“Yes. We think it’s Confederate gold that went missing during the Civil War. As soon as we realized what it was, we decided to notify authorities. Before we could make it to an area with cell service, three men drove up in a Polaris ATV with AR-15s. They threw Finley off that cliff, shot at me, took most of the gold. When they heard the sirens, they left, and I carried her back up here.”

“There was more gold?” Romano asked.

“A lot more.”

“Who were the three men?”

“They were wearing masks. We only saw the face of one. His name’s Ken Vance. From Toccoa. I suspect the other two are his brothers, Dennis and Jeff.” They needed to pay for what they’d done to Finley. “Did you hear the motor of the ATV as you were getting closer?”

“No.”

“You’ll find their footprints and the ATV’s tire marks there.” Luke indicated the area. “There should be fired casings from their guns, unless they collected them all.”

A muted voice spoke through Romano’s radio. He listened. “Are you out on parole?” he asked Luke.

“Yes.”

“For what primary charge?”

“Felony theft.”

Romano didn’t react outwardly. But Luke knew that in the officer’s eyes, his trustworthiness had just taken a huge hit. He’d told the truth. But the truth might not seem very true to Romano when spoken by a felon standing next to an injured woman and stolen gold.

“How did Ken know you two were coming here tonight to dig this up?” Romano asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of them followed us to the road? And another brought the ATV on a trailer? Was anyone else parked on the road?”

“No.”

“Finley will corroborate my story.”

“She’s unconscious.”

“Which is why I want her taken to a hospital,” he snapped. “When will the chopper get here?”

“As soon as it can.”

Luke’s frustration and fear ratcheted higher. “It’s taking too long.”

After a long moment of silence, Romano began to ask Luke a series of questions. Luke told him about the treasure hunt. About Ken’s sister, Carla, and her connection to Finley’s father. About Ken, Dennis, and Jeff. Their possible motive. He told him that someone had been in Finley’s house and tried to hack his computer.

Every second that he waited for Finley to wake—and she didn’t wake—turned to agony. Every minute that he waited for help that didn’t come grated like knives on his skin.

Finally, he registered the drone of a helicopter. Louder and louder. Deafening. It centered them in its spotlight. Luke’s hair whipped in its downwash.

A litter, accompanied by a man in paramedic gear, lowered from the chopper. The man strapped Finley to a board with a neck collar while the female officer related what they knew of Finley’s injury and status.

“Finley,” Luke tried one last time.