At the last minute, she saw a rock coming at her. She ducked just in time, but then a second rock hit her head, and a third pummeled on her shoulder. She winced, barely keeping herself from crying out. She wouldn’t give Rachel the satisfaction.

“Lucas!” she called.

“Here.”

His voice was faint, but he was somewhere on the ground.

Rachel rushed her from the right, a small boulder in her upraised hands. Regan had been expecting it, based on the trajectory of the rock that hit her. Regan could barely see, but she had her gun out and fired three times.

Rachel fell to the ground.

“Lucas! Give me your hand.”

She saw a hand come up in the dim light, and she grabbed it, pulled him up. She saw Rachel’s body in the shadows, prone on the ground, and while she was certain she was dead, Regan needed to get Lucas to safety before she could be sure. She immediately left the mine, holding Lucas up.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

Four deputy sheriff’s vehicles pulled into the clearing.

“Gun down!” one of them called out.

She immediately holstered her weapon. “I’m Regan Merritt. My identification is in my truck on the ridge. I’m working with Brian Hernandez from Flagstaff. The kidnapper is in the mine. I shot her. Be careful, I don’t know if she’s dead, and I don’t know if she has another weapon. Her knife is on the ground near the entrance.”

She sat Lucas down behind the Jeep and he leaned against the rear, his head resting on the bumper. “Are you okay?” she asked again. “You’re bleeding.”

He was out of breath, perhaps drugged, but he was alive.

“Talk to me, Lucas.”

“I’m okay. It hurts, but I’m okay.”

Thank God, she thought.

He hugged her. “Thank you. Thank you for coming for me.”

An ambulance came and took Lucas to the hospital for stitches and to make sure there were no other injuries. Lizzy went with him. The coroner had left with Rachel’s body. The sheriffs were already on-site, along with the fire department, and the US Forest Service that was responsible for the mine.

Lucas had given his statement before he was transported, and Regan gave her statement and turned over her gun for ballistics, knowing she’d get it back. It was a justified shooting. Though she wasn’t a marshal anymore—and would never be one again—she had the credentials to withstand an investigation. Clearly, she fired in self-defense.

A team of two had gone into the mine more than an hour ago. Regan wasn’t leaving until she knew if she was right.

You know that you’re right.