Ryland Family Farm

Sierra Madre, California

 

Cormac pulled into the yard just behind Durango. When he’d said he was nearly there, he hadn’t been kidding.

“She’s in there. I can hear them talking.”

As he said the words in a low whisper, a gunshot rang out. Cormac didn’t stop to think about it. He had his FBI-issued gun in his hand before he got out of the car. He ran to the door and fired, barely taking the time to take aim as Aria lowered her gun and pointed the muzzle at Wren’s vulnerable back. He barely registered the bullets hitting her, the sight of her shock as she spun around before falling to the ground. And then he was running, rushing to Wren, imagining her lying there bleeding out.

He touched her, looking for wounds, and he found one immediately on the side of her head. Blood covered his fingers as he brushed his hand over it. And there was blood on her chest, but she blacked out and fell against him before he could figure out what the cause was.

“He’s bleeding out,” Durango announced.

Wren’s father was lying on the ground, blood gushing from a wound high on his leg. Cormac gently laid Wren on the dirty ground and yanked his belt from around his waist, thinking very briefly of the way Wren had tied his wrists together the night before. He used the same technique to cinch the belt around her father’s leg, stemming the flow of blood with a makeshift tourniquet.

Durango was already on the phone, explaining to the 911 operator that they needed an ambulance for two victims ASAP.

Two victims.

Cormac turned and saw Aria, lying on her back, the light clearly gone from her eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What had he done!

Cops and medical personnel arrived within moments, flooding the place with suspicious humanity. Cormac wanted to go with Wren, but they made him stay back and answer questions.

“What were you doing here?” the detective who appeared to be in charge demanded.

“She called me. Said she had Wren.”

“How did you know her?”

“She was a witness in a case I worked years ago. She had a fascination with me.”

“Why did she choose these people?”

“Because I’ve been seeing Wren Ryland romantically.”

“Are you aware that Ms. Ryland’s roommates called the police this morning and reported her missing?”

“I wasn’t.”

“They seemed to think that you had something to do with her disappearance.”

“He didn’t,” Durango announced, joining the conversation. “Wren was with Cormac Delaney of her own free will. They were together investigating a case for my security firm.”

“Mastiff Security?” The cop seemed mildly impressed. “Aren’t you Durango Masters?”

“I am.”

After that, the questioning became less hostile. When the cops finally let them go, Durango offered to drive Cormac to the hospital. He agreed, deciding he needed calmer nerves before he got behind the wheel himself.

“Thanks for that,” he said.

Durango glanced at him. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. I know that you think I took Wren hostage. And I know you and your people searched my homes.”

Durango nodded slowly. “Yeah. I honestly thought you were a budding serial killer when I saw that stuff in your makeshift office in Apple Valley.”

Cormac chuckled halfheartedly. “I probably would have jumped to the same conclusion if I’d seen all that, too.”

“You ever tell anyone the truth?”

“Once. It didn’t work out well for me.”

Durango was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed. “I considered doing something like what you’re doing after I learned the truth about my brother. It killed me, the idea of all the broken lives he’d left in his wake. I wanted to make it better, but it didn’t take long to understand that money couldn’t return to those people what they’d lost.”

“No. But it keeps them from having to worry about things that don’t matter.”

“Maybe.”

They arrived at the hospital, and someone was waiting to take them inside. Wren was unconscious still, lying pale in a narrow hospital bed. But they told him she only had a mild concussion and would recover in a few days. Her father, however, had severed his femoral artery and was in surgery.

Another tragedy that was Cormac’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered when he was finally alone with Wren, sitting at her bedside in a private room he’d insisted on. “I’m so damn sorry for all this.”

“Not your fault,” she said, her words slurred a little.

He hadn’t even known she was awake.

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Aria had a gun! It was probably my gun!”

“And I could step off a curb and be hit by a bus. Would that be your fault, too?” There was a spark in her eye as she looked up at him. “Stop blaming yourself for everything. What Aria did was because Aria wanted to do it. And you stopped her. That’s all that matters.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can survive any more violence in my life. If you’d died—”

“Then I suggest we both take a long vacation when this is all over.”

He nodded, tears choking him despite the little chuckle that managed to escape. “I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”