A bomb. Someone had rigged the barn with a -
A blow between Adele's shoulder blades knocked her face-first into the hay, the chaff filling her mouth and nose. She tried to cough, but her head pounded like it would split if she so much as whimpered.
Another blow, this one glancing off her shoulder. There was no bomb. Someone was beating her. She tried to push up. Her stomach lurched and she gagged, vomit dribbling out.
A kick in the ribs flipped her over and she saw her assailant, a featureless figure looming over her, shovel raised. That shovel swung down like a scythe. Lily's face appeared above it, contorted into a gargoyle mask of rage and hate.
Adele twisted out of the shovel's path. It struck her hip, fresh pain jolting through her, the shovel glinting as Lily swung it up again.
"That's enough, Lily," said a voice behind them. "For now."
Neala walked over and stood beside Lily. She looked down at Adele. Her eyes glowed, glittering orbs in a grinning death's head, pale skin tight over her sharp cheekbones and chin.
Adele flipped onto her stomach and grabbed fistfuls of hay, pulling herself along the floor, trying to escape.
"Did Lily tell you she got the results from Dr. Briar?" Neala said. "He was running tests, trying to understand why they couldn't conceive. Seems she was taking birth control pills. And it seems someone's been a very sweet sister lately, bringing Lily's coffee every morning."
Lily walked over and kicked Adele's ribs again, making her squeal like a spring piglet at the slaughter. "You think that hurts? It's nothing compared to what Hugh's going to do to you when he finds out."
"Hugh," Adele rasped. "It was his idea. The pills. He wanted to marry me, and if you couldn't have kids, you'd have to go to the kitchens, and he'd be free."
"Is that what happened?" Lily said sarcastically. "How can I ever repay you for telling me the truth? I know, I can let you go, right?"
"If you don't, he'll kill me. It's not my fault – "
"Nothing ever is, Adele," Neala said. "Lily, grab her other arm. We don't want the others to miss out on Adele's wonderful stories."
ROBYN
Robyn watched Detective Findlay walk along the gravel shoulder behind the compound where Hope, Karl and Rhys had gone. He was returning to the car after talking to the rest of the team. He had his gaze down, watching the ground intently, as if it teemed with scorpions, but when a can lay in his path, he stepped on it, giving a start when it crunched underfoot.
Frown lines creased his broad face. When the wind ruffled his hair, he shoved the strands back from his face, frown deepening, gaze returning to its intent study of his path.
Preoccupied, but not with ghosts. Robyn had already learned to recognize that look, that dreaminess, so jarring on his craggy face, like a cowboy wistfully gazing at the mountains, dreaming of a ranch of his own.
This current preoccupation seemed equally out of place, too intense, too angry. Deep in thought, and whatever those thoughts were, he didn't like them.
He climbed into the driver's seat and stared at a dead bug on the windshield, as if trying to commune with its spirit. She didn't expect him to speak. The tension between them had been stretching ever tighter since the medical offices.
She couldn't regret her reaction, nor shake the feeling that it had, under the circumstances, been the right one.
For Detective Findlay, though, this was a job, and she didn't expect him to put himself on the line for Hope and Karl, no more than she expected him to let her – his suspect – do the same. An irreconcilable clash of priorities that had settled into an irreconcilable war of intractability.
Even when Detective Findlay had finally managed to call for backup, it had only seemed to blacken his mood more. Apparently, he was stuck with a team from the sheriff's department, men he didn't know. He'd tried getting hold of a detective named Madoz, wanting him to be in on the takedown, and had been told he was on the way, but there was no sign of him yet.
She cleared her throat. "Detective Findlay – "
"You don't need to call me that."
"What's your name?"
He blinked, apparently having forgotten that somewhere between the gun showdown and the car chase, they'd failed to perform proper introductions.
"John," he said. "But everyone calls me Finn."
"Which do you prefer?"
He paused, as if it had been so long since anyone asked, he wasn't sure. "Finn's fine."
"Okay, so is the team ready to – "
A rap at the window. Finn lowered it. A beefy man leaned in too far, the invasion of space making the detective's shoulders square.
"Alvarez," the man said. "Just got here. My boys tell me you don't like my plan, Detective."
"I don't see any reason to put Ms. Peltier in further – "
"No danger, Detective. My boys are the best. I need her on-site to ID her friends, make sure we get them out."
"Out of what?"
"We don't know what we're facing in there. Our records show it's a multifamily residence. Some kind of commune, we think. We have to be prepared for the worst."
"Which is why Ms. Peltier shouldn't go in. I can ID her friends."
"We'd prefer her, for absolute confirmation."
"I want to speak to – "
"It's okay," Robyn said. "I'll go."
Finn didn't like that, lips tightening. Alvarez thumped the window sill and backed out. "All set then?"
He walked away without waiting for a response.
As they took up position in the woods surrounding the property, Finn only got moodier, snapping at the officers in a way that suggested he never snapped at anyone and didn't like hearing himself do it. But that didn't stop him either.
He seemed to be in communication with his spirit guide, but Robyn got the impression that at the moment, the ghost wasn't doing much guiding.
"I need you two over there." Alvarez pointed into the patch of woods bordering the property, then smacked binoculars into the detective's hand. "That's a safe distance. Have her pinpoint her friends and radio me with a full description of their location and apparel. Solheim here will go with you."
Alvarez marched off with his men, leaving an officer about Finn's age with a heavy brow and a heavier frown. He waved them into the forest and followed at their heels, rifle in hand. Every few seconds, Finn would glance back, as if being marched to a firing squad.
Robyn picked her way through the bush. When her feet got tangled, the detective pulled her up short and yanked wild grapevines from her ankles.
"Is this really necessary?" Finn said. "We can barely walk here."
"Cover," was all Solheim said.
When they were finally in deep enough, Solheim grunted for them to stop. Robyn could make out houses in the distance, and what looked like people moving between them, but it was so far away she doubted she would recognize Hope and Karl even with binoculars.
She glanced at Finn, who was squinting through them. She expected him to echo her thoughts, but instead he said, "How do you adjust these?"
Solheim grunted again, a sigh whispering through it this time. He set his rifle down and took the binoculars. Finn stepped back, behind Solheim, giving him a better vantage point. Robyn squinted, straining to see Hope's denim jacket.
"See this dial?" Solheim lifted the binoculars to his eyes. "You need to – "
A crack. Robyn spun to see Solheim falling, Finn behind him, gun raised.
As she stared in shock, Finn knelt beside the officer's body. "Out cold. Good. Now help me pull him – "
"You – you just knocked out a cop."
"He's not a cop, Robyn. None of them are."
"What?"
The detective rose, pushing his gun back into his holster. "I have no idea what's going on here, but I don't know any of these men – "
"Because they're from the sheriff's office!"