“Shit.” A hot burst of adrenaline catapults me back into a run. I stumble over a step, nearly lose my footing, somehow manage to stay on my feet. I don’t know how far I’ve traveled or how far I have yet to go. I’m not even sure where I’m going or if I’ll be able to escape when I get there. But I have no choice but to continue and pray for an exit. If Mast catches me, he’ll kill me.

The tunnel veers left. I hear a sound behind me, but I don’t dare turn to look. That’s when I spot the small square of light a dozen yards ahead. The outline of a door, I realize. A hatch.

I barrel toward it, running as fast as I can. Definitely a hatch. Closed. But I can see the frame of light slanting through at the seams.

I’m a few feet from the stairs when a gunshot rings out.

CHAPTER 22

The bullet ricochets off a brick a foot from my head. Fragments of brick sting my face. I throw myself onto the steps, clamber up them, using my hands. At the top, I ram the hatch with my shoulder hard enough to jar my spine. The double wooden doors fly open. I scramble up the remaining steps, look around wildly. I’m in a basement or cellar with a dirt floor and stone walls. I see shelves filled with canning jars. Gardening tools. Wood steps twenty feet away.

Another shot rings out. Bending, I slam the doors closed. They’re heavy, fabricated of ancient wood planks with old-fashioned handles on the outside. There’s no lock, and I have scant seconds before Mast climbs the steps and jams that rifle in my face.

Spotting a sickle hanging on the wall, I rush to it, yank it down, and dash back to the hatch. I jam the blade through both handles.

An instant later, the doors rattle as Mast tries to pound his way out. I back away, praying the sickle will hold, and grapple for my cell. Relief flits through me when I see four bars. I hit 911 as I dart toward the stairs.

“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”

Quickly, I identify myself. “Shots fired at the Mast farm! I’ve got an armed suspect! One fatality!”

“Ma’am, the deputy is ten-twenty-three.”

Ten-twenty-three means he’s arrived on-scene. If that’s the case, where is he? I reach the steps and look up. A horizontal line of light bleeds from beneath the door. I lower my voice. “Get another deputy out here. Perry Mast is armed with a rifle. I’m under fire.”

“Stand by.”