“Luke sent us information about the type of ATV he says the Vance brothers drove. I called the dealerships in this area, asking for their cooperation. They gave me a list of names of the people who’ve purchased ATVs matching the description Luke provided.”

“Was Ken, Dennis, or Jeff Vance on the list?”

“No.”

Shoot.

“We found a spent shell casing from an AR-15 below the ledge, near the blood from your head injury.”

“That casing proves the Vance brothers shot at us.”

“That casing proves that someone fired an AR-15 at some point in time,” he corrected. “We ran it for fingerprints and came up empty, so the casing can’t be definitively connected to the Vance brothers’ guns.”

Finley’s shoulders sagged. She needed the police to close this case. Not because she wanted revenge on Ken for injuring her. Not because she couldn’t live with the Vance brothers keeping the gold for themselves.

Because she feared Luke would not rest until this was settled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When Finley’s CT scan showed no blood issues, Dr. Ellis informed her that, following her PT session, he’d have her transferred out of the ICU to a neuro floor. According to him, she’d been very fortunate. However, he said she needed to honor the fact that her body had sustained a hard knock and give both her physical and mental function time to recuperate.

They wheeled her to the PT suite, this time in a wheelchair instead of a gurney. The therapists coaxed her—with a great deal of support—to stand and take a few steps.

More dizziness.

Be patient with yourself, she told herself again and again. Give yourself grace.

When they finally brought her to her new room, Luke was waiting there for her. She’d only been apart from him for a couple of hours. Regardless, tenderness exploded in her like a shower of golden sparkles at the sight of him, framed by the rainy sky beyond the window.

Good grief, of course she loved him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

Luke came over to assist as the orderly prepared to move her into the bed.

“I’d like to sit in the armchair for a bit, please,” she said.

The two men helped her into the chair. Maybe she was becoming more lucid, because, for the first time, she was slightly mortified by the realization that Luke was seeing her in this condition.

She was nowhere near the best version of herself. She’d been stripped of her funky clothes, her accessories, her entourage of animals, the work that gave her days purpose.

He was gorgeous and fit.

She was weak and muddled.

“You’re worn out,” Luke said after the orderly left.

Correct. Her energy was zapped. “So are you.” His eyes were red, and he looked dead on his feet.

“Your uncle’s waiting down the hall, but I can tell him to come back another time.”