Half in a trance, Tom followed his friend back outside. As he leaned against the van, Walt walked over to the state police car, switched off its light bar, took the keys from the ignition, and opened the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Tom called.

Walking back to the driver’s door, Walt leaned through it, then straightened up with a shotgun in his hands.

“What the hell are you doing with that?”

Without a word, Walt walked back to the trunk and fired four deafening shots into it. The cruiser rocked on its oversized shocks as it absorbed the impact of the rounds. Walt ducked into the trunk and began fiddling with something. After about thirty seconds, he stood up, triumphantly holding a paper bag in his hand. He carried the bag to Tom and opened it, revealing fragments of metal and plastic.

“What’s all that?” Tom asked.

“What’s left of a hard drive. The camera in that cruiser filmed everything that just happened. We’re taking this with us so no genius from the NSA can put the drive back together.”

Tom felt as though he might collapse. “Walt, this is bad. We can’t run from this.”

The Ranger grabbed his good shoulder and squeezed hard. “Forget the badge, Tom. From the moment he saw Sonny, that guy meant to kill us. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. Fifty years of experience told me. State cops don’t patrol dirt roads in the back of beyond at night. He came here to find us. You and me.”

“But how could he? We switched off our phones, like you said.”

Knowledge dawned in Walt’s eyes. “It wasn’t our phones. I left Sonny’s cell phone on so I could monitor his texts and hear his voice mails. Stupid! That trooper was looking for Thornfield, not us. He must have been on the Eagles’ payroll.”

“A state cop?”

Walt shrugged. “I don’t understand it, but now’s not the time to figure it out.” He looked back at the dead trooper. “I won’t lie to you, buddy. Even if he was dirty, it won’t make a bit of difference to any cop in this state if they figure out who killed him.”

Stinging sweat dripped into Tom’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

Walt’s smile had an ironic curve. “A little late for apologies.”

A loud cry of pain came from the van.

Walt ran to the Roadtrek, motioning for Tom to follow him into the van. Inside, they found Thornfield lying faceup in the aisle, clenching his left arm, his skin deathly gray.

“He’s having a heart attack,” Tom said, kneeling.

“Let him,” Walt said, trying to pull Tom up without hurting him. “There’s nothing we can do.”