Eagle's Last Stand. Aimee Thurlo

the far end of the dining area was a set of brick-littered stairs leading down into the basement. Except for a few inches of water, it was probably the least damaged room in the tavern.

      He stood still for a moment, listening. Someone was going through the rubble in the north end of the dining area, the side farthest from the street and hidden by the remaining walls. He turned toward the sound. Despite his size, Rick could move silently when he hunted man or beast. He had a tattoo over his heart with the word chaha’oh. It meant shadow.

      “Federal agent. Don’t move.” As he stepped through what remained of the doorway, he realized he’d spoken out of habit. He was now working with the Hartley Police. “Turn around slowly.”

      “Just don’t shoot, okay? I work here,” he said. “Remember me from last night? I’m Bobby. Bobby Crawford.”

      Hearing footsteps behind him, Rick turned his head for a second and saw Kim. She’d come in the same way he had, through the door cavity, and was wearing a white hard hat and holding another.

      “Dude, just chill, okay?” Bobby said, his hands up. “In the rush to get out last night, I lost something important. I was hoping to find it before they brought in the bulldozers. It was a gift from my mom.”

      Rick sized Bobby up in a glance. He was around eighteen or nineteen, stood five foot six and had dark hair and brown eyes.

      “Did you mention this to the police when they took your statement?”

      “No, I didn’t realize it was gone until this morning. It’s a gold crucifix I wear around my neck on a chain.”

      “You shouldn’t be here. That’s why the yellow tape’s there,” Rick snapped. “It’s not safe for the public to be rummaging around, moving things around.”

      “Dude, are you listening? It’s not evidence. It’s a family heirloom.”

      “Forensic experts and the fire marshal will continue to sort through the debris and recover items. If your crucifix is found, you’ll get it back,” Rick told him. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

      When Bobby handed it over, Rick took a quick look, then returned it. “All right. Get going. If anything belonging to you turns up, I know how to find you.”

      Bobby backed out through the kitchen and quickly disappeared down the steps.

      “I ran into the fire marshal out on the sidewalk,” Kim said, and handed Rick the hard hat. “Preston had called to tell him we’d be here, so Medina came over to make sure we followed safety protocols. He said no one’s allowed inside the Brickhouse without hard hats and he intends to stand by until we’re ready to leave.”

      Rick gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Medina give you hard time?”

      “No, not really,” she replied softly, gesturing to the street to indicate the man was close by. “He told me not to lean on anything or to move any structural elements. Then he gave me these and insisted we wear them.”

      “All right,” he said, putting the hard hat on. “Let’s take a look around, then we’ll go into the kitchen, where all this started.”

      She stood in one spot and turned around in a circle, slowly surveying the wreckage. “I can’t believe what this place has become. You could always hear laughter here.”

      “Everyone’s okay and we have another chance at life. That’s a reason for laughter. You ready to go into the kitchen?”

      She nodded. They picked their way back, stepping over and around the remnants of the shattered interior.

      They were barely in the kitchen when Arnie Medina poked his head in through the front door and yelled. “This place is coming down! Get out. Now!”

      Rick grabbed Kim’s hand and moved toward the gap in the wall facing the alley. Before they could reach the opening, a cloud of dust descended and bricks began to tumble from overhead, raining down on their escape route.

      Rick turned back toward the dining area when a roof beam sagged, then cracked as the ceiling gave way.