Page 87 of Rangers Last Promise

Sheriff Tate answers.

“Behind the sheriff’s department.”

Mara and I look at each other.

For fifteen years, Grant’s lockbox may have been sitting less than fifty yards from the office where his sister works.

Sheriff Tate reaches for his radio.

“No one goes near that building until my deputies secure it.”

Mara is already reaching for her holster.

I button my shirt.

She points at me.

“You're injured.”

“So are you.”

“My cut is smaller.”

“My gun is bigger.”

Her eyebrows rise.

“That is the stupidest argument you've made all night.”

“It worked.”

“It absolutely did not.”

Wolf starts laughing.

Sheriff Tate shakes his head.

“I swear Grant is somewhere enjoying this.”

The words stop me.

Not because they hurt.

Because for the first time in fifteen years, I hope he's right.

The sheriff’s department sits three blocks from the Last Stand.

We don't walk.

Tate insists we take vehicles.

Mara rides with him.

I ride with Wolf.

I don't like it.

Wolf notices.