“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s a portable safe.”
Luke grunted and pulled, nearly knocking himself off his perch in the process, but finally made it down with the safe. He set it on the ground, and Megan shoved her phone in her jacket pocket. Her fingers trembled as she unclasped the chain around her neck.
The sheriff continued to take pictures. Megan sucked in a deep breath and glanced at Luke. He nodded. She stuck the key in the lock and turned.
The safe clicked opened. Thank you, Lord.
Her heart thundered. She pulled back the lid. Inside were several file folders, labeled in her aunt’s neat hand, but it was the edges of a moleskin journal that caught Megan’s eye. She pulled it out and opened it. Unfamiliar scrawls lined the pages.
The sheriff’s edged closer. “That’s Franny’s handwriting.”
“It’s her journal.”
Megan ran her finger down the page, scanning it. Nothing on the page was about Dan. Franny was complaining about her dad and how she was determined to get answers for what he’d done. She was angry with him, although Megan couldn’t figure out why.
Luke had already removed a file folder and opened it.
“Megs, these are copies of your aunt’s investigation notes. There are also copies of official reports, including the ones that went missing.” He flashed the page so she could see it, although it was too dark to make out more than the Medina County Sheriff Department logo at the top. “Here’s Chad’s original interview.”
“Hold on, guys.” Sheriff Franklin held up his hands. “We all want to go through this box, but we should do it back at the department, not in the middle of a hay loft.”
“He’s right.” Luke frowned and closed the file folder. “I should call Lieutenant Rodriguez and inform her as well. She may want Weston to join us.”
With reluctance, Megan set the journal back inside the safe. How had her aunt gotten her hands on it? And what was in those pages, in Franny’s thoughts, that could help their case?
Luke closed the lid but didn’t bother locking it. “Let’s go.”
Within minutes, the safe was loaded between the front seats of Luke’s vehicle and they were on the road. The sheriff led the way in his own patrol car.
“This changes everything.” Megan’s leg jittered against the seat. “Right?”
“It definitely gives us a new angle.” He reached out and took her head. “Great job, Megs. We wouldn’t have found it without you.”
“Not until June woke up anyway—What’s wrong?”
“Looks like the sheriff is having car trouble.” Luke stopped behind the patrol truck. The country road was dark and empty, so neither man bothered to pull off to the side. “Hold on a sec.”
Luke hopped out, joined the sheriff, and together the two men popped open the hood. She couldn’t hear their words, only a few muffled murmurs. Megan’s phone rang. Grace’s name flashed on screen.
She answered without saying hello. “Did you get my text? Isn’t it amazing—"
“Megs, listen.” Her friend’s tone was sharp. “I don’t think Dan was working alone—”
A gunshot rang out.
Sheriff Franklin fell against his patrol truck before crumpling to the ground. Someone screamed. Luke dove for the ground, disappearing from view.
Glass shattered as more bullets flew. Megan undid her seat belt and ducked into the wheel well. Someone was still screaming, and it took her three rapid heartbeats to realize it was her. She snapped her mouth shut.
“Megan! Megan!”
Grace’s voice came from far away. The passenger side door opened as bullets pelted the Suburban. Luke shoved her head down farther, his fingers tangling in her hair. The windshield shattered, raining squares of glass down on top of them.
Silence. It was eerily loud in the wake of the gunshots. Megan was dizzy.
“Breathe, babe,” Luke commanded. “Breathe.”
She sucked in a gulp of air. Her heart was hammering like a jackrabbit. Luke pulled her from the wheel well. “You hit?”
Megan ran a hand over her chest. “No. You?”
“No.”
He yanked his backup weapon from his boot and handed it to her, before reaching in the vehicle and unlatching his rifle. His radio crackled and dispatch directed backup to respond to their exact location.
God bless, Grace. She’d alerted authorities—probably by calling Weston—and they’d used the GPS locator in Luke’s state vehicle to find them. Still, judging from the rapid chat on the radio, it would take a while for backup to arrive.
“He must want what’s in the safe.” Luke scanned the tree line on the other side of the Suburban. “The shooter put himself high to get a line of sight, but now he’s coming to check if we’re dead.”
Her hands trembled. She sucked in another breath. “Franny’s journal. He has to be after the journal.”
Luke reached inside the vehicle and fished it out of the safe. He handed it to her.
“Take cover in the woods before he gets here and don’t look back. Don’t wait for me.” He kissed her hard. “No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, run.”
She hugged the journal to her chest. “What about you?”
“The sheriff is wounded. I can’t leave him unprotected.” He lifted his rifle. “Now go!”
There was no time for arguments, no chance for debate. He didn’t give it to her. Luke pushed her toward the trees. Megan darted across the asphalt, the canopy of safety too far away. Shots rang out. Something whizzed past her ear and she nearly screamed.
Run. Run. Run.
She burst across the tree line and tripped over a root. She stumbled and caught herself on a nearby pine. Bark scraped the skin on the outer edge of her hand. The rush of her heartbeat mingled with the sharp intake of her own breath.
She turned back to the road. Luke lay in the middle of the asphalt, a dark stain spreading underneath him. Megan lunged toward him. Bile rose in the back
