“Mercer brought his deputies,” Emily whispered, her eyes widening as the blue and red lights began to flash against the stone walls.

“They’re working for Charles, Dad. All of them.”

“I know,” I said.

I stepped out from behind the pillar, keeping Emily behind my left shoulder, and stood in the center of the wet stone patio.

The rain soaked through my canvas jacket within seconds, cooling the heat of the earlier struggle.

Behind us, the kitchen door creaked open further, and the beam of Mercer’s heavy Maglite hit my chest.

“Don’t move,” Mercer barked, his hand immediately going to the holster at his hip.

“Hands where I can see them, Hale.”

From the corner of the house, three deputies emerged, their boots splashing through the puddles on the gravel path.

They held short-barreled shotguns, their barrels pointed directly at my chest.

“Get down on your knees,” the lead deputy ordered, his voice tense.

Emily shrank back against the brickwork, her hand clutching my sleeve.

“It’s over, Arthur,” Mercer said, stepping out onto the patio, his yellow slicker glistening with rain.

“You should have stayed in your garden.”