I kept moving, weaving through the tight spaces between the vehicles, dragging Ryder’s attention entirely onto me. I circled wide, moving parallel to the chain-link fence, heading directly back toward the front entrance.
I reached the guard shack. The main gate was twenty feet away. The heavy iron links of the chain were secured with a massive padlock. Just beyond the gate, Ryder’s cruiser sat idling, its headlights off, blocking the only path into the yard.
I needed to move the cruiser. If I could back it out of the way, the Troopers could ram the gate when they arrived.
I stepped out from behind the guard shack and sprinted toward the cruiser. I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. The interior dome light flickered on, illuminating the empty driver’s seat and the keys dangling in the ignition.
"Stop right there," a voice commanded from the shadows.
I froze.
Officer Ryder stepped out from behind the solid brick pillar of the gate. He hadn't chased me through the maze. He had anticipated my move and circled back to defend the only exit. He raised his Glock, leveling the sights directly at the center of my chest.
"You think you can outplay me in my own town?" Ryder sneered, stepping into the dim light of the cruiser's cabin. He looked at my empty hands. "Where is the book, Walter?"
"It's gone," I said, keeping my hands raised, my back pressed against the cold metal of the police cruiser. "Internal Affairs has the confession. The ledger is already out of the yard."
"You're lying," Ryder said, his finger tightening visibly on the trigger guard. "You wouldn't trust Greg with it. Which means it's hidden out here, and you are entirely useless to me."
He planted his feet, preparing to end it.
Suddenly, the dark horizon beyond the fence exploded with light. The blinding, strobing flash of red and blue lightbars crested the access road. Three heavy State Police SUVs slammed to a halt on the other side of the chain-link fence, their sirens cutting out with a sharp, deafening yelp.
The cavalry had arrived. But they were on the wrong side of the heavy iron gate, and the man with the gun was standing only ten feet away from me.
CHAPTER 3: The Ledger They Couldn't Burn
The blinding strobes of the State Police SUVs washed over Officer Ryder’s face in rhythmic flashes of red and blue, exposing the frantic calculation in his eyes. He stood ten feet away from me, his Glock still leveled at my chest, caught entirely in the open. The heavy iron gate separated the arriving cavalry from us, but the physical barrier didn't silence the sudden, deafening authority of the bullhorn echoing from the lead vehicle.
"State Police! Drop the weapon! Put your hands on your head and step away from the vehicle!"
Ryder didn't lower his gun immediately. His jaw flexed as he weighed his options. I pressed my back harder against the cold metal of his idling cruiser, keeping my hands raised high in the air. If I twitched, if I gave him a single excuse to claim he felt threatened, he would pull the trigger and let his union lawyer sort out the rest.
"Do it, Ryder," I said, my voice hoarse. "There are a dozen dashcams pointing straight at you. You pull that trigger now, you don't get a suspension. You get life."
The calculation broke. Ryder’s training kicked in, but not the way I hoped. He didn't surrender; he pivoted into a new lie.
He lowered the barrel of his Glock, keeping it pointed at the gravel, and raised his left hand toward the blinding lights. "Officer down!" he roared over the idling engine, his voice carrying the perfect, authoritative pitch of a cop in distress. "Suspect is armed and attempted to breach my patrol vehicle! I need backup inside the perimeter!"
He was trying to control the scene before the Troopers even stepped onto the gravel.