Page 119 of Crosshairs

“If my parents can do it, I think we can too.” He hoped she wouldn’t shut him down.

She rubbed her eyes. “This is too deep a conversation to have on three hours of sleep.”

“Just think about it.”

Ainsley dipped her head. “I will.”

That’s all he could ask.

They passed the pullout for Mangum Mound. Ten miles to their destination. “Has Sam said anything about getting a report on the shoe prints?”

“No.” She checked her phone. “You want to pull over and let me check with him while we have service?”

He turned into the Grindstone Ford pullout and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while she quickly dialed the ranger’s number and put the call on speaker. “Sam, Ainsley Beaumont. Just checking to see if you’d gotten a report back on the prints that were in the mud at the Dyson crime scene.”

“Got an email right after you called. The shoe prints at the church were different from the ones in the mud. Those inside the church were Nike running shoes. The others were from a hiking boot. Lowas.”

Linc exchanged a glance with Ainsley. “That’s the kind of boots Jesse Mason wears,” she said. “How far out are you?”

“Still a good half an hour out.”

“We should be there in ten minutes, and we’ll wait for you.”

“Be there as soon as I can.”

Linc pulled back onto the Trace. Backup was always good. Suddenly he became very aware of the semiautomatic strapped to his ankle. His pulse kicked up a notch. By the time he turned into the Rocky Springs campground, his mouth was like cotton.

“Watch out!” Ainsley cried.

Linc slammed on the brakes as a teenager darted in front of the Tahoe and kept running.

She leaned forward. “That was Colton! And he has a gun!”

They had no time to wait on Sam. Linc jumped out of the SUV. “Colton!” He scanned the trees. No sign of him. “I’m going after him.”

“I’ll check at the trailer. His mother may know where he’s headed.”

While Ainsley jogged toward the camper, Linc plunged into the woods. Colton was probably headed to the Old Trace ... or the Methodist church. They were both in the same direction.

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The camper looked deserted when Ainsley got there. What was the mother’s name? She racked her brain for the name, but it was no use. She knocked on the trailer door. “Mrs. Mason! Are you here?” she called through the screen.

Ainsley strained to hear over her pounding heart. Nothing.Alma.That was her name. “Alma! Are you in there?”

Was that a groan? She jerked the screen door open and bounded into the trailer, scanning the small area. “Alma! Where are you?”

Another groan came from the back of the camper. Alma Mason lay trussed up like a roped calf.

Ainsley slid the gag off her mouth, wincing at the woman’s swollen eye and ashen face. “Did your husband do this?”

“N-not this time.”

She untied her and helped Alma to sit up. “Did Colton?”

“No! It was a man.” She sucked in air. “Had a beard.”

Maddox? “Where’d he go?”

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