Annika’s cackle echoed. “You think they’re going to believe you? An alcoholic veteran with mental health issues? It was only a matter of time before you snapped. Besides, Sydney’s phone wasn’t the only thing they found. The tool used to kill Sydney was found at your house too.”

The tool? Like the one in Miguel’s pocket? But how did Annika know? Unless . . . “He’s telling the truth. It was you.”

Annika clapped her hands together mockingly. “At least I know your mental deficiencies don’t make you stupid like him.”

Anger bubbled inside of Lane. “He’s not stupid. And the sheriff will believe me. I’ll tell them the truth.”

“Actually, you won’t.” Annika raised a gun. “I warned you, Miguel, that others would get hurt.”

The despondent look on Miguel’s face morphed into an angry one as he lunged at Annika, knocking her to the ground. He wrapped his hands around her throat. Lane needed to run. To get help. But her legs felt like rubber and she couldn’t leave Miguel.

“Miguel, stop!”

A gunshot pierced the air. Miguel crumpled to the ground.

“Wha—” Lane crawled to Miguel’s side. Blood began to spread from a hole in his arm. She turned to Annika. “What did you do?”

Annika pushed herself up from the ground. She kept the gun aimed at Miguel. “Get up. Both of you.”

“He’s bleeding.” Lane pressed her hand to the gunshot wound on his arm. He needed an ambulance.

“He’s lucky that’s all he’s doing and that I didn’t kill him right away.” Annika plucked a dead leaf from her hair. “Now, get up.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to take a little trip.”

Lane helped Miguel to his feet. His face was pale. “I didn’t kill her. Tried to protect her.”

“I believe you,” Lane said.

“Try something like that again, Miguel, and I’ll kill her.” Annika jabbed the gun into Lane’s temple. “Now, tell me where the painting is.”

Miguel’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked at Lane and moved his lips, but no sound escaped.

The cold metal of the gun dug into Lane’s temple. “Where’s the painting?”

Tears slid down Lane’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The gun made a noise that sounded like Annika was about to pull the trigger again and Lane’s stomach lurched. “The painting your friend Miguel gave to you. I know you have it, so tell me where it is.”

“I really don’t—” And then it hit Lane. The painting with no name. No label indicating where it had come from. Lane looked at Miguel. He brought her the painting? Why? Because he trusts you.

“Five seconds and your little boy will be an orphan.”

“N-no! I know where it is. It’s at the Benedict House.”

Annika snorted. “How poetic.”