"I came home from a three-day business trip carrying gifts for my wife and daughter... only to discover that my wife had passed away while I was gone.

Vance let out a shuddering breath of relief. A manic, triumphant smile began to spread across his face as he looked past me toward the tactical team.

"Officers! Thank God!" Vance shouted, stepping toward Ramos. "This man is insane! He murdered my security team! He held me hostage! Arrest him!"

"Marcus Vance," Ramos said, her voice cutting through the damp chill of the warehouse like a serrated knife. "You are under arrest for federal environmental conspiracy, felony obstruction of justice, and three counts of first-degree murder."

Vance’s smile vanished. "What are you talking about?! On whose authority?!"

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark trench coat stepped out from behind Ramos, flashing a gold badge bearing the seal of the United States Department of Justice.

"On the authority of the Federal Grand Jury, Mr. Vance," the federal agent said coldly. "We’ve had wiretaps on your shell corporations for nine months. Mrs. Clara Mercer wasn't just working with the state board; she was our primary confidential informant. And your coroner, Dr. Holbrook? We picked him up at the Miami airport an hour ago. He’s currently singing like a bird in a federal holding cell."

The color drained from Vance’s face until he looked like a corpse. His knees gave out, and two state troopers caught him by the elbows, forcing him down onto the cold concrete and securing his wrists in heavy steel cuffs.

I didn't stay to watch him fall.

I holstered my weapon, brushed past the tactical team, and sprinted through the pouring rain toward the remaining black Escalade idling outside the terminal doors.

"Alex!" Ramos shouted, chasing after me into the downpour. "Where are you going?!"

"The south quarry!" I shouted back, throwing open the driver’s door of the SUV. "The pumphouse shaft! Clara is still out there!"

"Alex, wait for the state team! We don't know what’s waiting for you!"

"I don't have time to wait!" I slammed the door, rammed the transmission into drive, and floored the accelerator. The heavy four-wheel-drive vehicle tore across the gravel lot, its tires spraying mud as I hit the access road leading up into the jagged limestone hills bordering the southern edge of the county.

The drive was twenty minutes of pure, white-knuckled terror. The rain had turned the unpaved logging roads into treacherous torrents of slick clay. The SUV fish-tailed wildly around blind mountain curves, the headlights cutting through sheets of torrential rain and clinging mountain fog.

*Hold on, Clara,* I prayed silently, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. *Please... just let me bring you home.*

At the summit of the ridge, the forest gave way to the jagged, blasted expanse of the abandoned limestone quarry. A massive, gaping pit stretched across several acres, filled with hundreds of feet of stagnant, mineral-stained water that looked black as ink beneath the stormy sky.

Sitting on a crumbling concrete slab near the edge of the old pumphouse stood the white county transport van that had been ambushed on Route 9.

The rear doors hung wide open.

I slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt five yards from the van. I jumped out into the freezing mud, sprinting toward the rear cargo bay, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

Inside the van, sitting untouched on the steel roller tracks, was Clara’s mahogany casket.

The brass latches were sealed tight.

I scrambled up into the cargo bay, falling to my knees beside the wood. My hands trembled violently as I traced the edge of the lid.

"Clara..." I whispered, my chest heaving with silent, tearing sobs.