A chorus of sirens answered, proving Caitlin’s gamble had paid off. Angela Chapman had not only found help but rallied the troops. Caitlin pulled her knees in and pushed up against the door, her mud-and-rain-soaked pajamas now more skin than fabric.

“It’s over, Branford.”

The sudden thuds of cornstalks folding under the SUV drowned her weak voice out. She twisted around, saw Branford’s duplex surrounded by red and blue flashing lights.

“Your turn to live in the cage.”

Still no reaction. She raised her hands to the unlock button on the door but couldn’t override the child locks. She twisted her wrists, wiggled her feet. No give there either. She tightened her abs, pulled her legs through the loop made by her bound arms. Still zip-tied, but her hands were in front now.

They took another turn. Something hard hit her ankle, a portable hard drive, no case. It slid to the side and got caught in the passenger-side seat belt assembly.

She heard sirens in pursuit, shouts, a loudspeaker. “Branford, stop the vehicle.”

The SUV lurched forward, and he screamed his reply. “My name is Embower!”

Caitlin felt an impact, saw pieces of a chain link fence scrape past. The SUV took hits—rocks, not bullets. They’re not shooting him because you’re in the car. They won’t be able to help.

She got herself onto the bench seat, saw large piles of stone outside beyond the frantic windshield wipers.

“My name is Embower!” he shouted again, his eyes on the road.

Caitlin yelled back, “Sure it is, genius!”

His eyes flashed to hers in the rearview, manic.

He turned the wheel. Caitlin fell to one side, and the car came to a stop.

She worked her way back onto the bench. “There’s nowhere to go, asshole. Your moment is over.”

Out the windshield, she saw two cop cars with an opening between them. Beyond the opening, nothing but darkness. The quarry.

He revved the engine, then smiled in the rearview mirror. “Our moment, Caitlin. Our moment is over. Gone with the tide, but what a story it will be.”

He gripped the wheel and the SUV screamed forward. Caitlin heard gunshots, the impact of metal on metal. A tire blew. The SUV swerved but didn’t slow. She threw her arms over the driver seat headrest, pulled her zip-tied hands against his throat and yanked hard. “My story’s not over.”

Branford didn’t fight and she saw why. For a few seconds, the headlights lit nothing in the darkness ahead. Then, the car tilted forward and the hi-beams reflected off the fast-approaching water at the bottom of the quarry.