The acrid stench of blood hit Rory like a physical blow as she stepped out of her truck. The cacophony of angry shouts and terrified animal cries filled the air, a discordant symphony of chaos.
Before her, the Bearclaw County Slaughterhouse loomed, its stark concrete walls a backdrop to the unfolding drama.
Dozens of protesters swarmed the entrance, their picket signs bobbing like angry waves in a human sea. Workers in bloodstained aprons huddled near the doors, shouting back at the crowd. And somewhere in this maelstrom was Liza Barrett—animal rights activist, ranch saboteur, and their newest lead in a string of brutal murders.
Evan appeared at her elbow, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by tense alertness. “You know,” he said, his voice low, “my granddad used to say places like this have a way of bringing out the worst in people. On both sides.”
Rory nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. “And the best. Look at the conviction in their faces. The protesters, the workers—they all believe they’re fighting for something important.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” Evan muttered, his hand hovering near his holster. “You really think Barrett could go from saving animals to killing people?”
Rory’s jaw tightened. “Extremism has a way of warping even the noblest causes. Come on, we can’t risk losing her in this chaos.”
They plunged into the crowd, the noise and press of bodies instantly disorienting Rory. She elbowed her way forward, eyes scanning for their target. A photo of Liza Barrett was burned into her memory—mid-thirties, long dark hair, intense green eyes that seemed to bore into the camera with fervent conviction.
A meaty hand grabbed Rory’s shoulder, spinning her around. She found herself face-to-face with a red-faced man in a hard hat, his breath reeking of cigarettes. “You with them tree-huggers?” he said. “We got work to do here!”
Rory shrugged off his grip, flashing her badge. “Assistant Sheriff Wood. We’re looking for someone.”
The man’s anger turned to confusion, then a spark of hope. “You here to clear out these lunatics? They’re costing us money, blocking the entrance like this!”
“Sir, I need you to step back,” Rory said firmly. “We’re conducting an investigation. Please return to work or leave the premises.”
She turned away before he could respond, catching Evan’s eye. He shook his head at her—no sign of Barrett yet.
They pressed on, deeper into the throng. The noise was deafening now, a wall of sound that made communication nearly impossible. Rory’s head swam with exhaustion and sensory overload. They’d been awake for over twenty-four hours now, running on nothing but coffee and determination.
A scuffle broke out nearby. Two protesters had linked arms, blocking a worker from entering the building. The worker, a burly man with a shaved head, was shoving them roughly.
“Hey!” Rory shouted, pushing her way toward them. “Break it up, now!”
The larger of the two protesters turned, his face contorted with rage. “Stay out of this, pig! You’re just as bad as them, protecting these murderers!”
He swung wildly, his fist catching Rory on the cheek. Pain exploded across her face, momentarily stunning her. She staggered back, tasting blood.
Evan was there in an instant, wrestling the man to the ground. As he reached for his cuffs, Rory grabbed his arm.
“We don’t have time for that!” she said. “Bigger fish to fry!”
Evan hesitated, clearly reluctant to let the man get away with assaulting an assistant sheriff. Then, sighing, he rose.
“This is getting out of control!” he said. “Maybe we should get out of here, wait till this is all over.”
Rory shook her head. “We’ll find her—she’s here somewhere.”
She moved deeper into the crowd, trailed by Evan. Suddenly, a wall of bodies blocked their path. A group of protesters had linked arms, forming a human chain to prevent anyone from reaching the slaughterhouse doors.
“Murderers!” they chanted. “Animal killers!”
Rory tried to push through, but the line held firm. “Police!” she shouted, her voice barely audible above the din. “Let us through!”
One of the protesters, a young woman with a nose ring and vibrant green hair, sneered at her. “Cops protect killers! You’re part of the problem!”
Before Rory could respond, someone shoved her from behind. She stumbled forward, nearly losing her balance. Evan caught her arm, steadying her.
“This is insane,” he muttered. “We need to get above this crowd somehow, get a better view.”
Rory nodded, her eyes darting around for a solution. She spotted a small rise to their left, where the parking lot met a grassy hill. “There,” she said, pointing. “If we can get up there, we might be able to spot Barrett.”
They began to edge their way toward the hill, fighting against the surging crowd. Rory’s ribs ached from the constant jostling, and sweat trickled down her back despite the cool autumn air.
Halfway to their goal, a commotion erupted nearby. Two burly slaughterhouse workers were trying to force their way through the protest line. Fists were flying, and the angry shouts grew louder.
Rory glanced at Evan to see him veering toward the fight. Damn it, Evan, she thought. We can’t solve every problem. Still, she had to back him up. She couldn’t leave him on his own, not in a hostile crowd.
Reluctantly, she changed course, pushing toward the fight. As she got closer, one of the workers landed a solid punch on a protester’s jaw. The man went down hard, and the crowd’s fury intensified.
“Police!” Evan shouted, finally breaking through to the center of the melee. “Everyone back up, now!”
For a moment, it seemed to work. The combatants paused, surprised by the sudden appearance of law enforcement. But then someone in the crowd yelled, “Police brutality!”
And all hell broke loose.
A surge of bodies slammed into Rory, separating her from Evan. She caught a glimpse of his worried face before the crowd swallowed him up. Hands grabbed at her jacket, her hair. Someone’s elbow caught her in the ribs, driving the air from her lungs.
Fighting panic, Rory struggled to stay on her feet. She’d lost all sense of direction, buffeted by the angry mob. Her hand went to her hip, but she resisted the urge to draw her weapon. That would only escalate things further.
A gap opened in the crowd, and Rory lunged for it. She broke free, gasping for air, only to find herself face-to-face with a massive man in a bloodstained apron. His meaty fist was raised, ready to strike anyone in his path.
Acting on instinct, Rory ducked under his swing and drove her shoulder into his midsection. The man let out a surprised oof as they both went down. Rory rolled clear, scrambling to her feet.
She was on the edge of the crowd now, near a line of parked cars. Evan was nowhere in sight. Rory’s heart pounded as she scanned the chaos, looking for any sign of her partner.
That’s when she saw her.
Liza Barrett stood on the bed of a pickup truck about fifty yards away, megaphone in hand. Her long dark hair whipped in the wind as she shouted, her words lost in the general din but her passion unmistakable.
Rory started toward her, trying to skirt the edge of the crowd. She had to get closer without Barrett spotting her. If she could just get within earshot…
Then, still speaking into the megaphone, Barrett turned and locked eyes with Rory. Time seemed to pause.
I’m nobody, Rory thought. I’m just like anybody else.
Her uniform, however, said otherwise. Barrett’s words faltered, her face growing puzzled. Then, without warning, she dropped the megaphone and jumped over the side of the truck.