WHEN ASHES REFUSE TO STAY BURIED

Marcus Kane slumped against the wall, his right arm dangling uselessly at his side as bright red arterial blood began to soak through his canvas coat. He looked toward the shattered front window in genuine, disbelieving horror.

Framed in the broken sash, the barrel of a lever-action .45-70 rifle produced a wisp of blue-gray gunsmoke.

Jax stepped over the low sill into the bedroom, his boots crunching heavily on the carpet of glass. He wore his faded leather cut, his iron-gray beard bristling with fury, his eyes dead and unblinking behind the sights of the heavy rifle. Behind him, two enormous men on roaring scrambler motorcycles slid their bikes sideways into the snow outside, blocking the logging road.

"You're out of your jurisdiction, Kane," Jax said, his gravelly voice colder than the ice on Blackwood Lake.

Kane spat a mouthful of blood onto the floorboards, clutching his shattered shoulder. "You're a dead man, Jax. The Detroit chapter knows she’s alive. They know about the girl. You can't bury this like you buried Caleb."

"Caleb was a dog who bit his own pack," Jax said, taking a slow step forward, leveling the muzzle of the rifle directly between Kane's eyes. "And you’re just a scavenger trying to eat scraps off a dead man’s table. Give me one reason why I shouldn't leave your carcass for the wolves behind the ridge."

"Because the sheriff has Claire," Kane wheezed, his face turning gray as shock began to settle into his extremities. "And Claire has the real documents. You shoot me, and Claire's dead-man drop delivers the whole truth to the federal prosecutor in Cleveland. You, Miller, this entire county... gone."

Jax didn't lower the rifle. "Claire crashed her red wagon into an embankment three miles south of here twenty minutes ago. Marcus Miller pulled her out of the ditch himself. The only thing she had on her was forty dollars in crumpled bills and an empty pill bottle."

Kane’s eyes darted frantically, the reality of his isolation finally crashing down on him. Claire had bluffed. She had never held the safety deposit box key; she had used the threat of the documents to lure Kane out of hiding to do her dirty work.

Nora stumbled toward the open bedroom window, ignoring the throbbing pain in her collarbone. "Abby! Abby, where are you?!"

She threw herself over the sill, landing on her hands and knees in the slush outside.

The yard was empty. Abby was nowhere in sight.

In the fresh, melting snow, two sets of tracks led away from the house toward the dense forest bordering the lake—one set made by small children's sneakers, and a second, much larger set of fresh boot prints that had come from the treeline while Nora was fighting Kane inside.

Nora let out a strangled, primal scream. "Jax! Someone took her! Someone was waiting outside!"

Jax lowered the rifle, his face hardening into granite. He spun around, grabbed Kane by the collar of his coat, and hauled the bleeding man off the floor with one arm, dragging him out toward the porch.

"Who was in the woods, Marcus?" Jax roared, slamming Kane against the wooden siding. "Who did you bring with you?!"