Dwight took her hand and stared off across the desert. Jean did the same. A sound caught her attention and she turned to look at the road.

Distracted, Brandon said, “Wait.” He looked down the road the way they’d driven in. “Someone’s coming.”

Norm and Fletcher hurried to the cars.

Ari didn’t take his eyes off of Dwight and Jean, but Brandon walked halfway back to the van. “Crap. Multiple cars.” He ran back to Jean and Dwight. “We took your phones. How?”

Ari studied Jean. “You did something?”

Jean shook her head and shrugged. “Fletcher destroyed my phone back at the warehouse. Brandon, you destroyed Dwight’s phone. We haven’t made any calls.”

Brandon scowled. “But you received a call.” He studied her. “From a Jim. Your son, I think.”

“Jim’s our son. Yes.” Jean did her best to keep a calm face. Don’t let him figure it out. No, no, no.

He made two strides and had a hand around Jean’s throat as he pointed the gun at Dwight. “You bitch. Who was on the phone!”

All Jean could do was wrap her hands around Brandon’s and struggle for breath.

“Tell me!” Brandon shouted. His face was all rage.

Jean kicked him in the knee.

He dropped his hand and Jean, her hands still around his, pulled him around, into the hole. Dwight kicked Brandon’s gun hand as he fell.

Cars and SUVs began pulling up, sirens screaming, lights flashing. A helicopter flew over. Jean could hear shots being fired. She rolled to the ground, away from Brandon. Where’s Dwight? Where’s Ari? She could hear a fight going on in the hole. “Dwight?” she called out. There was grunting and a scream from the hole, then a shot. “Dwight!” she screamed.

She crawled to the hole. Two bodies were in there. “Dwight?”

Someone moved. “Help.”

Jean slid feet first into the hole. The top body was Dwight. “Dwight. It’s Jean. Let’s go.” She grabbed an arm and pulled.

“Stop! Stop! You’re killing me.”

She dropped the arm. Dwight’s injured arm.

“Other arm, Jean.”

She provided an anchor for him to lever himself up. Brandon lay in the bottom of the hole, gun in his hand but a spreading stain creeping across his chest.

Men thundered up, flashlights pointing into the hole and blinding them. “Hands up! Hands up!”

Jean and Dwight put their hands up. “It’s my informants,” Jean heard.

“Detective Voberg?” Jean was afraid to shield her eyes.

“Yes. Give her and her husband a hand up.”

The cops got them out of the hole and to the waiting ambulances. Tears streamed down Jean’s face. That was too close.

Next Chapter: Chapter Twenty-Six