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before calling up the stairs to her.
    She hurried down.
    “Any sign of the chief yet?”
    “No.”
    Turning back, he eyed the boxes of explosives sitting in the middle of the basement. “Shame to waste it,” he said, then proceeded to gather the detonator and the length of wire from beneath the boxes.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Contingency plan, Sydney,” he said, rolling the wire as he moved toward the tunnel entrance. “Grab a few sticks on your way.”
    “How many?”
    “Four to six should do it.”
    The others were waiting in the chamber, the ladder fully extended.
    Max sat, his tail thumping, undoubtedly glad to be with Calvin.
    Griffin wrapped the wire around the sticks as well as the detonator, outlining his plan to the others when a high-­pitched squeal followed by the sound of tires on gravel echoed down the chamber from the ground above.
    Everyone froze.
    “Chief’s here,” Calvin whispered. “That’s his car.”
    Griffin placed the bomb onto the ground, then took hold of the ladder. “Everyone know what to do?”
    At their collective yes, he started up the ladder, with Sydney following. Calvin and Trish held the ladder steady. At the top, Griffin lifted the heavy grate, metal hitting rock as he set it to one side.
    “You hear that?” someone from outside said.
    Griffin’s heart pounded. He reached for his gun, listening for a sign that someone was walking toward them.
    After what seemed an eternity, he heard Parks say, “Probably that damned dog of Walker’s that’s been hanging around. If I didn’t think the town would lynch me for putting a bullet in its head, I’d a done it a long time ago. Now what the hell’s going on in that house?”
    “Those reporters showed up here snooping around. We’ve got them cornered inside. No one shot, just like you said.”
    “That right? Where are they?”
    “Saw them upstairs a few minutes ago.”
    “Apparently they didn’t believe me when I told ’em there weren’t any dead bodies. Boys? I think it’s time to move up that detonation from tomorrow to now. Guess that dynamite’s a lot more unstable than we thought.” Some laughter, then, “Richie, shut off the IED jammer.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “The rest of you boys take cover. Don’t want any debris to hit you.”
    Griffin heard gravel crunching beneath booted feet, the sound moving away from them. He climbed out, grateful that the broken wall shielded them from view. Sydney handed him the wired explosive device. After he helped Sydney climb out, they dropped down behind the broken wall and Griffin peered through the bush, seeing an officer walking toward the shed, his AR–15 slung across his back. The chief, his attention on the house, stood by his car, holding a remote in his hand, his sidearm still holstered. One officer was crouching behind the trunk of the chief’s car, the other behind the car nearest Griffin. Both had their rifles aimed toward the house.
    Perfect.
    Griffin signaled to Sydney, then pointed at the nearest officer.
    She nodded, and together they approached, careful not to disturb the gravel.
    By the time the man realized they were on top of him, it was too late. His eyes widened as Sydney shoved the nose of her gun to the back of his neck. “You talk, you die,” she said quietly. “Now stand, slowly.”
    As the officer complied, she reached around him, grabbed the AR–15, and slung it over her shoulder, while Griffin removed the man’s sidearm from his holster.
    “Back up slowly,” Sydney said.
    The moment he did, Griffin slapped the sticks of explosive against the man’s chest. “Hold tight. Because if you let go, boom!”
    The officer looked down, would have dropped to his knees had Griffin not been holding him.
    He walked the uniformed man toward Parks, who was fingering the control in his hand. Parks looked up, saw Griffin. “What the—­”
    “I wouldn’t press that remote if I were you.”
    “Except you’re not. So I think I will.”
    “Your