My phone in my hand vibrated again, the screen lighting up with a text message from an unknown number.

My thumb swiped the screen to unlock it.

The text was from an unsaved local number, but the signature at the bottom was unmistakable.

“It’s Voss,” the message read. “The sheriff’s department just picked up Arthur Vance near the south pasture. He was carrying accelerant. Get to the substation.”

I showed the glowing screen to Deputy Miller.

He squinted at the text under the dim yellow light of the cruiser’s cabin.

“Vance is Dorian’s broker,” I said, my voice tight.

“He’s also a fool if he thought he could burn out a timberline in this wind,” Miller said.

He reached for the ignition and turned the key.

The engine roared to life, vibrating through the metal frame of the older Ford.

I clutched my father’s wooden box tightly against my ribs.

The cool edge of the silver flash drive was pressed flat against my palm inside my jacket pocket.

“We need to get there before he starts calling lawyers,” I said.