Behind us, the back door of my house slammed open.

Beam after beam of flashlight gold began to cut through the dark woods, sweeping across the wet pine needles.

“She went into the trees!” a man shouted from the yard.

We stumbled through the briars, the thorns tearing at my jeans and scratching my hands.

I kept one arm pressed tightly against my side, securing the ledger under my coat.

The paper inside felt heavy and stiff against my ribs.

We climbed a small, muddy rise that overlooked the gravel driveway of my house.

Arthur pulled me down behind a dense patch of laurel bushes.

“Stay down,” he breathed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

From this vantage point, we could see the entire front yard and the gravel drive.

Marcus’s black pickup truck was idling near the porch, its engine coughing, with smoke rising from the front grille.

Two men in dark raincoats were standing by the driver’s side door.

A pair of headlights swept down the dirt road, bouncing violently over the potholes.

Another vehicle was approaching fast.

It was Thomas’s gray sedan.