The ride back to Ashford Hollow passed in a blur Wren would only partially remember afterward — the cold wind through the sedan's cracked window, Birdie's white knuckles on the shotgun, Desmond's grim, steady focus on the dark road ahead, and always, in the mirror, the twin headlights of Cruz's bike, riding closer to the car than strictly necessary, close enough that she understood he was keeping her in sight the entire way, refusing to let distance open up between them again after the night's first terrifying separation.
They beat Marcus's plane by twenty-three minutes.
Dutch had called ahead, and by the time the convoy rolled through the compound gate, Tommy and the second prospect had already thrown floodlights on across the yard, and Sheriff Okafor's cruiser sat parked near the barn,
