Beatrice knew her.

"Sheriff."

Ramirez stood.

"Beatrice?"

"Thomas was murdered."

Ramirez stared.

"What?"

Jackson placed the evidence on the desk.

"The investigation was compromised."

Ramirez examined the names.

Her expression hardened.

Then she saw Officer Daniel Cross.

Her own deputy.

She looked toward the hallway.

"Cross."

Nobody answered.

Ramirez reached for her radio.

"Lock the building."

Doors slammed.

Then the lights went out.

Gunfire erupted outside.

Everyone ducked.

Jackson pulled Beatrice behind the desk.

Ramirez drew her weapon.

Someone shouted from outside:

"Give us the ledger!"

Beatrice looked at Jackson.

"The notebook."

"It's gone."

"No."

"What?"

She reached into her cardigan.

"I copied it."

Jackson stared.

"When?"

"Before we left the diner."

She pulled out a small memory card.

"I knew Thomas wouldn't trust only one copy."

Jackson smiled.

"You're tougher than you look."

Beatrice smiled.

"I've been married."

Ramirez laughed despite herself.

Then the gunfire stopped.

Silence.

A voice came through the door.

"Beatrice."

Victor Kane.

"I know you're in there."

Beatrice's face hardened.

Jackson looked at her.

"That's him?"

"Yes."

Kane continued.

"Your husband should have stayed quiet."

Beatrice stepped forward.

"You killed him."

Silence.

Then Kane laughed.

"No."

He paused.

"He killed himself by refusing to understand how the world works."

Beatrice's hands trembled.

Jackson stood beside her.

Kane continued:

"Give me the evidence, and nobody else has to die."

Beatrice whispered:

"No."

Kane sighed.

"Then we do this the hard way."

The Truth About Thomas

The siege lasted forty-three minutes.

Nobody entered.

Nobody left.

Then the club arrived.

Eight motorcycles roared down the street.

The sound alone changed everything.

Kane's men scattered.

Sheriff Ramirez moved.

Deputies emerged from the rear.

Within minutes, three men were arrested.

But Victor Kane was gone.

He had escaped through an underground drainage tunnel beneath the sheriff's building.

Ramirez stared at the opening.

"He planned this."

Jackson nodded.

"He's been planning it for nine years."

Beatrice sat down.

She looked exhausted.

Jackson sat beside her.

"You okay?"

"No."

She looked at the memory card.

"Thomas died because of this."

Jackson shook his head.

"Thomas died because someone chose to kill him."

She looked at him.

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is blame."

She frowned.

"Explain."

"You survived."

"So?"

"So don't spend the rest of your life blaming yourself for something you didn't do."

She looked away.

"I should have believed him."

"You didn't know."

"He told me."

"You couldn't prove it."

"He begged me."

Jackson was quiet.

Beatrice continued.

"The night before he died, he said, 'Bea, if I don't come home tomorrow, don't believe them.'"

She wiped her eyes.

"I told him to stop being dramatic."

Jackson's voice softened.

"You couldn't know."

"I should have."

"No."

She looked at him.

"No?"

"You loved him. That's why you believed the world was safer than it really was."

Beatrice cried.

Jackson sat beside her.

He didn't touch her.

He simply stayed.

Later that night, Ramirez called.

"We found something."

They drove to the county records office.

Ramirez showed them a file.

Thomas's original accident report.

The brakes had supposedly failed.

But a mechanic's handwritten note had been removed from the official report.

The note said:

Brake lines were intentionally cut.

Beatrice stared.

"Who removed this?"

Ramirez looked at the signature.

"Daniel Cross."

The same officer Thomas had reported his suspicions to.

Beatrice closed her eyes.

"Cross worked for Kane."

Ramirez nodded.

"Looks like it."

Jackson looked at the file.

"There has to be more."

There was.

Thomas had hidden a second notebook.

This one contained a map.

A map of Dusty Ridge.

One building was marked.

The old water tower.

They went there before sunrise.

Beneath the tower was a buried metal container.

Inside was the original ledger.

Not copies.

The real thing.

Pages filled with names.

Payments.

Dates.

Instructions.

And photographs.

One photograph stopped Jackson cold.

It showed Victor Kane shaking hands with Daniel Cross.

Beside them stood a third man.

Jackson knew him.

A former member of his motorcycle club.

A man named Ray Mercer.

Ray had disappeared eight years earlier.

Jackson had assumed he left the club voluntarily.

He hadn't.

He had been working for Kane.

Jackson felt sick.

"He used us."

Ramirez looked at him.

"Maybe."

Jackson stared at the photograph.

"Thomas knew."

"That's why your name was in the notebook," Beatrice said.

Jackson looked at her.

"He was trying to find out who inside the club could be trusted."

"And?"

Jackson looked down.

"My name was circled."

Beatrice smiled sadly.

"Thomas trusted you."

Jackson remembered their one meeting.

Thomas had asked him:

"If you knew someone was hurting innocent people, what would you do?"

Jackson had answered:

"Depends how much I knew."

Thomas had looked disappointed.

Now Jackson understood why.

Thomas hadn't been asking for information.

He had been asking for courage.

Jackson closed his eyes.

"I should have listened."

Beatrice touched his arm.

"You didn't know."

"I could have."

"So could I."

They looked at each other.

Neither blamed the other.

That was when they heard the motorcycle.

One engine.

Coming fast.

A rider stopped beside the tower.

He removed his helmet.

It was Ray Mercer.

Jackson stared.

"Ray."

Ray smiled.

"You finally figured it out."

Jackson's fists clenched.

"You killed Thomas?"

Ray shook his head.

"No."

"Then who?"

Ray looked at Beatrice.

"Victor."

"Where is he?"

"Leaving town."

"Where?"

"Mexico."

Jackson stepped forward.

Ray raised his hands.

"I came to help."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because Kane tried to kill me too."

"Why?"

"Because I kept the wrong secret."

Ray pulled a folder from his jacket.

Inside was a confession.

Signed by Victor Kane.

Not willingly.

But clearly.

Recorded.

Proof.

Enough to destroy him.

Then Ray said something that changed everything.

"Kane isn't running."

Jackson looked at him.

"He's going to the diner."

Beatrice went pale.

"My diner?"

Ray nodded.

"He wants something Thomas left there."

"What?"

Ray looked at her.

"The final piece."

The Last Ride

Holloway's Rest was empty when they arrived.