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“Should I get it?”

“Not yet.”

Staying low, he moved into the living room, and avoiding the lace curtained windows, he picked one with an opaque pull-down shade and peered through the crack between it and the frame.

Nothing.

But he now definitely heard an engine and tires on gravel behind the house.

“Colter!” Coyne pointed to the kitchen. A shadow was moving past the curtain.

He was gesturing for her to join him in the corner of the living room—her office, which had the fewest windows and was the most defensible spot in the room. He did consider having her get the scattergun, but he didn’t know her level of skill. Some farmers are good shots—those who raise livestock mostly, and have a need to kill predators—but others, crop farmers, rarely shoot as part of the job.

Just as she joined him, he got a text.

He read the screen.

It was from Debi Starr.

Colter. Don’t touch your weapon. I’m serious. Keep it holstered. Whatever happens. Don’t touch it.

He knew she wasn’t going to answer and so he didn’t bother to type the obvious query that came to mind.

“What is it?” Coyne asked, seeing his face.

He shook his head, hearing the crunch of gravel.

She looked toward the shotgun.

“No. Keep your hands out. In plain sight.”

“What are you—?”

The front and rear doors burst open simultaneously—Starr coming in through the kitchen, and Tolifson and TC McGuire from the front. Their guns were drawn. Shaw noticed that Tolifson held his awkwardly but that his finger was nowhere near the trigger.

It was a solid tactical assault, and Shaw wondered where they’d learned it. He suspected the choreography might have come from one of Starr’s podcasts.

The officer holstered her weapon and drew cuffs in a smooth gesture that told him she rehearsed often.

Then, in a voice laced with true regret, she said, “I’m sorry about this, Annie, but we’re placing you under arrest for the murder of Gerard Redding. And we’ve got some other charges we’re going to have to add too. But we can get to them later. Could I ask you to turn around please?”

51.

Coyne was now less farmer and more rough-riding cowhand, of the bar-brawl variety.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Her eyes were narrow. Predatory.

Tolifson said, “I’ve got to tell you your rights.”

He started Miranda—he had tried hard to memorize the legally required warning but stumbled. Starr took over. Shaw knew it too. While he’d never beenconvictedof a crime, getting arrested was not that unusual in the reward-seeking business. At least the wayhepursued the art.

“Do you wish to waive your right to an attorney?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

The three law enforcers and Coyne looked toward Shaw.

Tolifson said, “Mr. Shaw, Colter…I’m doing this by the book.”