said. "We think someone is targeting those involved in the program, and your life might be in danger."

There was a click, and the door swung open. Drake Bishop stood in the doorway, a man in his late fifties who wore plain pants, an elegant striped shirt, and thin round spectacles.

"What’s going on?" he asked seriously.

"We think your life might be in danger," Sloane said. "You were the mastermind behind Fair Labor, weren’t you?"

"I was, yes, until they shut it down."

"We think someone is killing off the people involved with the program," Max repeated.

"You think one of the men involved with the program is doing this? I heard what happened to Marvin Shaw. Horrible business."

"So, you knew him?" Sloane asked.

"Why don't you come in," Drake said. He stepped back from the door to allow them in. "I don't have anything to offer you, I’m afraid. After I heard about Gordon and Marvin, I decided to get out of the city for a while, so I haven’t stocked up."

"Did you know Gordon, too?" Sloane asked.

"I did," Drake said. "I knew everyone involved with the program. Gordon was instrumental in ensuring the prisoners volunteered for the program."

"Volunteered?" Sloane asked as they moved through to the living room. "It was a voluntary program?"

"It was," Drake said. "Listen, I won't beat around the bush. It was a voluntary program, but there were ways to encourage prisoners to volunteer. Nowadays, these criminals expect a free ride in prison. Free healthcare, good food, rec rooms. They are in prison for a reason, and they should be punished."

"Is that why it was shut down?" Sloane asked.

"It should never have been shut down," Drake said bitterly.

"It was shut down two years ago, wasn’t it?" Sloane asked.

"Officially, yes," Drake said. "I’ve spent a year and a half trying to appeal the decision. That program was one of the best things to ever happen to the prison system, and we would have rolled it out across the state. To say I’m bitter about it is an understatement. My legacy is destroyed all because someone thought these animals in jail should be treated respectfully after stealing and killing and doing all manner of things. Do you know that many prisoners don't mind going back to jail because they get treated so well? This would have been the ultimate deterrent."

"Did you have them working in the desert?" Sloane asked.

"I didn't have them doing anything," Drake said. "I came up with the program, but it was up to the prison to decide how to use the labor."

"Do you know if anyone was getting rich off of this? How deep does it go, Mr. Bishop?"

"As I said, I came up with the logistics, but I wasn’t the one who executed it."

"Why was it hushed up so much?" Sloane asked. "What were they having the prisoners do?"

"Listen, if you are asking about the abuse of prisoners, I want to assure you that the program was completely legal." Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. "The state didn't say anything about the program because they knew how it would look to the public. Sometimes, the few have to do what it takes to satisfy the many. If they were to come out and tell the public that they were working prisoners in the desert heat until they dropped, what do you think people would say to that? But, if you show that reoffending rates are way down, you don't need to reveal the truth behind the curtain. Rules were followed, and the program was within the legal confines of the state, but some people couldn’t handle it."

"So, Gordon Pike and Thomas Keane worked the program from the inside, and—" Sloane started.

"Thomas?" Drake asked. "He’s not…?"

"We don't know yet," Sloane said. "Thomas Keane is currently missing, but we have to assume he has been taken."

Drake rubbed his forehead and then shook his head.

"Marvin Shaw helped to fund the program," Sloane continued. "What was Rita Caldwell’s involvement?"

"Oh, my goodness," Drake said. "Rita?"

"She was involved?" Sloane probed.

"She dealt with the compensation after the program ended," Drake said. "The state didn't want this coming back on them, so some prisoners were awarded compensation. It was all one big joke. There were some low points when they wrapped up the program, but Rita at least tried to make amends. She worked diligently to stop as many payments as possible. Can you believe that someone would be punished for their crimes and then be awarded compensation for it?"

"You’ve made your point, Mr. Bishop," Max said. "You were in favor of the program, and you are disappointed that it doesn't run anymore. Your life is still in danger for the part you played in this. We can offer you protection while the killer is still out there."

"The entire justice system has become inept," Drake said. "I’m getting out of here while that animal is running around. Do you see what happens with these people? They murder people because they were made to work a little? Maybe the public will sit up and pay attention. Is it any coincidence that all of this happened after the program was shut down? We need more capital punishment—we don't ever learn from the past."

"Mr. Bishop, we can make contact with anyone who worked in the prison when the program ran, but we need your help with who else might be targeted. You knew the three victims. Do you think you could give us a list of the other people involved?"

"Give me a second," Drake said. "I have the records in my office. I can give you the names of everyone involved." Drake left them in the living room and went to get the information.

"What do you think?" Max asked.

"Well, I know I don't like Drake Bishop very much," Sloane said quietly. "He has a chip on his shoulder about the labor program and is obviously annoyed that it was shut down, but we can safely assume that the Labor program is the connection. Gordon and Thomas helped run it from the inside, Marvin funded it, and Rita was responsible for rejected compensation. They are all people who made the prisoners’ lives a misery. One thing troubles me, though."

"What’s that?" Max asked.

"If this is an ex-convict who is killing people, they know how to get information. They might know the people in the prison, and I can see them gaining Marvin’s name at a stretch, but what about Rita Caldwell? We couldn’t find any information on her."

"So, we are looking for a convict who knows how to—wait," Max said. "Elijah Kent knew about the program, right? What if the man I chased today is our killer, and he’s working with Elijah? Elijah supplies the information, and the mystery guy does the killing?"

Sloane sighed as she thought about it. "I don't know. When I spoke to him, I got the impression that he was for the program. I don’t see a reason for him to work with a killer to take down those responsible for the program."

"It’s still worth following up on," Max said. "The guy I chased ran for a reason, and I want to find out why. Maybe it’s connected to the murder, or maybe it’s not, but we need to find out."

"Yeah, we do," Sloane agreed. "Yeah, follow it up, Max. The worst that can happen is we rule someone else out of our investigation. You are right about Elijah; he has investigative skills, and he did know a little about the program. If he looked into it, he could likely find out a lot more. If he’s not a suspect, we might be able to use him to find our killer."

"This is the list," Drake said upon his return. "These were all the people responsible for building and maintaining the program outside of the prison personnel."

"Thank you," Sloane said. "How long are you out of town for?"

"Until you catch whoever is doing this. You will catch them, won't you?"

"We’re doing all we can," Sloane said.

"Well, when you do, you make sure that animal gets the death penalty," Drake said.

"Is there somewhere we can reach you if we need to?" Sloane asked.

"Let me give you my personal number," Drake said. He went to the pad on the table next to the armchair and wrote his number on it, handing it to Sloane. "I want to know as soon as you have him in custody. We can use this to breathe new life into the fire. And if you don't catch him, then it achieves the same outcome. We need a better deterrent in this county."

"Thank you for your help," Sloane said.

When they left the house, Sloane checked her phone to find three missed calls from Sheriff Munoz.

She quickly called him back.

"You have news?" Sloane asked.

"We’ve found Thomas Keane," Sheriff Munoz said.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Is he…?" Sloane asked.

"Dead," the sheriff said. "Chained to a rock in the desert."

"Chained?" Sloane asked.

"Yes," the sheriff said. "It looks like the same type of chain that was used on Gordon Pike."

"Stabbed also?" Sloane continued. She looked toward the window but couldn’t see Drake Bishop. She wondered if they should go back in and tell him.

"Yeah, he was stabbed in the stomach after being chained to the rock," the sheriff said.

"Alright," Sloane said, trying to breathe evenly. It felt like a kick in the teeth to have another death on their hands. They knew Thomas was missing and had been sure he was taken by the killer, and still, they couldn’t do anything to stop it. Sloane knew it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t help but blame herself. "Anything else from this one?"

"We don't think so," the sheriff said. "I’ll get back to you if we find anything, but I think we got lucky with the skin under Rita's fingernails."

"We didn't get lucky yet," Sloane reminded him. "We might have the killer’s DNA, but we don't have anyone to match it to. We haven’t gotten lucky with anything so far."

"I’ll call you if we find anything," the sheriff said.

"Thomas Keane?" Max asked when Sloane got off the phone.

She nodded.

"What do you want to do?" Max asked.

"We don't need to go to the murder scene," Sloane said. "Come on, let’s get back to the station in Tucson. I don't want to stand around here talking about it."

They both got into the vehicle, and Max took them from the ranch. Sloane gripped the document given to her by Drake Bishop. She looked over the names. Marvin and Rita were both on there, along with almost thirty other names.

"It’s connected to the labor program," Sloane said. "The chain is connected. It’s a piece of history, a link to the chain gang that was run there. The killer used the chain for the prison employees, but not the other two deaths. Does that mean anything?"

Max pulled off the dirt road and onto the highway.

"Maybe the killer only wanted to use the chains on the prison employees and not the other two?" Sloane thought out loud. "Making a point that they were the ones who physically drove the labor while the other two were behind the scenes? I still can't get past the part about the killer knowing everyone involved. Maybe they are working with someone, but who? Elijah? Maybe. If we bring him in and he has alibis for the murders, which he will if he is not the one doing the killing, then we link him to the killer instead and get him that way. Run with that, Max. Find out who he was working with when we went to the office. They just found the body, but it would have been taken out into the desert some time ago and left there."

"He ran for a reason," Max reminded her.

"Gordon Pike called his friend to cancel the fishing trip," Sloane thought out loud. "There was no struggle. He drove out to the location where we found his car, and then he most likely left with his killer. If you are a prison guard and you come face to face with a convict that you made do hard labor out in the desert, you put up a struggle, right?"

"Maybe he had a gun," Max suggested.

"The same with Thomas Keane," Sloane continued. "He obviously pulled his car over to the side of the road and stopped to get out. No sign of a struggle at his car either. Does that make you think they knew their killer?"

"Someone from the prison?" Max asked.

"I don't know," Sloane said. "It feels like it is right under my nose, but I can't reach out and grab it yet. What do we know for sure? The prison is not the connection. The labor program is the connection. Someone is killing because of it, and some of the details might have been hidden. We need to know more about it. I’ll take that end to it, and you can follow up with Elijah and the guy you chase."

Sloane took out her phone again and made a call to their boss back in Phoenix.

"Riddle?" Sergeant Ramirez answered. "Do you have the killer yet?"

"No," Sloane said through gritted teeth. She glanced at Max and felt some strength. "We’re getting close; I can feel it. I need a favor."

"Whatever you need," the sergeant said.

"There was a program at the Tucson County Correctional Facility called Fair Labor. From what we know, the program was legal but worked the inmates in the desert. It was shut down two years ago. That’s the connection in the case. Can you see if you can find anything that might help us? Any information that we don't have access to? Do whatever you can and call in any favors. I need to know all I can about the program."

"Consider it done," the sergeant said.

"Thanks," Sloane said. She hung up the phone but didn't feel any better.

"I spoke to Molsen and Bridges and relayed the information you got from Brendan’s phone," Max said. "I told them it came from an informant. They haven’t heard of anything going down on that day, but they are keeping a close watch and putting some feelers out there. We let them do their thing, and we make sure Brendan doesn’t join whatever is happening, okay?"

Sloane gave a tight smile. "Thanks, Max. This case is a welcome distraction from the stuff going on with Brendan, and that news is a welcome distraction from the case. I’ve sent him three texts since we got here, and not one reply."

"He’ll come around," Max said.

"Will he?" Sloane asked.

"Maybe not," he said. "Still, you’re doing the right thing."

"Am I?" Sloane asked.

"Mostly," Max said with a chuckle. "You’re protecting your brother, and that’s important."

"I hope so," Sloane sighed. "Even if I stop him from going, he will hate me for it. It feels like a lose-lose situation."

"In the short term," Max said. "Long term, it benefits everyone. Don't give up on him. He’s a Riddle, so he’s stubborn, but most Riddles work it out in the end."

"I hope you are right, Max. This case is starting to get to me, and I really need to work it out."

***

Janine Hertz walked out of the door of the large professional building. The man watched her from across the street. Janine was done for the day. He knew all about her. Not only her basic details and day-to-day activities but also what she had done in the past.

He was sure there would have been a time when he might have respected her for what she did, but her moment had come, and she had done a despicable act that there was no coming back from, and so, she deserved to die.

The man knew that Janine walked home from work every day, so there was no need to grab her before she reached her car or to have her stop her car in some way. That had worked well with Thomas Keane, but it was different when it was a single woman. It had also been easy to take Rita Caldwell as she had a habit of working late, but that was not true of Janine. She finished work at five each day, and that meant he had to be careful when he took her.

It had to be soon; he knew that. His work was almost done.

She had been a part of the Fair Labor program but as aftercare. Janine Hertz was a therapist, and she guided the prisoners through the mental anguish they had suffered as part of the physically demanding and damaging labor program. She had listened as they had told her exactly what they had gone through and what it had done to them, and she had turned a blind eye to most of it, working with her superiors to ensure the public didn't hear the prisoners’ stories.

So many participants involved in the running of the program had done things that the public didn't need to know about. They had lied and omitted details to keep the program running.

The man watched Janine as he walked down the other side of the street. He could not take her in the middle of a busy street, and her house was dangerous, too. It was usually quiet—he had walked down it a few times to check it out, but there were a lot of windows where neighbors could see her being taken. He could not be seen. The authorities could not be alerted that Janine had been taken, or they would make it a little more difficult, as they had with Thomas Keane.

With more police cruising the areas around the desert, he’d had to pick his place and moment. It had been relatively straightforward in the end, but he had passed a police car going the other way while Thomas Keane was alive in his trunk. If they stopped him for some reason, he would have been caught. It had thrilled him at the time, and he had almost collapsed with the excitement when he returned home after.

The street where she worked was out, and her house was out. Thankfully, there was a small park she had to pass through to get home, and there was a wooded area in the park. The man had parked his car close to the trees. He would only act if no one was about and then drag her through the trees to his waiting car. He checked his pockets for the cloth and vial of chloroform. If she screamed out, it would all be over. If there were people about, he would wait for another day and opportunity.

No, it has to be now. I need to get it over and done with.

The man licked his lips as the park approached. His heart beat quicker with what was to come.

Janine was fifty-two and attractive. Some might even call her beautiful. Still, her heart was clouded to justice. She needed to be taken care of for what she had done.

The man quickened his step as Janine approached the park. He didn't want her to pass through before he could get there. The sun was beating down on him, and he felt good. It was a beautiful day—the sort day to abduct another who had betrayed him and the entire state and deal with them.

Janine entered the park without a care in the world. She walked with her head held high and a spring in her step. The man crossed the street without her looking back. A lady with a stroller passed by, the young child smiling up at him.

The man put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the cloth. He took the vial in his other fist and checked behind him. No one followed him into the park. He bided his time, following the woman into the middle of the park and measuring his steps to be silent while slowly closing in on her.

He looked up ahead and smiled. No one was around. Fate had intervened once again and given him the perfect opportunity to take his next victim. Fate was with him because he was doing what was needed.

The man unscrewed the top of the vial with his thumb, checked behind one more time, and then shook the liquid out onto the cloth. He stuck the vial and lid back in his pocket and almost broke into a run. She spun around when he got to her, but it was alarm too late.

He clamped the cloth over her nose and gaping void of a mouth as she tried to scream. He pushed her with this cloth-filled hand, shoving her back into the trees. Once inside, he grabbed her around the waist with his free hand as she struggled. Janine kicked silently in the middle of the poplars, a futile attempt at escaping his clutches.

Then, she went still. She was not dead, but she soon would be. The man took his time to drag her through the trees and away from anyone who could help. He found his car in the secluded spot he had left it, opened the trunk, and tossed her in.

The man took a final look at her before slamming the trunk shut.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Hello, my name is Detective Riddle," Sloane said. "Am I speaking to William Grant?"

"You are," William said.

"You were a part of the Fair Labor program," Sloane said.

"I, um," William uttered.

"I’m not calling about the program itself. We are calling around to talk with everyone who was involved with the program. Do you still live in Tucson, Mr. Grant?"

"Yes, I do," William said.

"Can you do me a favor? I want you to drive to your nearest police station and let them know who you are and that you were involved in the Fair Labor program. We believe your life might be in danger."

"What?" William stammered.

"The murders in the Sonoran desert are connected to the Fair Labor program, and we believe someone is targeting those involved. Just go straight to the station, and don't stop for anyone."

"I… I have a family," William said.

"Your family is not in any danger." Sloane was sure of that—the killer was only targeting those connected to the program. "This is only a precaution. Your family will be fine, and so will you if you do as I ask."

"I… okay," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Grant," Sloane said. She hung up the phone and looked over at Detective Brooks.

"That’s everyone," he said. "We’ve covered the entire list."

Some of the people on the list had moved from the area, and Sloane didn’t believe they were in any immediate danger as the killer was targeting people locally. Still, she warned them to be careful. The others had been instructed to go to the local police station, where they would be given further instructions.

"Is that it?" Detective Brooks asked.

"It’s all we can do for now," Sloane said. "It doesn't help us catch the killer, but it helps us keep people safe and buys us some time. We keep going through the records, looking for a DNA match. We keep going through the evidence we have so far until we have a match."

"There might be no need," Max said. "I have the name of the guy I chased from Elijah Kent’s office."

"How did you manage that?" Sloane asked.

"I went down to the building and asked the building manager very nicely to take a look at the security footage."

"With cash?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah, the fifty bucks I gave him sped up the proceedings," Max said with a smile. "Anyway, I found the footage of the guy running on a camera of a bank I chased him past, which didn't initially help, but I was able to match his clothing to the footage of him entering the building, and his face appeared on camera. I ran the image through the facial recognition software on our system, and back came Xavier Morales."

"Who’s Xavier Morales," Sloane asked.

"An ex-convict of Tucson County," Max said. "He was released from there just over two years ago and was incarcerated for manslaughter for five years previous to that. Which means he was there when the labor program was in full operation. So, do you want to pay him a visit with me? There is an address for him on file."

"Let’s go," Sloane said.

***

Xavier Morales was tracked down to a small house on the outskirts of the city that had an overly large garage in the backyard.

"Could be a place to hold someone," Sloane said.

"Maybe my hunch was right," Max said. "Makes a nice difference from you always being right."

"As long as one of us is right, that’s all that matters," Sloane told him.

They got out of the car and went to the door. Max knocked on it. He knocked again when there was no answer. He knocked a third time and received no answer in return. Max reached down and gently tried the door. It was locked.

"The garage?" he suggested quietly.

Sloane nodded.

They rounded the bundling, looking in through the front window to find no one inside. There was no one in the backyard. Max went to the back door and looked through the kitchen window to see no one. He tried the kitchen door, but it was also locked.

A sudden shout came from the garage—a jarring exclamation of pain.

Max spun around and drew his gun at the same time as Sloane drew hers, pointing them at the small door that led into the rear of the garage. They both froze for a second—there was no second scream. Then, a lot of crashes of metal against metal.

Sloane nodded toward Max, and they both moved quickly to the door. Sloane took hold of the handle, looked at Max to make sure he was ready, and pushed open the door.

Max entered first, followed by Sloane, both of them leading with their guns.

"Freeze!" Max shouted at Xavier Morales, who stood in the middle of the large garage, holding a knife. "Drop it!" Max added.

Xavier took one look at the two guns trained on him and dropped the knife to the ground with a clank. To Xavier’s right was a large black rock with a woman chained to it.

Sloane lowered her gun and ran to the rock while Max kept his gun on Xavier.

Sloane stopped short right before the women chained to the rock. "What is this?" she asked, not understanding.

"Please don't shoot me!" Xavier shouted.

"Start talking!" Max demanded.

Sloane touched her fingers to the woman’s cheek. It was not a woman but a likeness made of papier-mâché. She touched the rock and found the same. The chain was metal, but the rock and woman were not what they seemed.

"What is this?" Sloane demanded, standing up.

"It’s, it’s, it’s an effigy," Xavier stuttered, not sure if he should look at Sloane or the gun still pointed at him.

"An effigy?" Sloane asked. "What is this!"

"An art project!" Xavier shouted. " I was going to burn it so only the chains remained. It’s a comment on incarceration."

"This is how they were murdered," Max growled.

"Yes, yes, yes, I know," Xavier said. "It was inspired by that. I’m an artist, okay? I make art, and I made this. It helps process things."

"What things?" Max asked.

"Just things," Xavier managed. "I don't know. Everything. Nothing. Please don't shoot me. I’ll tell you where you want, just please don't shoot me."

"What were you doing at Elijah Kent’s office, and why did you run from me, Xavier?" Max asked.

Xavier furrowed his brow.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Max asked. "You gave me quite a workout earlier, but I managed to catch up with you in the end. Now, what were you doing at Elijah’s office?"

Xavier looked between Max and Sloane and then at the effigy. He bit his bottom lip, focusing on the gun still pointed at him.

"I can't tell you," Xavier said. "I want my lawyer."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sloane and Max found themselves back in the police station with Xavier Morales, waiting for his lawyer to be done talking with his client.

"Elijah Kent is on his way in," Detective Brooks said. "We have a team going over Xavier’s garage and house."

"Keep me updated if you get a hit on anything," Sloane said.

Detective Brooks nodded and went off to keep things moving.

"What was that back at his house?" Max asked. "He was recreating the murder scene."

"I don't know," Sloane said. "I hope he can clear that up for us, but both Xavier and Elijah are up to something, and they won't talk about it. He ran from us at Elijah’s building, and then we found him building an effigy in his garage. The chain he used was new, not like the ones used in the murders. I really don't know what it all means."

"Yeah, neither do I," Max said. "I wanted to follow this line of inquiry, but I never thought we would end up here."

Sloane’s phone rang: Sergeant Ramirez.

"Hello?" Sloane answered.

"I sent some files through," the sergeant said. "There was not a lot to get my hands on, but it seems that the program ran for almost five years, and a lot of prisoners were involved. There was a court case two years ago that shut the whole thing down. It was all kept secret from the general public, but it was deemed to be completely legal, so there were no repercussions. I sent everything I could get a hold of: names, dates, and whatever else could be scraped up."

"Thank you," Sloane said. "Anything pertaining to the labor program helps us. I’ll take a look at it right—sorry, I need to go." Sloane watched as Elijah Kent was escorted into the police station.

"Go, do your thing," the sergeant said.

Sloane hung up and walked straight to Elijah Kent. "Give me a second," she said to the officer escorting him toward the interview room.

"Am I under arrest?" Elijah asked.

"Not yet," Sloane said. "It would be a lot easier if you would talk to us. We are in the middle of a murder investigation."

"And I have nothing to do with that," Elijah claimed.

"We just brought Xavier Morales in," Sloane said, pausing to watch for a reaction. Elijah’s eye twitched. "Do you want to know what we found him doing?"

Elijah didn't react or respond.

"He was in his garage building an effigy of the murder scenes. A papier-mâché body chained to a papier-mâché rock. He was the man who ran from your office and escaped, and we found him doing that in his garage. Would you care to comment on that, Elijah?"

"I don't know anything about that," Elijah said.

"But you know Xavier Morales," Sloane said.

"I’m not making any comment on that," Elijah said. "I wish I could help, I really do."

"Tell me your connection to Xavier Morales," Sloane said. "We don't want to mess around getting it out of the two of you, but we will. Did Xavier kill them?"

"No," Elijah stated. "That’s all I am prepared to say without my lawyer present."

Sloane frowned and looked back at the officer. She gestured for him to take Elijah away.

"Hey!" Max called from the other side of the room.

Sloane turned around.

"They’re ready for us," Max called. "We can talk with Xavier."

Sloane and Max headed to the interview room, eager to get to the bottom of what was going on. They knocked and quickly entered the room. Xavier Morales sat at the table with his lawyer, looking uncomfortable. Sloane and Max made their way over to the table and sat down.

The lawyer spoke first. "My client wishes to cooperate with your investigations as best he can and is willing to answer any questions you have about the murders you are currently investigating. There have been three victims so far, and—"

"Four," Max corrected.

"Four victims," the lawyer said, nodding once. "From what I understand, there is no clear time of death for each victim, and it is unknown when each of the victims were taken. What I have done is establish a comprehensive timeline with my client, detailing his whereabouts over the past two weeks. You will need time, of course, to confirm his alibis, but the timeline is comprehensive, and I am sure it helps."

The lawyer took two sheets of paper stapled together and passed them to Sloane. She looked down at the document, a list of dates, times, places, and people. The list certainly was comprehensive, except for—

"Have you redacted some names?" Sloane asked with a smile and a frown.

"If the information provided is not substantial enough to prove my client’s innocence, we can talk about the redacted names," the lawyer said.

Sloane sighed. "Why can't you talk to us about what you are doing with Elijah Kent? We have found people dead, and everything you do is shrouded in secrecy."

"We are aiding your investigation as best we can," the lawyer said. "We want to work with you, Detective Riddle."

Max shook his head and grabbed the document, standing up. "I’ll start on this," he said to Sloane. "See what I can find."

Sloane watched Max leave the interview room and then turned back to Xavier Morales.

"Xavier, you ran from us at Elijah Kent’s office without provocation. You must understand how that looks. When we finally caught up with you, you were creating an effigy in your garage of the murder scenes. You must also understand how that looks."

"I use my art to process my emotions," Xavier said.

So, you are willing to talk. That’s a good start.

"To process your emotions?" Sloane asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," Xavier said. "I have a lot of anger inside that I need to deal with, and it comes out in my art."

"So, you built an effigy of a recent crime scene?"

"Yeah, I did. I heard about the murders, and it hit close to home."

"How did it hit close to home?" Sloane asked.

"I was in prison when Gordon Pike worked there. When I heard about his death, I was glad, then I was angry again."

"Angry because of how he treated you in there?" Sloane asked.

"Yeah," Xavier admitted.

"Xavier, were you a part of the Fair Labor program?" Sloane probed.

Xavier nodded. "Yeah, I was."

"And that made you angry, too?"

"Of course."

"Angry enough to kill?" Sloane asked.

"No," Xavier replied. "Angry, yes, but I don't need to kill anyone. I have my art now, and that puts me in a better place. Yes, I’m happy Gordon is dead because he was ruthless in prison. He beat people, forced them into labor, and beat them again. He deserves what he got; there is no question about it, but I didn't kill him."

"How about Thomas Keane?" Sloane asked.

"I don't know who that is."

"Marvin Shaw? Rita Caldwell?"

"The victims, I presume," Xavier said. "I don't know them. Listen, I know how it looks. You are out there to find a killer, and you turn up at my home to find me recreating the crime scene in my garage. Go back there and take a look at my work. I take inspiration from everything around me. When I heard about Gordon’s murder, I knew I had to create it."

"You had a woman chained to the rock," Sloane said.

"I didn't want to lionize him," Xavier said. "When I take my work out into the desert and burn it, I don't want to add to the martyrdom. I want them to look at my work and know I am commenting on Gordon Pike, but I don't want him to be a part of it. What better way to warp the work than to change the effigy to that of a woman."

"My client is answering your questions, Detective Riddle," the lawyer said. "All you have to do is check his alibis to know he is not guilty of murder. My client paid for what he did, but he is a changed man now."

"I’ve heard a lot about multiple people who have gone to jail, but it’s not always the case, is it?" Sloane asked.

Xavier looked down briefly as if Sloane had hit a nerve.

"What did you think of the labor program?" Sloane asked. "You were a part of it. Do you think it stops people from re-offending?"

"Who knows," Xavier said. "It was brutal and harsh, and it benefited the people running it, but I don't know anyone who was in there plotting revenge on those behind it. I served my time, and then I was done. I don't want to go back there, not because of anything that happened to me in there, but because of the freedom I lost. I made a mistake, and I paid for it. That’s punishment enough for me. If you think that someone in there hated being in there enough that they wanted to kill those responsible, then maybe someone flipped, but that’s not someone rational. First, it was a state-run thing. You would have to kill hundreds of people if you wanted to kill everyone involved. And you don't kill that many people without being caught and sent back to the place you are trying to escape. In my experience, people re-offend for lots of reasons, but you’d have to be clinically insane to go after everyone responsible for making you do hard labor in prison."

You talk a lot for a man who didn't want to talk at all.

"But it’s possible," Sloane said. "Someone could be angry enough to take matters into their own hands."

"Of course," Xavier said. "Anything is possible of anyone. Most of us just want to leave the past behind and move on. It’s hard enough to survive once you are out of prison. Everything is against you. None of us are angry enough to do something like that."

"Well, someone did," Sloane said. "And you are the only person I have spoken to, so far, who is willingly withholding information from me. You and Elijah Kent are up to something, and you ran from us because of it. Elijah knows a lot about the labor program. Did he talk to you about it a lot?"

"He didn't mention it once."

"You won't tell us what is going on, and he won't tell us what is going on. Four people are dead, Xavier, and we are messing around in here trying to get information from you when you could just tell me what I want to know. If your alibi checks out, then maybe we can move on to Elijah. Maybe he killed them."

"He didn’t kill anyone," Xavier said.

"How do you know?" Sloane asked.

"I was in prison, remember? I’ve been around killers. I didn't kill those people, and neither did Elijah."

"Then what are you doing together?" Sloane demanded. "Tell me then, and I can stop wasting my time. If your timeline checks out, you have nothing to worry about."

Xavier stared at Sloane but said nothing.

"Come on, Xavier. I don't have all day. You’ve wasted our time already. We had to chase you down twice. If whatever you are Elijah is involved in is not connected to the murders, prove that to me."

Xavier stared at Sloane again, and he leaned in to confer with his lawyer. They talked for thirty seconds before coming apart.

"This is completely off the record," the lawyer said.

"Of course," Sloane said. She couldn’t guarantee that he didn't take the information into account if it was connected to the four deaths, but she needed to know.

"I’m working with Elijah on a story," Xavier said.

"A story?" Sloane asked.

"It’s about repeat offenders and how likely someone is to commit a crime when they are released from prison. I’m still in contact with a lot of people, and I help them make art, too. I hear things. I know what’s going on in the city, including the illegal stuff. I give Elijah that information, and he’s going to write about it without naming people. A true snapshot of life after prison without turning people in because then the numbers would be skewed by the article, right? If anyone found out that I was talking about them to a reporter, they wouldn’t talk to me. That’s the best-case scenario. The worst case is they find out I’m talking about their crimes, and they come looking for me. The agreement is that none of the information is acted on."

"You ran from us," Sloane said.

"Elijah thought you had come for me. I don't know. We thought someone had caught wind of what we were doing, and he told me to run, and he would cover for me. He called me after to tell me I was in the clear, and then, you turned up at my house. That’s the truth."

"We’ll have to confirm with Elijah," Sloane said.

"Never thought I would be the one to spill my guts before he did," Xavier said. "This can't get out. I hope you can understand that."

"If it’s not connected to the murders, I don't want to know about it," Sloane said. "Stay here while I talk with my partner."

Xavier nodded.

Sloane left the room and went in search of Max. He was at his desk, going through the timeline. He hung up the phone.

"How does it look?" Sloane asked.

"It’s checking out so far. It would be good to have the rest of the information."

"He told me what’s been going on." Sloane relayed the information that Xavier had given her. "I think he was meeting with criminal entities and doesn't want us talking to them. I don't know if Xavier and Elijah are involved at all. I still have the information to go over that Sarge sent over. We go back to the labor program and see if it gives us anything else."

"Alright, you focus on that, and I’ll talk with Elijah and see if he has the same story and then do some more work on the timeline. So far, it looks like we can rule him out of Rita Caldwell’s murder."

"Alright," Sloane said. She tagged out, and Max tagged back in.

Sloane went to her desk, and opened her workstation to check the email from Sergeant Ramirez. He had been right; there was not a lot to go through. There were some documents that detailed the operations, and then a lot of redacted information on the court case that had shut it down, including the names of people who were involved. Some of them had testified, but the names were not given.

Sloane looked down the long list of names attached to the court case, and she couldn’t quite say why, but something felt wrong. She tapped her fingers on the desk. Sloane pulled up the copy of the list of names from the prison, the one they had created to warn people, and found the printed-off list that Drake Bishop had given her. She scanned all three lists, looking for something.

She found it.

A name on the court case document. It was not on either of the two other lists.

"Janine Hertz," Sloane muttered.

She searched for the name and found an address and a number. Sloane immediately dialed the number. It rang and rang before going to the answering service. Sloane hung up and dialed the number again.

"Come on, come on," she muttered.

It rang and rang, but there was no answer.

"Miss Hertz, my name is Detective Riddle. Could you please call me as soon as you get this number 555-8764. It's urgent. Your life might be in danger; get to a safe place as soon as you can."

Sloane hung up and ran to find Max. She knocked on the interview room door and opened it to find him talking with Elijah Kent.

"We need to go," Sloane said. "Detective Brooks can take care of this."

Max shot up and ran from the room, sensing the urgency.

"There’s one person who was omitted from the list. She’s not answering her phone, and I have the horrible feeling that she’s been taken by the killer.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Max drove over the speed limit toward Janine Hertz’s house. Sloane brought up any information she could find about Janine.

"She works not far from where she lives," Sloane said. "Let me see if I can find her there."

Sloane found the number for the therapist's office and called it. It rang but went to voicemail.

"You are through to Earthbound Therapy. Our office hours are nine until five. If you leave us a message, we will get back to you as soon as possible."

"The office is closed," Sloane said when she hung up. She tried Janine’s number again, but there was still no answer. "We know she is done work if she worked today. I really hope we find her at home. I can’t have another person go missing right under our noses and turn up dead. I can barely deal with the victims that turn up dead without us knowing they are missing, but for us to know they are out there somewhere and we can't find them in time, that eats away at you."

"I want to tell you that we’ll find her, but I can’t," Max said.

"I know," Sloane said. "And I know it’s not my fault if she is found dead, but I can't but think it is. If we lose someone because we didn't call them, then it’s on us."

"It's not," Max said. "I know that doesn't help, but it’s not. These things happen. We’ve not had all the information from the start, and we still don't have all the information. You said it yourself. The documents from the court case are so redacted that we might never know what is in them. If we had all the information, this would be a lot easier, but we are moving now, and we are on the trail. We just need to keep moving, and we find our killer."

"It’s always too late, isn’t it?" Sloane asked. "We’re only ever called in when a body has been found. Try as we might, there is no stopping that first kill. They tried to use hard labor in the prisons as a deterrent, but it didn't work a hundred years ago, and it doesn’t work now. People will re-offend, and making them work until they are almost dead is not the answer. We need to tackle the problem before it becomes a problem. Maybe Luke Harper and Xavier Morales have it right. They are helping in their own ways. They were criminals, but they are making positive changes. Does that make them better than the people involved in Fair Labor? Are they working on more effective solutions?"

"We still don't know that Xavier Morales is completely innocent," Max said. "My hope is that he is behind this because that means we are more likely to find Janine alive."

"If we don't find her at her home, she might already be dead," Sloane said. "We don't know where to go after this."

"Then let’s keep our fingers crossed," Max said.

Sloane was thrown forward a little as Max slowed. Then, she was thrown to the side as he took the corner at speed. They didn't know what they were racing toward, but time was of the essence. Sloane could feel a time bomb ticking in her head. At least Drake Bishop was leaving town. If someone was targeting those behind the labor program, would they leave him until last for poetic justice, or would they want to ensure they took out one of the big players?

Sloane was thrown forward again as Max slammed on the brakes to bring them to a stop. Sloane unbuckled her seatbelt with one hand and opened the door with the other. She practically threw herself from the vehicle and bounded toward Janine’s house. She ran to the door and pounded on it.

Max joined her and doubled the intensity of the pounding. Sloane leaped from the front step and looked in the rage front window. All the lights were off, and it didn't look like anyone was home. She ran around the side of the building to the backyard as Max continued to pound on the door. She found a backdoor and kitchen window. Looking through them gave the same result as the front window. Sloane tried knocking on the back door before running back around to the front.

"Should I—" Max started.

"Yeah," Sloane said.

Max stepped back and then slammed his shoulder into the door. He repeated the action before lifting his boot and kicking at the lock with the sole. The door flew open, and Max drew his gun as he entered.

"Janine Hertz!" Max called. "This is the police."

Sloane drew her gun and followed Max into the house. She watched Max disappear up the stairs and search through the lower level. Living room, kitchen, study, hallway, and bathroom. Every single room was empty. Sloane returned to the front door and checked for a coat, shoes, and keys. There were none—Janine had not come home and then was taken. She tried calling her again, but there was still no answer.

"Nothing upstairs," Max said.

"No!" Sloane shouted. "We need to find her."

"She’s a therapist, right?" Max asked. "It would have to be one of her patients. Maybe we can narrow down the search?"

Sloane dialed the number for Tucson County prison. They answered after the second ring.

"My name is Detective Riddle," Sloane said. "I don't have time to go through everything, but I need someone who can give me information about an employee at the prison."

"I’m sorry to—" the person started.

"I know," Sloane said. "Your administrative officer was murdered. I am the detective in charge of the investigation. I need information, and I need it now. We need to stop it from happening again."

The man muttered and stumbled over his words before saying, "Okay, I’m transferring you through.

A moment later, "Hello?"

"Hello," Sloane said quickly. "I assume I was transferred through without the person telling you why. My name is Detective Riddle. I’m assuming you are filling in for Thomas Keane. I need information from you, or someone else will be murdered."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Sloane demanded

"Yes, sorry, I’m still here," the woman said. "What do you need?"

"I’m looking for any information you have on a woman named Janine Hertz. She was a therapist attached to the Fair Labor program and would have treated prisoners more than two years ago. I need a list of the prisoners she treated."

"Okay, give me a second," the woman said. "Janine Hertz? Can you spell that for me?"

Sloane gave her the spelling.

"Just give me a second," the woman said. "I don't see anything here."

"Keep looking," Sloane said. "We need that information."

"Are you sure you have it spelled correctly," the woman asked.

"I am," Sloane said. "She worked there. They can't have covered her part in it up. Why do that?"

"I don't know what to tell you, but Janine Hertz never worked for the prison."

"She had to!" Sloane shouted. "Try again."

"I have tried," the woman said. "I entered the name multiple times. First and second by themselves. Combined. Everything. There is no record of her working here."

Sloane was not rude by nature, but the frustration took over, and she hung up without saying goodbye.

"They don't have a record of her at the prison," Sloane said. "It’s like we’re chasing a ghost. I’m calling Brooks to see if he can find anything on her."

Sloane’s finger hovered over the button, but she stopped. It suddenly hit her in the face like a wet fish.

"Two lists," she muttered.

"What?" Max asked.

"We were calling everyone on two lists. The list of employees from the prison and the list of people responsible for the project from Drake Bishop. What if she was not a prison employee but someone hired outside of the prison to be a part of the project."

"Okay, but what does that mean?" Max asked.

"We need to go," Sloane shouted.

She ran from the house before Max could get an answer. He followed her out, heading to the car. Sloane got in, and Max followed suit, starting the car.

"You’re going to need to tell me where we are going," Max said.

"We need to go back to Drake’s Bishop’s house."

Max pulled off from the curb, turning in a large arc and heading back the way they came.

"What’s going on?" Max asked.

"I think I have it figured out. It has to be him."

"Him? Who? Drake Bishop?"

"Yeah," Sloane replied. "If the name was not omitted from the prison list, if Janine Hertz was employed by the program and not the prison, then it must have been omitted from the list Drake Bishop gave us."

"Purposely?" Max asked as he drove at speed.

"I think so," Sloane said. "He’s the mastermind behind the project. You heard the way he spoke about it passionately. He had records in his office. I don't think he’s the type of man to miss out on information on a project he was so passionate about. I think he purposely left her name off the list so we wouldn’t know to look for her."

"I still don't understand," Max said. "He killed them?"

"It has to be him," Sloane said. "The document that came through from the trial. We’ve been looking at this thing all wrong. We were looking for a prisoner who was angry at the people behind the program, but maybe Xavier Morales was right. There would be too many people to kill, and would someone be angry enough to do all of this with the threat of going back to the place that caused them to do it? Xavier was a part of the program, but he wasn’t angry enough about it to do something. The only person we have spoken to so far who has shown any real anger is…"

"Drake Bishop," Max finished. "He was passionate about the project that would have been his legacy and was still passionate about it when we spoke to him. He was definitely bitter about the program being shut down. He’s the only person we have spoken to so far who has shown any real passion or anger for or against the program. Why, though? Why murder the people who helped to build the project and, in his eyes, make it a success."

"Because the same people who helped him build it were the same people who brought it to its knees. At least, I think. It’s true that killing everyone involved in the project doesn’t make a lot of sense, but what about the people who testified against it? They aren’t named in the documents, but not everyone testified against the project. It was a small minority. I would bet everything on the murdered people being the ones who testified in court against Fair Labor."

"Putting them at odds with Drake Bishop," Max said as he pushed the car faster. It had been a race to Janine’s house, and now, it was a race to Drake Bishop’s house. "They brought his project crashing down, and he tried to fight it for a year and a half. When the final decision came, he took matters into his own hands. He’s not leaving town, is he?"

"He gave us that excuse so we wouldn’t watch him. He knew we were closing in, and he wanted us to look the other way. He didn't ever expect to be caught. He thought nothing would point to him."

"Except, he didn't factor in Riddle and Callahan," Max said. "I really hope you are right about this, Sloane."

"I do, too," she admitted.

She was sure she was right. Now that she’d thought it, all the pieces fell into place. They might never know the names of the people who testified, but Sloane was sure it was the four dead people and Janine Hertz. They only had to catch up with Drake Bishop before he killed again. Maybe there were more names, but they could put an end to it now they had it figured out.

"He lives out on a ranch," Sloane said. "He could have taken Gordon Pike back here and kept him captive with no one being around."

"And he knew them all, didn’t he?" Max asked. "That’s why there was no struggle. If it was an ex-inmate doing this, at least one of the victims would have put up a fight, but they all knew him."

Sloane gasped. "We’ll need to check the call logs again from Gordon Pike, but we were looking for unusual calls. Drake Bishop could have been one of the numbers, but he wasn’t flagged as unusual. Either way, he made contact on the morning Gordon went missing and had him drive out to where the car was found."

"We were looking in all the wrong places," Max said.

"Not anymore," Sloane said. "We have him now. It has to be him; I know it has to be. We put an end to his tyranny. He was the architect behind the prisoner’s abuse, and now, he’s killing people. Taking them to the desert and letting them die. Binding them like the prisoners were bound when they worked out there. If one thing is true, it is that he knew the prisoners suffered. He made his victims suffer like the prisoners did. He doesn't value human life. He might believe he is making the world a better place, but he only makes it worse. We need to save his next victim."

"Don't pin all your hopes on that," Max said. "We don't know what we find when we get out to his ranch." He turned into the dirt road leading to Drake Bishop’s house. "Don't make Janine Hertz the key to all of this, and then blame yourself if we lose her. We stop Drake Bishop; that’s our main goal. If he has Janine, we do all we can to save her."

Sloane was quiet. Not because she was contemplating what Max said but because a car was coming toward them.

"I see it," Max said. He turned the wheel and angled his car side on with the approaching vehicle. He quickly got out and drew his gun.

The other car didn't slow as it came toward Max. Sloane realized that she was still in the car, and if the other car didn't stop, it would slam right into her.

Max held up a hand, and the car started to slow. It stopped before Max. Drake Bishop was the driver. There was no one else in the car.

"I need you to get out of the car, Drake Bishop!" Max called.

Drake rolled down his window and stuck his head out. "Is everything alright? I’m getting out of here right now before he comes knocking on my door."

"Get out of the car, Drake!" Max ordered.

"Of course, no problem," Drake said. "If you just tell me what this is all about, we can go back to my house and talk about it. Do you have an update on the case?"

"You already know the latest update," Max replied.

Drake Bishop didn't respond. He ran his teeth over both lips and slowly pulled his head back into the vehicle. Max raised the gun slightly. The car shot forward, straight for Max. Max didn't have time to take a shot, diving out of the way of the oncoming vehicle.

Sloane raised a hand in front of her face as if that would block the oncoming car. Drake Bishop swerved at the last moment, clipping the front of Max’s car as it barged past. Sloane’s head snapped back and forth as the car spun slightly. Max ran to the car, placing his arms on the roof to take a shot, but he thought better of it. He ran back around to the driver’s side and got it.

The car lurched forward, back, then forward again, and took off after Drake Bishop.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

"I couldn’t take the shot," Max said as he drove. "She wasn’t in the car, but she could have been in the trunk."

"We know it’s him," Sloane said. "He all but confirmed it with his actions."

The car bumped up and down on the dirt road, a whining noise coming from the engine. The light on the right side at the front was bashed in, but the car was still functional. Max having to turn the car around on the narrow dirt road allowed Drake Bishop to put some distance between them.

Max and Sloane watched as Drake Bishop turned onto the highway and headed west. That was all they needed. As long as they saw the direction he went, they could follow. Max screeched to a halt at the end of the dirt road, dust spewing up behind them, and he pulled onto the highway after Drake Bishop.

Sloane called it in, informing the Tucson police they were in pursuit. She also called Sheriff Munoz in case Drake headed that way. He had taken four victims out into the desert, and if he had Janine Hertz in the trunk, there was a chance he would try to lose them somewhere familiar to him. Sloane hoped he headed for the desert. As long as they were close behind, Drake couldn’t lose them in such a flat landscape.

"We’re gaining on him," Max said. "He can't run forever."

"I hope you filled up on gas," Sloane said.

"We can't take him out on the road," Max said. "If Janine is in the trunk, we can't risk running the car off the road, or she might be hurt. We need to wait for him to stop and try and take him down before he can get her out of the trunk."

"We’ll soon be joined with backup," Sloane said. "Detective Brooks is calling in a chopper. He won't get away from us."

"The longer this goes on, the more desperate he gets," Max noted. "He intends to get away. As soon as he sees more cars and a helicopter, he panics more. He already rammed my car. What else will he do."

"Try to get alongside him," Sloane said.

Max continued to drive at speed, slowly gaining on Drake Bishop as he skirted around Tucson. It took them five minutes, but he caught up enough to switch lanes and drive alongside Drake’s car.

Sloane tried to get his attention and indicated that he should pull over. She knew he could see her, but he made no indication that he did. They had already established that Janine Hertz was not in the vehicle. No one else was in there with him, and Sloane couldn’t see a weapon, but she couldn’t see the entire interior. Max honked the horn to get his attention, but Drake Bishop continued to race down the highway, not looking their way.

Then, it looked like Drake’s car was snapped back with an elastic, and it took Max a second to realize Drake Bishop had slammed on the brakes. He slammed on his brakes, cursing as he looked in the rearview mirror. Sloane turned to watch Drake swerve his car down a dirt road leading off the highway.

"We don't have time to make it to the next exit and turn around," Max said to Sloane. He didn't wait for her reply, swerving the car and skidding in a semi-circle. Max hit the gas, and they sped back the way they came. He had to swerve as a truck came toward him, its horn honking for a long time, the pitch changing as the truck barely missed them. Max quickly swerved off the main lanes and onto the shoulder, going against traffic but not heading directly toward any vehicles. They received a few more honks from passing drivers.

Max wrenched on the wheel to turn down the dirt path and take them out of oncoming traffic. Drake Bishop had gained some breathing room, and Sloane grimaced as the car up ahead came to a stop. Sloane watched Drake Bishop get out of his car and pop the trunk. She couldn’t see who the person was but knew it was Janine Hertz.

Max slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop just before Drake’s car. Drake Bishop was on the move with his hostage, making a run for it.

"He won’t make it far!" Sloane called as she jumped out of the car. "The priority now is to save the hostage."

Sloane sprinted after them. Drake dragged the woman along with him. Sloane looked for a gun, ready to draw hers once she was close enough. A flash of light caught her attention around Janine’s waist. Drake had a knife pinned to her. Sloane wondered about taking a shot from where she was. Drake had Janine out in front of him, and there was a clear shot of his back, but there was a chance she would hit the hostage, too. It was not a risk she could take.

"Drake Bishop!" Sloane called when she was close enough.

Drake must have known there was no escape for him. He suddenly stopped and spun around, bringing the knife up to Janine’s neck. Sloane swiftly drew her gun, and Max drew his, five yards to her right.

"Not another move," Drake Bishop ordered.

Janine looked at Sloane with wide eyes. She had a gag in her mouth, but she looked unharmed. Her hands were bound with twine at her stomach.

"This is the end of the road, Drake," Max shouted. "Let her go."

"I’m not going to do that," Drake said. "I didn't come this far to stop what I started."

"All of this because they testified against you, Drake? Are you really that bitter?" Sloane asked.

Drake frowned and then a small smile played at his lips. Dust swirled in the air from the short chase after getting out of the vehicles. There was a dryness that could be tasted. They weren’t in the desert, but it felt like they were.

"You figured it out," Drake Bishop said. "You are a clever girl, aren’t you?"

"So, what happens now?" Sloane asked. "Is she the last, or are there others?"

"She is the last," Drake admitted. "One more, and I have my revenge on those who betrayed me."

The knife was pressed against Janine’s neck, and Sloane glanced between it and Drake Bishop. One slight move, and it would cut her.

"You go to jail after this, Drake," Sloane said. "You will be sent to the place you helped to make worse. Only, there won't be hard labor for you to participate in. You better hope you are not sent to Tucson Country. You killed two of their employees, and I don't think the other prison guards will take kindly to that."

"Then, I better not get caught," Drake said.

"You are already caught," Max stated.

"What do you want?" Sloane asked. "You have all the power right now. You have a hostage. If anything happens to her, we will take you out. I am a very good shot, Drake. I will shoot you, but I won't kill you. I’ll make sure you go to jail for the rest of your life. You claim that prisons are not tough enough. Well, I guess you won't mind going to one and finding out."

"You really don't understand any of it, do you?" Drake asked. "This is not only for me, it’s for everyone. If my program had been allowed to run, it would have worked. Crime would have gone down, your jobs would have been easier, and I would have saved the state millions. When it is rolled out across the country, it will save billions of taxpayer dollars."

"We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, Drake. We won't ever know how it would have worked. Not anymore," Sloane said. "I don't want to keep talking about the past. What’s done is done. We are here in the present, and you have the hostage. How do we resolve this, Drake?"

Janine continued to stare at Sloane with wide, begging eyes. The metal blade glinted a little as the knife shifted, catching the sun and then dulling again. Sirens blared in the distance, but no one knew exactly where they were unless someone spotted them from the road. Perhaps someone had called in a car driving the wrong way on the highway.

Max took up his regular stance to Sloane’s right, his grip tight on his gun, his finger hovering beside the trigger.

Drake Bishop stared at Sloane, intelligence shining in his eyes. He had planned everything out and had the anger to see it through. The one thing he had not counted on was being caught. Perhaps he had planned a way out if things had gone south, but he hadn’t expected to be in the position he was in.

He held her gaze, trying to figure a way out of the situation. Kelsey was doing the same. If he did anything to Janine, Sloane would take her shot, and the stand-off would be over. She wanted to avoid that at all costs, but she was not letting Drake Bishop go.

"Do you know she turned a blind eye to the mental health repercussions of the labor program?" Drake asked, talking about Janine. "She helped run the program, failed the inmates, and then failed me, too."

"Do you believe the inmates should have gotten better treatment?" Sloane asked. The longer she kept him talking, the more time she had to figure Drake Bishop out.

"No, but you do, don't you?" Drake asked. "All the people I have killed contributed to the program. In your eyes, we are all horrible people, aren’t we?"

"The only thing I care about right now is not losing another person," Sloane said. "How about you just let her go?"

"And let you arrest me?" Drake asked. "I’m not going to prison."

"Then tell me how we leave here without more death," Sloane said. "If you harm her, I will shoot. She is the only leverage you have. Lose that leverage, and you lose everything, Drake. I want to walk away from here with Janine. You are the mastermind behind everything, so tell me how that happens."

"I can't let her go right now," Drake said, "but I am willing to let her go at a later time. Those are my terms."

"I need more than that, Drake," Sloane said.

"You let me go back to my car with her and we drive away from here," Drake said. "You let me go, and I won't kill her. I will drop her somewhere safely when I am sure I am not being followed."

"We have no guarantees," Sloane said. "You wanted her dead, so what’s to stop you from killing her when you get free of us? What’s to stop you from seeing this through? That’s what you want, isn’t it? You couldn’t see the labor program through, but you can see this through. You will excuse me if I don't believe you will stick to your word. However, I am willing to trade her life for yours. If you can guarantee her safety, I will let you go. However, when we have her in custody, I will come after you. That is the deal you get from me. You get a head start to disappear."

Sloane had no intention of letting him go, but she had to make him think she was willing to barter with him. And she had to make sure the deal was his idea, so he was more likely to trust it.

"You want to trade my life for hers, but how about your life for hers, detective?" Drake asked.

I like where this is going.

"What do you have in mind?" Sloane asked.

"I take you hostage, and we leave here together. Your partner leaves with Janine," Drake said. "As soon as I am happy, I will drop you somewhere."

"I don't like it," Sloane said.

She did like it; she only had to make sure Drake thought she didn't. She didn't know how it would go down yet, but she knew there would be a moment where she could put her life on the line and in the hands of Max. She didn't want any more death. She blamed herself for Thomas Keane not being found in time, but it was a way to make amends.

"Take it or leave it," Drake said.

Sloane thought about it for a few seconds. "How do you want to work this?"

"Letting the hostage go is a show of good faith," Drake said. "I need a show of good faith from you. I am not getting in my vehicle with you with only a knife. Before we switch hostages, I want your gun."

"Out of the question!" Max shouted.

"That is the only way out of here," Drake said.

"It’s fine, Max," Sloane said.

"It’s not fine," he replied. "It’s far from fine. Don't give him your gun, Riddle."

"I’ve made my mind up. This is the only way to save her."

"Now!" Drake demanded. "We leave here, now. Toss over your gun!"

"I’m not throwing it," Sloane said. "I can't risk it going off."

She pointed her gun upward, letting it hang on her finger. She held both hands up, palms facing Drake. She walked toward him, one step at a time, and then bent down close to him to lay the gun at his feet. She took a step back.

"I’m not letting you have her and the gun," Sloane said. "Max, lower your gun and take Janine. Drake, let her go and pick up the gun."

Drake glanced at Sloane and then at the gun. It was by his feet. Sloane could not get to it before him. The knife was slowly removed from Janine’s neck, and he brought his hand slowly around, pointing the knife at her back.

Then, everything happened at once.

Drake shoved Janine forward toward Max, and Max sprinted forward to reach her. Drake crouched down quickly and grabbed the gun. Sloane took one large step and leaped at Drake. She grabbed his wrist and spun around so her back was to his chest. She pushed the gun upward as he fired into the air. She spun around, moving Drake with her, and she tried to fan them out as she wrestled with Drake. The gun was pointed upward, but he slowly overpowered her. Sloane had one last burst of energy and took a half step to the side.

Max finally fired.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Detective Brooks put down the phone and looked up at Sloane. "Drake Bishop is in surgery right now, but they expect him to be fine. They had thought the bullet might have punctured a lung, but it’s lodged in the shoulder. They’ll remove it and patch him up."

"That’s good news," Sloane said.

Detective Brooks stood up and raised an eyebrow.

"He deserves to go to jail," Sloane clarified. "Death is too good for him after what he did. He needs to go to jail and experience what it is like there. How is Janine Hertz doing?"

"She has some shock, but there are no injuries. It might take her some time to come to terms with what happened, but she’s alive, and that’s what matters," Detective Brooks said. "That was some stunt you pulled out there."

Sloane looked to the side and patted Max on the shoulder. "It was Max who took the shot."

"I am pretty much the hero," Max said with a smile. "When you started the whole dialog with him, I thought you had gone insane. I knew you were upset about letting another victim be taken after we couldn’t rescue Thomas Keane, but I really thought you had flipped and were ready to give your life just to save hers. Still, there was a nagging thought in the back of my mind that kept me on guard. I hoped there would come a moment when I could take the shot."

"It was pretty risky," Detective Brooks said. "If he had gotten the gun and pointed it at you before you go to him, you would be dead."

"I had to," Sloane said. "The longer it went on, the more desperate he would become. He only had a knife to our two guns, but using it meant possibly losing another. I knew I could get to him before he could get a shot off at me. I only had to trust that Max was ready for what came next."

"I’ve been partners with this one for long enough to know how she thinks most of the time," Max said. "Still, I almost didn't get the shot in time. Drake Bishop pushed Janine toward me as a shield, and I had to push her out of the way before I could take the shot. I couldn’t shoot while they were wrestling within the gun, but Sloane managed to get out from behind him, and I took him down."

"A great shot, too," Sloane said. "He gets to stay alive long enough to go to jail."

"I wasn’t thinking about that when I took the shot," Max admitted. "I aimed to hit him and nothing more. Not killing him was pure luck."

"Detective?" one of the officers called.

Three heads turned at the same time.

"They’re searching his house right now," the officer told Detective Brooks. "They’ve found some chains they believe match the ones used in the murders. Some rope and handcuffs, too. They said there was a lot to go through."

"Thank you, officer," Detective Brooks said.

"We have enough," Sloane said. "Even without the chains and ropes and whatever else we find at his house, we caught him with Janine, and he spoke about his crimes in front of Max and me. We’ll give formal statements before we leave, Janine, too, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t deny any of it."

"I wonder if the labor program comes to light after all of this?" Max asked. "They covered it up for a long time. Does this change anything?"

"I don't know," Detective Brooks admitted. "We still have Elijah Kent and Xavier Morales here. Do you need to talk with them?"

"No, we don’t," Sloane said. "You can let both of them leave. They were not a part of this."

"Alright," Detective Brooks said. "I’ll take care of that, and then I can let some of the families know that we found the killer. They deserve some closure on this. I don't know if it will help them at all, but I’ll tell them they died while making our justice system a little better. That program should not have existed, and each person who died was against it. Maybe there’s some comfort in that."

"I hope so," Sloane said.

"How about you two? When do you leave?"

"I’m not sure yet," Sloane said. "It’s not a long drive home, but maybe we can stay the night in case there are any loose ends to tie up."

"If that’s the case, I’d love to take you both out for a beer when I’m done with the initial paperwork on this. You both did a heck of a thing in solving this one. Beer? Yes?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Sloane said.

She took a long breath and stretched her back after Detective Brooks left.

"You still look restless," Max said. "You don't want to head back tonight?"

"Brooks wants to take us for a beer," Sloane reminded him.

"Yeah, but you wanted to stay before that. Is this because of Brendan? The date is coming up soon. Just a few days, right?"

"I’m anxious about it, Max. What if I can't stop him from involving himself in whatever they have going on? He doesn't listen to me at the best of times."

"This time, you will have me with you," Max said. "You don't have to do this alone, Sloane. Let me be the bad guy in all of this. You can talk to him, and if he still doesn’t listen, then I will step in. I’ll take control, and he can hate me instead of you. How does that sound?"

"I honestly don't know," Sloane said. "I should be relieved the case is done, but I can't stop thinking about Brendan. I need that to be done, too."

"It will be. We are in this together, okay? Now, forget all of that for now. There’s still plenty of time. Brooks wants to buy us a beer, and we take him up on that offer. Let’s find the nearest bar and get a start without him. He can catch up with us when he is ready. How does that sound?"

"It’s the best thing I have heard all day," Sloane admitted.

"Good," Max said. "We celebrate our wins, and then we head back to Phoenix and get our next win."

Max smiled at Sloane, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

EPILOGUE

It was all set. Sloane had called Ethan two days previously and asked if she could visit him on the evening of the seventh after she was done work at five. He had given her some excuse about meeting a friend that night and how he would leave his apartment at four, but he could do the next night. She had replied that she would call him in a day or two to organize something else.

It was two pm. Sloane and Max were in Brendan’s building. Sloane would first try to talk him out of going to the warehouse district and then make sure he didn't alert anyone that the cops knew about it. If he didn't listen to Sloane, Max was willing to step in and detain him. Either way, they would make sure he didn't leave his apartment while Molsen and Bridges investigated what was happening in the warehouse district.

That was if something was going down. All they had to work with was a vague text message. Sloane would know more when she spoke to Brendan and gauged his reaction when she told him she knew. It was all for the best, even if he didn't realize it until later.

"Are you ready for this?" Max asked.

Sloane paused by Brendan’s door. She took a breath and then nodded. "Thank you for being here with me, Max."

"Any time," he replied.

Sloane knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again and placed her ear to the door but heard nothing inside. She tried the handle, but the door was locked. Sloane took out her phone and called her brother. Just like the door, there was no answer.

A dark cloud expanded in her stomach. She knocked on the door again. Maybe he was sleeping. She tried his number again, and there was no response.

"No, no, no," Sloane muttered.

Max tightened his lips and looked up and down the hallway. There was nothing he could do for her now.

"He’s not here, Max," Sloane said. "He’s gone already. Maybe he knew I was onto him, or maybe he is with them now. He’s not answering his phone. He’s not answering, Max!"

Max took Sloane by the shoulders. "It’s okay, Sloane. It’s going to be okay."

"It’s not!" Sloane shouted. "Nothing is okay, now."

"It will be," he claimed. "We’ll figure it out."

"I have to go down there tonight. The only way to stop him now is to be down there."

"You can't go down there. You can't intervene."

"I don’t need to tell Molsen and Bridges," Sloane said. "I get down there, find Brendan, and get him the heck out of ether before he does anything stupid."

"Then I’m going with you."

"No, Max. I’m not letting you."

"I'm not a child," Max told her. "I told you we are in this together, and I mean it. I'll call Molsen and Bridges and offer our support. We give them backup, and if something goes down, you grab Brendan and get him as far from there as possible. I’ll cover for you if needed. Say that you chased a suspect down, but they got away. If this is the only way to save Brendan, then it’s what we do."

Sloane sighed. She didn't like that she had to go down to the warehouse district and that Brendan might do something that would take him back to jail without her being able to do anything. She liked even less that Max was caught up in it, but she knew there was no talking him out of it now that he had made his mind up.

"Okay, we do it together," Sloane said. "If this goes wrong, I take the fall for it. We go in together, but that doesn't mean we come out of this together."

"Deal," Max said.

***

The last thing Sloane remembered was looking at her watch and seeing the time. Nine pm. She had a clear memory. Then, it all happened in bursts. It wasn’t triggered by their being there. As best Sloane could tell, some sort of deal was going down, and someone wasn’t happy.

The gunfire started before they could see the two parties who were meeting. Detective Molsen said something in the earpiece in her ear, but she couldn’t make it out. It went quiet after that, except for the sound of bursts of gunfire.

She couldn’t find Max.

The black pit in her stomach expanded to consume her, and all she could think about was Brendan lying in a pool of blood on the concrete somewhere; how she had failed to stop him.

I should have worked harder to stop him. I should have arrested him and faced the consequences. And now, he’s dead.

Sloane had to fall back. People moved her way, all of them running, large duffel bags in hand.

Then, a burst of hope in her chest. The man who just ran past at the end of the short road. It was Brendan. Sloane took off, running without looking to the side. She sensed people close to her, but she didn't care. They could shoot at her all they wanted, but she was getting to her brother and getting him safely out of there.

Sloane almost fell over as she rounded the corner. She saw Brendan up ahead, the hood pulled over his head.

Maybe this is good! Maybe you weren’t seen.

Sloane sprinted after him, and he must have heard her. She quickly pulled his gun before he did anything stupid. After the gunfire, she was sure he had an itchy trigger finger.

"Hands up!" Sloane called.

Brendan immediately stuck his hands in the air at the sight of the gun.

Sloane stepped closer "It’s me. You have to get—"

It wasn’t Brendan. She didn't recognize the man.

"Please help me," the man begged. "You have to protect me. He’ll kill us all when he finds out we failed."

"Who?" Sloane asked.

"The boss," the man said, fear in his eyes. "I’ll testify, tell you anything, just get me out of here."

Sloane grabbed the man and turned him around, slapping cuffs on him. She couldn’t ask about Brendan. She was at a loss. She didn't know what to do. She had lost Brendan.

***

"As far as we can make out, it was an arms deal gone wrong. We got some of the rifles shipped from out the country, but there must have been more," Detective Molsen said.

"We weren’t expecting something this big," Detective Bridges said.

"Yeah, neither did I," Max admitted. He didn't mention Sloane’s involvement in obtaining the information.

"Do you have the names of the guys you brought in?" Sloane asked.

"Anton Courtier, James Smalls, and Hugo Reyes," Detective Bridges said. "The one you brought in is Samuel Lester. We haven’t ID’d the dead yet, but a team is down there right now."

"Okay," Sloane said, barely holding it together. "I need to use the bathroom."

Max followed her out of the room.

"Hey, are you—" Max started.

"I don't want to talk about this right now, Max," Sloane said. "I want to know if my brother is lying dead on the cold concrete."

Max stood before her, not saying or doing anything. There was nothing he could say or do.

The phone in Sloane’s pocket vibrated, and she used it as an excuse to turn away from Max. She checked the message that had come through, becoming both excited and worried to see it came from Brendan.

I think I’m in real trouble. I need your help.

It was the greatest message she had ever received from her brother. He might be in trouble and need her help, but he was still alive.

NOW AVAILABLE!

AFTER HE WAITED

(A Sloane Riddle Mystery—Book Four)

When victims are discovered in a twisted imitation of solitary confinement, Detective Sloane Riddle must outsmart an obsessive and sadistic killer. Using her unique insights into the criminal mind, can Sloane end this macabre game before another victim is claimed?

 “A brilliant book. I couldn’t put it down and I never guessed who the murderer was!”

—Reader review for Only Murder

AFTER HE WAITED (A Sloane Riddle Suspense Thriller—Book 4) is the fourth book in a highly anticipated new series by #1 bestseller Rylie Dark, whose bestseller SEE HER RUN (a free download) has received over 700 five star ratings and reviews.

The SLOANE RIDDLE mystery series is a gripping cat-and-mouse narrative brimming with startling developments that will have your heart racing. This refreshing take on the thriller genre presents a captivating yet tortured female protagonist who is sure to win your affection and compel you to read well past bedtime. Fans of Lee Child, Melinda Leigh, and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series will soon be available!

“I loved this thriller, read it in one sitting. Lots of twists and turns and I didn’t guess the

culprit at all… Already pre-ordered the second!”

—Reader review for Only Murder

“This book takes off with a bang… An excellent read, and I'm looking forward to the next book!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“Fantastic book! It was hard to put down. I can’t wait to see what happens next!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“The twists and turns kept coming. Can't wait to read the next book!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“A must-read if you enjoy action-packed stories with good plots!”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“I really like this author and this series starts with a bang. It will keep you turning the pages till the end of the book and wanting more.”

—Reader review for SEE HER RUN

“I can't say enough about this author! How about ‘out of this world’! This author is going to go far!”

—Reader review for ONLY MURDER

“I really enjoyed this book… The characters were alive, and the twists and turns were great. It will keep you reading till the end and leave you wanting more.”

—Reader review for NO WAY OUT

“This is an author that I highly recommend. Her books will have you begging for more.”

—Reader review for NO WAY OUT

AFTER HE WAITED

(A Sloane Riddle Mystery—Book Four)

Rylie Dark

Bestselling author Rylie Dark is author of the SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books; of the MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books; of the TARA STRONG MYSTERY series, comprising six books; of the ALEX QUINN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books; of the MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the KELLY CRUZ FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books; of the JESSIE REACH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising seven books (and counting); of the BECCA THORN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the CASEY FAITH SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the ARIA BRANDT SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); of the HAYDEN SMART SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting); and of the new SLOANE RIDDLE SUSPENSE THRILLER, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Rylie loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.ryliedark.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY RYLIE DARK

SLOANE RIDDLE MYSTERY

AFTER HE TOOK (Book #1)

AFTER HE STRUCK (Book #2)

AFTER HE SNAPPED (Book #3)

AFTER HE WAITED (Book #4)

AFTER HE WATCHED (Book #5)

HAYDEN SMART MYSTERY

ALL FOR ME (Book #1)

ALL FOR NOTHING (Book #2)

ALL FOR VENGEANCE (Book #3)

ALL FOR YOU (Book #4)

ALL FOREVER (Book #5)

ARIA BRANDT MYSTERY

THE UNKNOWN WOMAN (Book #1)

THE UNKNOWN WIFE (Book #2)

THE UNKNOWN NEIGHBOR (Book #3)

THE UNKNOWN GUEST (Book #4)

THE UNKNOWN PAST (Book #5)

CASEY FAITH MYSTERY

BEHIND HIS EYES (Book #1)

BEHIND HIS SMILE (Book #2)

BEHIND HIS MASK (Book #3)

BEHIND HIS LIES (Book #4)

BEHIND HIS THOUGHTS (Book #5)

BECCA THORN MYSTERY

GONE COLD (Book #1)

GONE DARK (Book #2)

GONE SILENT (Book #3)

GONE HOLLOW (Book #4)

GONE FOREVER (Book #5)

JESSIE REACH MYSTERY

HIS OTHER SIDE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER SELF (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER WISH (Book #4)

HIS OTHER PLAN (Book #5)

KELLY CRUZ MYSTERY

WHERE YOU GO (Book #1)

WHERE YOU HIDE (Book #2)

WHERE YOU SLEEP (Book #3)

WHERE YOU RUN (Book #4)

WHERE YOU FEAR (Book #5)

MAEVE SHARP FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITH MALICE (Book #1)

WITH ENVY (Book #2)

WITH VENGEANCE (Book #3)

WITH RAGE (Book #4)

WITH YOU (Book #5)

ALEX QUINN SUSPENSE THRILLER

FIRST, MURDER (Book #1)

SECOND, DEATH (Book #2)

THIRD, ENVY (Book #3)

FOURTH, LUST (Book #4)

FIFTH, WRATH (Book #5)

TARA STRONG MYSTERY

GIRL WITHOUT A CHANCE (Book #1)

GIRL WITHOUT A HOME (Book #2)

GIRL WITHOUT A TRACE (Book #3)

GIRL WITHOUT A NAME (Book #4)

GIRL WITHOUT A PRAYER (Book #5)

GIRL WITHOUT A PAST (Book #6)

HAILEY ROCK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

BEHIND YOU (Book #1)

BESIDE YOU (Book #2)

AFTER YOU (Book #3)

WATCHING YOU (Book #4)

JUDGING YOU (Book #5)

FOLLOWING YOU (Book #6)

SADIE PRICE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

ONLY MURDER (Book #1)

ONLY RAGE (Book #2)

ONLY HIS (Book #3)

ONLY ONCE (Book #4)

ONLY SPITE (Book #5)

ONLY MADNESS (Book #6)

MIA NORTH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SEE HER RUN (Book #1)

SEE HER HIDE (Book #2)

SEE HER SCREAM (Book #3)

SEE HER VANISH (Book #4)

SEE HER GONE (Book #5)

SEE HER DEAD (Book #6)

CARLY SEE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NO WAY OUT (Book #1)

NO WAY BACK (Book #2)

NO WAY HOME (Book #3)

NO WAY LEFT (Book #4)

NO WAY UP (Book #5)

NO WAY TO DIE (Book #6)

MORGAN STARK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

TOO LATE (Book #1)

TOO CLOSE (Book #2)

TOO FAR GONE (Book #3)

TOO LOST (Book #4)

TOO BROKEN (Book #5)