Scenes like these are supposed to erupt with chaos—flashing lights, frantic voices, the echo of backup sirens—but Ashford’s Main Street remained unnervingly still except for rainfall striking metal. Cal pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911, his voice steady as he reported the location and Officer Hayes’s condition.
“Units are en route,” the dispatcher said. “Stay on the line.” Cal scanned the street while keeping one hand lightly against Madison’s shoulder to monitor movement. Every storefront window reflected only darkness and rain. No curtains shifted. No doors opened. It felt as though the town itself were holding its breath.
Madison stirred faintly, lips parting. “You’re okay,” Cal said quietly. “Help’s coming.” Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t focus. He shrugged off his heavy riding jacket and draped it over her to shield her from the cold rain. That was when he noticed something else. Her shoulder radio was missing. The clip was empty.
And faint scuff marks marred the pavement near her boots—marks that angled away from the cruiser before circling back toward where she now lay. Cal stood and leaned carefully into the cruiser’s interior. Dashboard lights flickered weakly. The airbag had deployed. The passenger seat was empty. But the rear passenger door on the far side hung slightly ajar.
He stepped back slowly, eyes narrowing. Headlights appeared at the far end of Main Street. An unmarked gray SUV slowed briefly as it approached the crash scene. Its brake lights glowed red through the rain. Then, without stopping, it accelerated again and disappeared down a side street. Cal memorized the shape instinctively.
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