Cade frowned. What kind of name is Diesel?

“It’s okay,” Diesel murmured. “Where are the boys? Are they all right?”

Cade froze. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where are the boys? Fuck.

“The boys are fine,” Novak said, a smile in her voice. “They’re at home with an entire platoon watching over them.”

Cade ripped the headphones off, so furious that he wanted to scream. This was not a safe house. Michael Rowland was not here. He was back at Novak’s house, with seven dogs, an entire fleet of SUVs, and a fucking platoon of people.

Motherfucking sonofabitch.

Well, at least Cade knew for sure now. He’d go back to her house and wait for the platoon to disperse. Surely all those people hadn’t planned to stay there all night. It shouldn’t be so hard to get to one teenage kid.

He’d pivoted in his crouch, pointing his body toward his SUV, when he heard the crack of a twig. He froze again.

The Escalade-driving Detective Stone was fifteen feet away, staring at him. A heartbeat later the man began to run, headed right for him.

Cade didn’t think. He just reacted, simultaneously twisting out of the detective’s path and lifting his gun to fire at the man’s broad chest, pumping a second bullet into his leg. Stone dropped like . . . well, a stone, going down to his knees.

“Sonofabitch,” the detective hissed. He tried to rise, but Cade grabbed him by the coat collar and smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Hard.

With a groan, the big man closed his eyes, unconscious. Cade tried to drag him back to his own SUV, but the fucker was way too heavy. He got him halfway, which was about fifty yards from the house. No one inside could hear if he called for help.

And speaking of help, Cade patted the man’s pockets, taking his cell phone and his car keys. He shoved the big man to his side and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. As he opened it, his mouth fell open. Stone had to be carrying a thousand dollars in cash. Cade grabbed the cash, tossed the wallet, and ran to his SUV.

He passed Stone’s Escalade as he drove down the driveway. The fucker had doubled back. Well, he got what he deserved. He’d bleed out before anyone realized he was out there.

Cade pulled over when he got to the main road. His hands were shaking. That had been too damn close. He was tempted to leave the kid alone and just run.

But juries loved eyewitnesses. Especially orphaned eyewitnesses with inspirational disabilities. Michael Rowland had to go.

Bridgetown, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 1:00 a.m.

Diesel held his breath, waiting for Dani to compose herself, both dreading and anticipating what she’d have to say. But she was touching him and that had to mean something. Right?