a heavy brow and a heavier frown. He waved them into the forest and followed at their heels, rifle in hand. Every few seconds, Finn would glance back, as if being marched to a firing squad.
Robyn picked her way through the bush. When her feet got tangled, the detective pulled her up short and yanked wild grapevines from her ankles.
“Is this really necessary?” Finn said. “We can barely walk here.”
“Cover,” was all Solheim said.
When they were finally in deep enough, Solheim grunted for them to stop. Robyn could make out houses in the distance, and what looked like people moving between them, but it was so far away she doubted she would recognize Hope and Karl even with binoculars.
She glanced at Finn, who was squinting through them. She expected him to echo her thoughts, but instead he said, “How do you adjust these?”
Solheim grunted again, a sigh whispering through it this time. He set his rifle down and took the binoculars. Finn stepped back, behind Solheim, giving him a better vantage point. Robyn squinted, straining to see Hope’s denim jacket.
“See this dial?” Solheim lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “You need to—”
A crack. Robyn spun to see Solheim falling, Finn behind him, gun raised.
As she stared in shock, Finn knelt beside the officer’s body. “Out cold. Good. Now help me pull him—”
“You—you just knocked out a cop.”
“He’s not a cop, Robyn. None of them are.”
“What?”
The detective rose, pushing his gun back into his holster. “I have no idea what’s going on here, but I don’t know any of these men—”
“Because they’re from the sheriff’s office!”
“Who we’ve been working with on this case, and I don’t recognize a single name. Madoz is a no-show. I can’t get through to my station. My cell phone is blocked. And look around. What are we doing out here?”
“You wanted me to be safe. This is—”
“They’re sidelining us. Getting me out of the way. You gave them full descriptions of Adams and Marsten, down to what they’re wearing. Why do you need to do that again?”
“You called for backup. On your police radio. I saw you. You can’t tell me—”
“Something happened.”
She took a slow step back. “Oh, I know what happened. You called for backup, expecting to get men you know, men you could control. Hope was right. You do work for that company.”
“What? No. I—”
Robyn turned and ran. She felt his fingers brush her back, then an “oomph” as he stumbled in the undergrowth.
“Robyn!”
She reached into her jacket pocket for the gun, but it snagged and refused to come out.
“Robyn, just stop and listen—”
She ran faster, ducking to avoid a low branch, then, at the last second, grabbing it, pulling it as she ran, letting go, hearing it whip back, Detective Findlay cursing as he tripped again, trying to avoid it.
“Rob—Bobby!”
Grapevines seemed to snake from the ground, wrapping around her feet and she stumbled, twisting, hands flying up to ward him off.
“What did you say?” Her jaw wouldn’t unhinge enough to let the words out properly, her fury so hot she could feel it, see it, white sparks exploding before her eyes.
“Bobby,” he said. “Damon called you—calls you—”
“Don’t you dare!”
He reached for her elbow, then drew back, glancing to the left with a gruff, “I know. I’m sorry,” before turning back to Robyn. His lips twisted in what she supposed was a wry smile, but it looked like a grimace, and seeing it, she knew what he was going to say, what he was going to tell her, the lowest, cheapest ploy he could think of.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Rob—”
“If you tell me that Damon’s here, helping you, I will— I will—”She could think of no threat great enough.
Detective Findlay stepped back, voice softening. “He says he calls you Bobby because he misread the place setting tags at Ava’s wedding. It was a fancy script and he thought it said Bobby, and even after he knew your name was Robyn, he figured everyone must call you Bobby, so he kept using it, and it was months before anyone straightened him out.”
The rage reignited, tears evaporating. “Everyone knows that story. They told it at our wedding, for God’s sake. You and your people dug up everything they could, getting this lie ready to spring—”
“Fair,” he said quickly, desperation flashing in his eyes. “He—Damon—said you like fairs. Yesterday when we went there, he was telling me how much you liked . . .” He trailed off, glancing to the side as if listening, then nodding emphatically. “Okay, okay.