He nodded. “Priscilla and Clyde took turns watching the screens. We had a tracking device on your car, cameras in a few of your commonly visited locations—the Crossing, Conrad’s house, the street outside the diner. It wasn’t just to keep you safe, I’m afraid, although that was intended to be a fortunate by-product. We knew he was in Colorado—we had positive ID. We couldn’t locate him or his vehicle but he’d been seen and identified. We thought he’d eventually find you and we were going to be ready for him.”

    “You didn’t have a camera at Cal’s house,” she said.

    He shook his head. “But we had your location. You were traveling at high speed, changed your direction abruptly and stopped. We knew where you were but didn’t know why, since your brother wasn’t there. It looked like it could be a confrontation with Dixon.”

    “He must have been lying in wait for me,” she said.

    “I think once he learned where and when you worked in town, that was his only option.”

    “Has he murdered anyone?” she asked.

    “Not that we know of but after we have him in custody and conduct a thorough forensic investigation at the federal level there’s no telling what might turn up. Each of the states in which he committed crimes has his DNA from the few victims who came forward.” He put a hand on her arm. “Let’s go have something to drink with your family. We can answer a few of their questions, and then I’m afraid we have to leave.”

    “Where’s he going? Dixon?”

    “He’s going back to Detroit. Federal agents there will book him and the federal prosecutor will press charges and take him to trial, unless there’s a full confession. In which case he’ll go to federal prison. It’s a much more secure and punitive establishment than state or county detention.”

    “I wish you had told me you were watching me,” she said. “I was terrified and had no idea help was on the way.”

    “If we’d told you beforehand, everything might’ve progressed differently. I haven’t seen a criminal as slippery and invisible as Dixon in my career. If you had known, he’d have smelled it. I’m sorry it had to be that way. I’m glad the plan worked.”

    * * *

    There was something comforting about all the questions Sierra’s friends and family had for the agents. There were ten of them in all—four agents, Sully, Maggie, Cal, Sierra, Dakota and Connie. Some of their questions had to go unanswered—police procedure that wasn’t discussed or the future of the prosecution that was at best unknown.

    She learned that Lucas and Pete got around the back roads and through fields on those ATVs, often sitting near roads that led to the Crossing or into town or that long, isolated road to Connie’s house. It had seemed she’d seen these agents around town because she had. While she was working, they were poking around town, looking for familiar faces. And she also learned that Pete was well-known as Sneaky Pete, a seasoned undercover agent.

    The agents praised her for her quick thinking and resourcefulness. She did some damage, it turned out. “Too bad that nail gun didn’t hold the four-inch nails used for framing. But you did pop a couple end for end and drive ’em deeper,” Clyde said. And Clyde and Priscilla no longer had those lovely British accents!

    They didn’t stay long. They had some coffee and sandwiches and by two in the afternoon they were ready to be on the road. Priscilla and Clyde were driving the surveillance RV back to Chicago, where it had come from. Detroit didn’t have one but they were quick to point out they had an army of FBI SWAT vehicles and equipment. Lucas and Pete were going back to Detroit where they were currently assigned.

    There was a lot of hugging when they were leaving. Pete held her close for a long moment. “Thank you,” she said. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead now.”

    “You know what, Sierra? I don’t know about that. You’ve got some amazing fight in you. Not to mention smarts and incredible instinct. As long as you remember that, you’re safer than ninety percent of the world. You trust your gut and you fight, young lady. Big battles, little battles, you refuse to give up, you hear me?”

    She bit her lip and nodded. Her eyes welled with tears and a couple spilled over, running down her cheeks. “I haven’t been able to cry since that night,” she said in a soft whisper.

    “Well, now you can. The danger from that night is gone. And once he’s locked up, we’re throwing away the key.”

    “I think I’m changed forever,” she said tearfully.

    “I want you to remember something, Sierra. It was something that happened to you. It’s not who you are. Permission to move forward.” Then he smiled and said, “Yes, Sierra. You’re a badass. Own it.”

    * * *

    Jackson Canaday showed up at the Crossing to work and Sully happily left him in charge. The family and dogs went to Cal’s house to find Tom was there, a screwdriver and tube of caulk in hand. He’d replaced the window that had been kicked open by federal agents and repaired the lock on the door.

    “They said it wasn’t a crime scene anymore or anything, so I thought I’d fix it up before you got back. Jeez, Sierra, you’re the fricking talk of the fricking town!”

    “Great,” she said, but she laughed a little in spite of herself.

    “Um, there’s some blood on the floor of the master bedroom closet. I’ll replace the carpet before I finish the built-ins,” Tom said.

    “A lot of blood?” Maggie asked.

    “Nah. Some good quarter-sized spots, though—very noticeable.”

    “Oh hell, I’ll have those out in fifteen minutes. Hydrogen peroxide.”