The phone in Jordan’s pocket rang, and he fished it out. The number had no name attached to it. He answered the call. He took her hand in his, squeezed her fingers tight. “Ranger Spencer.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Who is this?” he demanded.

The line went dead. He forwarded the number to his phone and then called the dispatcher’s office. When the operator picked up, he gave his badge information and the caller’s number with orders to trace it.

Spencer checked the Find a Friend app, searched Casey’s number, and discovered the phone was not sending a signal. He scrolled through Jordan’s recent calls, noting the call from Casey Andrews that came in around 2:00 a.m. Jordan had picked up, and the call had lasted for a little over a minute. Whatever was said, it had propelled Jordan out here immediately.

There were also other text messages from Avery Poe, Detective Marla Rivers, and Constance Sanchez.

Avery Poe: Where are you?

Detective Rivers: Call me.

Constance Sanchez: We need to talk.

As he tucked her phone in his pocket, the paramedics arrived and pushed through the front door. He gave Jordan’s hand an extra squeeze and then rose, making room for the two paramedics.

“What happened?” the first paramedic asked.

“She sustained a blow to the back of the head. I can’t find any other injuries.”

“Right.”

Spencer’s gloved hands were slick with her blood. Though tempted to remove the gloves, he paused and burned the memory into his brain. This kind of moment had happened only one other time in his career. A sheriff’s deputy near El Paso had been shot point-blank while assisting the Rangers with the delivery of a warrant. Other deputies had apprehended the suspect as Spencer had knelt next to the thirty-three-year-old man and watched him die.

“You better not die, Jordan Poe.” He stepped out onto the porch. The sky was clear, and the stars winked bright in the ink-black sky. He had the sensation of ice-cold water spreading in his veins.

“Ranger Spencer.”

The man speaking was one of the two deputies who had arrived seconds after he had.

“Did you find anything?” Spencer asked.

“Footprints and tire tracks,” he said. “Whoever assaulted Detective Poe appears to have run out the back door to a large shed.”

“Are there one or two sets of prints?”

“Looks like one, but in the dark it’s impossible to tell. We’ll have to get more light out here.”

“The footprints led to the shed?”

“That’s right, sir. And whoever ran to the shed had a vehicle parked there. There’re tire tracks leading out the back of the property.”

“I thought I heard someone drive off. Any idea what direction?”