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)
“Easy,” I murmur, stroking his neck the way Jensen does. “What’s got you spooked, boy?”
“Animals sense things we don’t,” Eli says, appearing beside me with Duke’s bridle. “Horses especially. Their systems are extra sensitive to energies.”
“Energies?”
He gives me a look I can’t quite interpret—part warning, part appraisal. “Among other things. Did you know that your horse can synch their heartbeat with yours? It’s one reason why they can supposedly smell fear—they can sense the energy change. It’s also why equine therapy works. I’d reckon Duke has been good for you and you for him. Perhaps you’ll be able to reassure him that everything is fine.”
Yeah, except I know deep down it isn’t.
The ride to Cedar Creek takes us through terrain that grows increasingly wild with each mile. The trail, barely visible beneath the fresh snow, winds through stands of pine before opening onto exposed ridgelines where the wind has sculpted the snow into fantastic shapes. In places, the drifts are deep enough that the horses struggle, plunging through to their knees.
We crest a ridge around mid-morning, the ground falling away before us to reveal a natural basin cupped between mountain slopes. A frozen creek cuts through its center, its course marked by scrub brush poking through the snow.
“Cedar Creek,” Jensen announces, reining in Jeopardy to wait for the rest of us.
“Don’t see no cedar here,” Hank grumbles, pulling his scarf higher against the wind.
“They were planted further downstream,” Eli explains. “Old mining claims all through here in the 1880s. Exploited the natural cave system and then some. They tried to establish cedar groves too, for lumber.”
“What are you, a fuckin’ encyclopedia?” Red spits out.
“Hey, it’s not Eli’s fault you flunked out of grade school,” Jensen shoots back. It seems like good-natured ribbing, but Red’s expression doesn’t agree.
As we descend into the basin, I scan the landscape with new eyes. The FBI teaches its agents to observe systematically, to build a mental grid and process each section methodically. Time to put that training to use. Nothing immediately jumps out as unusual—just pristine snow, scattered pines, and the frozen creek winding through it all, but I feel my focus laser in. Perhaps I’m not too dissimilar from a tracker after all.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Cole asks, giving voice to the question in my mind.
Jensen doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the far side of the basin where a rocky outcrop juts from the snow like broken teeth. “Anything that doesn’t belong,” he says finally. “Anything…unnatural.”
At that, Duke suddenly tosses his head, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring.
“Whoa,” I murmur, tightening my grip on the reins as he sidesteps nervously. “What is it?”
Jensen is already scanning the tree line, one hand dropping to the rifle at his side. “Everyone stay alert.”
“Bear?” Cole asks, his own hand moving to his weapon.
“Maybe, though up here they should be in their den at this point,” Eli says.
Meanwhile, Jensen’s entire body has gone taut, eyes narrowed against the glare as he searches the shadows between trees.
Then I see it, a splash of dark color against the pristine white, perhaps a hundred yards ahead where the basin narrows toward the creek. At first glance, I think it’s exposed earth or a fallen log. But there’s something about the shape that strikes me as deliberate, organized.
Not organic.
“Jensen,” I say quietly, nodding toward it.
He follows my gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay here,” he orders, urging Jeopardy forward alone.
“Like hell,” I mutter to myself, nudging Duke to follow despite his reluctance.
As we draw closer, the dark shape resolves into something that makes my stomach clench. It’s a deer—or what’s left of one—arranged in the snow with meticulous precision. The animal has been dismembered, its parts laid out in a pattern that forms a crude star or sunburst. The snow around it is stained crimson, shockingly vivid against the white.
“Christ Almighty,” Hank breathes behind me, also having ignored Jensen’s order to stay back.
Jensen dismounts, approaching the grisly display on foot with a caution that speaks of experience rather than shock. I follow suit, sliding carefully from Duke’s back and securing his reins to a nearby sapling. My hand instinctively shifts toward where my weapon would be, but of course it’s back at the cabin. I stop myself and look around to see if anyone noticed me reaching for an imaginary gun.
And meet Red’s eyes.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a crude smile.
Fuck.
“Don’t touch anything,” Jensen warns us as I turn my attention back to him, hoping Red made nothing of it. “Not until we figure out what we’re dealing with.”
“Pretty obvious what we’re dealing with,” Cole says, though he makes no move to dismount. “Got ourselves a sick bastard playing games.”
But as I crouch beside the arrangement, my training kicks in, eyes cataloging details that don’t support Cole’s simple explanation. The cuts are too precise, too clean for a knife or axe. There’s minimal blood despite the extensive dismemberment, suggesting the animal was killed elsewhere and arranged here deliberately, even though there’s no trail of blood.