Chapter 2
Chapter two
Crowe
The forest was so still I could hear my own breath. The morning air was cool and carried the damp scent of cedar and earth. I moved slowly, careful not to snap twigs or crush leaves under my boots.
Up ahead, the buck lifted its head. Sunlight caught on its antlers, turning them gold for half a second before the light shifted again. I froze in place, careful not to spook him, and found him in my sights. My pulse slowed, steady and sure, the same focus I used to get before a mission.
He was a big one. The kind that didn’t survive this long by making mistakes.
I tracked him as he stepped through the brush, slow and deliberate. He paused, head up, every muscle alert. I had him lined up perfectly. Framed and centered, crosshairs dead on.
I exhaled and pressed down with my trigger finger.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound broke the silence, sharp and clean. The buck startled, then bounded off into the trees, a flash of movement and power gone as fast as it came.
I lowered the camera and checked the screen. Perfect shot. Gator would be proud of that one. He’d been teaching me some of his photography tricks, and while my stuff was nowhere near as good as his, this one was darn close.
I hung the camera around my neck and started back down the ridge.
I was no longer concerned about stealth, my boots crunching through the leaves.
The sun was climbing higher, warming the air, burning off the last of the morning haze.
I stopped to take a couple more shots, one of a squirrel and one of a beautiful bluejay.
I hadn’t hunted anything but moments in a long time. These days, I was after something quieter. Proof that there was still beauty out there worth fighting for, and with some of the things we saw at Three Bears Tactical, I needed that reminder.
When I made it back to the cabin, I sat down on the bench by the front door and removed my boots before going inside.
I put away all my gear and then tossed another log in the woodstove.
It was a little chillier than normal for this time of year, but I liked that because it meant I could still have a fire in the mornings.
There was just something about the heat from that old cast-iron woodstove that felt different.
It warmed me to the bone instead of just heating the air, or at least it felt that way.
Before I’d left the cabin early this morning, I chugged a cup of coffee, shoved down a protein bar, and then hit the trail.
I hadn’t wanted to miss the sunrise or the animals that might be out, but now I was starving.
I went to the fridge and pulled out the eggs, sausage, and some leftover potatoes from the night before.
I had some freshly made tortillas I’d picked up at the store, and I figured that if I added some of the fresh salsa Mabel Jenkins had dropped off when she found out I was in town, that would all come together to make one really delicious breakfast burrito.
I pulled out an old cast-iron skillet and set it on top of the woodstove to heat.
Wyatt and I had made more than one upgrade to the cabin since we inherited it from our dad, but changing out the old woodstove felt sacrilegious.
Our grandfather had loved it, and he swore food tasted best when cooked on it in Wagner cast-iron skillets.
I wasn’t sure if it really made a difference, but neither of us was willing to risk it by installing a modern stove in its place.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and drank it while I cooked the food, and then I sat down to eat at the table my grandfather had built.
It was old, but it was sturdy, just like the cabin.
This whole place was filled with so many memories.
Two little boys sitting enthralled, as our grandfather told us all kinds of tall tales about his hunting or fishing adventures.
The two of us, a little older, our dad, with all his supplies spread out over the table, while he tried to teach both of us how to make flies for our spring fishing trip.
Then, my dad, a few years later, was the only time I saw him cry, as he came to the cabin for the first time without his father.
I shook my head, refusing to take that line of thought any further.
It was just me and Wyatt now, had been for a long time, and with him moving to Ohio, the two of us were rarely here at the same time.
I came more often than he did, but running the training camp for Three Bears Tactical meant I didn’t get to come very often myself.
I cleaned up my mess and then debated what to do with the rest of my day.
I’d brought a few books with me and all the supplies to make some new fishing flies.
Of course, there were chores to be done, too.
The temps were still in the 50s here overnight, so I’d gone through a fair amount of the wood stores.
It was only fair that I replenish it before I left.
That didn’t have to be done today, though; besides that new thriller I’d brought was calling my name.
I got myself a drink and picked up the book from the coffee table.
If I was going to waste the rest of the morning, I might as well do it in my favorite place.
I went out the back door to the hammock that sat underneath a huge oak tree.
When Wyatt and I were kids, we had a tire swing in this very spot, but a couple of years ago, I replaced it with something big enough for me to enjoy now.
Almost like he knew I was thinking about him, I’d just gotten settled in to read when my phone buzzed with a video call from Wyatt.
I grinned at the sight of my brother’s permanently grumpy face. We couldn’t have been more different. I’d taken after my dad and had his dark hair and eyes, while Wyatt had our mother’s lighter brown hair and hazel eyes.
Of course, that wasn’t the major difference. That was in our overall appearance. He looked exactly like what he was, a clean-cut cop who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. I, on the other hand, had seen some shit as a combat medic and decided the world could fuck off.
“Hey, Wy, what’s up?”
“Not much. I just thought I’d check in with you and see how your vacay was going.”
“It’s good. See?” I lifted the phone so he could see where I was. “I’m just about to start that new Robert Hall book.”
“Is that the one about the disgraced cop?” he asked.
“Yeah, I hear it’s pretty good.”
“You read it first. If you don’t think it’s gonna piss me off, I’ll read it.”
As a law enforcement officer, he was a stickler for accuracy when someone wrote about the police. I swear he went on about how wrong another author was in his depiction of a hostage situation ad nauseam.
“I’ll let you know. How about you? What are you up to?”
“Nothing, absolutely freaking nothing,” he grumbled, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? I thought the whole reason you took the job in that tiny village was because you were tired of all the chaos and mayhem of the big D.”
He sighed. “It was, but it’s so quiet. I had three calls this week. One, because a farmer’s goat got out and was harassing the ladies at the Episcopal church bake sale. Apparently, he has quite the sweet tooth.”
I was trying hard not to laugh, but then he said, “Then I had to go out to the senior center because two eighty-year-olds were fighting. One was convinced the other was cheating at bingo.”
“How do you cheat at bingo?” I managed to get out.
“Apparently, she had a lucky troll figure and kept rubbing it.”
“Oh, well, that makes perfect sense then,” I deadpanned.
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “I did have to go out on a bomb threat this week, though.”
“Really? That sounds promising.”
“Yeah, well, it was trash from the middle school science fair. Seemed pretty suspicious though, at least until you actually looked at it and saw the remnants of a papier-mache volcano.”
At that, I lost the battle and burst out laughing. “Oh man, I’m so sorry.”
“Be careful what you ask for, I guess. Turns out Cedar Hollow is a very, very safe town.”
“Well, if you change your mind, Texas is always here waiting for you, brother.”
“I know. The people are just so freaking nice, though. I’d feel horrible to leave without giving it a chance.”
My phone beeped with an incoming call for Wolfe’s line. That was unusual. I was on vacation, and Wolfe wasn’t the kind to call just to chat.
“Hey, bro. Getting a call from my boss. I’ll call you later,” I said before accepting the call.
“Crowe here.”
“Hey. I know you’re on vacation, so I hate to bother you, but we have a situation here I’m hoping you can help us out with.”
“Give me one second.” I shifted around and managed to get up without falling on my ass. Something about talking to Wolfe while I lounged in a hammock just felt wrong. “Okay, I’m here. What’s up?”
“You’re at your cabin?”
“I am.”
“Good. You remember Noah Gentry?”
“Of course.” I would never forget the young man we rescued along with Julius.
The way he looked the day we found him down in that basement was burned into my brain.
That and the change in him in the few weeks he stayed in the apartment at Three Bears headquarters.
I’d never know how he managed to have such a positive attitude after such a horrid ordeal.
Not that he’d fully recovered in those few weeks, but we’d all seen what a resilient spirit he had.
“Has there been a development in the case?”
I knew they’d been monitoring the dark web, watching for any searches or mentions of him.
We might have brought Merrick down, but when Wade Roark gave his statement, he implied that the man who bought Noah had paid a hefty price for him and that he wouldn’t give up easily. That had left us all uneasy.
“Maybe. We got a hit on someone getting way too close to Noah for our comfort. It could be nothing, but I have a bad feeling about it, and he isn’t answering our calls.”
“Have you called the local authorities?”
“No. This guy has a lot of money, Crowe. I’m not sure who to trust. Besides, it could be nothing.”
“Or it could be something,” I pointed out.
“Exactly. Now that Noah’s in Houston, your cabin is closer to him than we are. I’d feel better if you could go put eyes on him, maybe suggest he answer when we call. We can add some time to your vacation afterwards.”
“Don’t worry about that. I wasn’t doing anything today anyway. It won’t take me but a few hours. Do you have an address for him?”
“Kat will have it before you get to Houston.”
“Sounds good. I’ve been wanting to take Blackbird out for a drive, anyway.
” Because I lived where I worked and Three Bears Tactical paid well, I didn’t have many expenses, which allowed me to splurge when my dream car, a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, in perfect condition, had come up for auction. She was sleek, black, and all mine.
Hopefully, I’d just enjoy some quality time with Blackbird, find Noah safe and sound, and be home to enjoy my book by evening.