I ran, Holly at my heels. Bram and Liam sped ahead of me, weaving to make a harder target. I ran in a straight line, sucking in large gulps of the cold morning air. My back felt naked, exposed. I listened for the sound of gunfire, but I could hear nothing. My vision narrowed, with only the barn door in focus. Run, run, run! The words pounded in my head with every beat of my heart.

The world dissolved around me.

I was running toward a line of trees, clinging to a pistol. I heard a voice, his voice. “Shoot now, Darby!”

Something smashed into my leg. I pitched forward. The ground rushed up to meet me. I landed hard on my side. The odors of dust and dead grass and the coppery stench of blood filled my nose. My vision narrowed to a small pinprick of light. In the center was the killer.

I raised my pistol to shoot him. My hand was empty.

The killer’s face disappeared. Bram came into focus. He grabbed my outstretched hand and yanked me to my feet.

The flashback clung to me like a gauzy spiderweb.

Bram put his arm around my waist and partially carried me to the barn’s dim interior. “You okay?”

“I . . . yes . . . sorry.”

The dogs had followed us into the barn and immediately began exploring. We were in the side of the barn next to the pasture, on the opposite side of where Riccardo had fallen. Open stalls lined up on the right. While everyone caught their breath, Wyatt handed out bridles, then picked up a bucket and filled it with oats. He jerked his thumb to the right. “Tack room. That door over there”—he pointed to the far end of the room—“is facing east. You’ll find a trail that will take you to the top of the first ridge, where the road will split. From that point you can see all of the resort and, just on the other side, the trails. The different directions are well marked for our guests. Bram, you’ll take Pinecone Path and keep heading east. Pinecone loops around after a few miles, so keep an eye on the GPS. I’ll be following the ridge to the north on Blackfoot Track. Darby, you’ll head southeast over the ridge. You’ll be going cross-country without any marked trails. All of you, get out of here fast and don’t stop until you’re at the top of the ridge. Everyone got it?”

We all nodded.

He walked to the door to the pasture and rattled a bucket of oats to draw in the herd. As the horses approached, he’d move aside and let in the ones he wanted, calling out the correct bridle and bit as they passed. “Snaffle on the bay and buckskin, curb on the dun, sorrel, and this bay. Hackamore on the Appaloosa.”