Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Is that a warning or a threat?” I say, half-joking.
The corner of his mouth ticks up, but his eyes remain serious. “Just good advice. Lock your doors, Miss Wells.”
He disappears into the darkness before I can reply, leaving me with more questions than answers and the unsettling feeling that I’ve stepped into something much bigger than a simple search and rescue.
Inside the cottage, I double-check the lock, though I feel foolish for doing so, like I’m getting paranoid for no reason. That said, I got the impression that the rest of Jensen’s posse lives on property, and the last thing I want is for someone like Hank to waltz in the cottage in the middle of the night.
With the door locked, I peer through the window. I can see lights still on in the main house, shadows moving behind curtains. The urge for a drink hits hard—just one whiskey to take the edge off—but I force myself to make tea instead.
While the kettle boils, I plug in my laptop. I pull up the article about Jensen finding that lost hiker, scanning it again for any details I might have missed. The story is frustratingly vague about his methods, and it certainly doesn’t mention his crew of cowboys being involved. Did Jensen do that whole rescue alone? What makes mine so different that he needs four other men along for the ride?
My tea grows cold as I fall down an internet rabbit hole. Lost Trail Ranch doesn’t have a website. The only mentions I can find are in property records and a few sparse social media posts on forums from people who’ve passed through the area, wondering if they offer trail rides and the like. For a working ranch, they leave surprisingly little footprint. I can’t even find any cattle sales at auctions or buy-and-sell forums.
A sound outside makes me jump. Just the wind in the pines, but it sends me to the window. The mountains are black shapes against a star-filled sky, and for a moment I swear I see movement at the tree line. A shadow darker than the others, there and gone.
My phone buzzes. Another email from Diana coming through the wi-fi: Aubrey, where are you? You’re not answering calls. Let me know you’re okay.
I email her back, saying as little as possible. Diana means well, but she’s probably reporting all of this back to Carlos. The last thing I need is the bureau tracking me down here. The whole point of my leave was to deal with my mental health and my drinking and come to terms with Lainey’s disappearance, not keep chasing ghosts, as Jensen would say. If I told her the truth, I’m sure my leave would be extended indefinitely. They’d probably make me turn in my badge, car, and gun.
So I tell her that I’ve gone to Vegas for a few days to take my mind off things. I’d tell her Reno, but she knows I’d never be caught dead in that shithole.
When the email is sent off, I shut the laptop and get ready for bed. The mattress is comfortable enough, the quilts thick against the autumn chill, and I lie there, running through the evening’s events. Jensen’s sharp reaction to the mention of his father. The way the crew watched each other, like they were having silent conversations I couldn’t follow. Eli’s forced cheerfulness. Red’s probing questions.
And the bartender who didn’t want me finding this place at all.
Sleep feels impossible, but I need to be sharp tomorrow. I set my alarm for seven-thirty and try to quiet my mind. Just as I’m drifting off, a howl echoes from the mountains. Not a coyote, but something larger, hungrier.
I tell myself it’s just a wolf.
I almost believe it.
6
AUBREY
The alarm feels like it goes off seconds after I close my eyes. I’m already dressed and lacing up my boots when I hear footsteps on the porch. I poke my head around the corner and see Jensen’s tall frame outside. Something fizzes in my chest and I quickly ignore it, smoothing down my hair in the mirror before I cross the room. I unlock the door, opening it before he can knock, and his hand drops to his side.
“Ready?” His voice is rough, like he just rolled out of bed, though he looks put together with his worn denim jacket with shearling collar, hat neatly on his head.
“As I’ll ever be. Even made coffee,” I say, gesturing towards the kitchenette.
“Brought you something better.” He hands me a beaten-up metal thermos. “Eli’s special blend. You’ll need it.”
He watches me closely as I take a tentative sip. The coffee is strong enough to strip paint, with hints of chocolate. It’s also exactly what I need after a night of fitful sleep.
We walk to the barn in silence, frost crunching under our boots. The air is sharp with wood smoke and pine, and the mountains are just visible against the lightening sky. A horse whinnies from inside the barn, a nervous sound that makes my shoulders tense up. Doesn’t help that being around Jensen in general does something to my nerves.