Chapter Nine
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Emma listened closely as Jesse laid it out.
“Call just came in from Janette Ward,” he said. “She’s staying at a rental cabin just outside town. Said she came back from getting groceries and found a body on the property.”
Emma frowned. “Janette lives in Austin. What’s she doing staying near Outlaw Ridge?”
Jesse shook his head. “No idea. She didn’t say.”
Ryker was already pulling on his coat. “That’s something we’ll find out soon enough.”
Emma grabbed her own jacket and followed Ryker out into the cold morning air. The sky was still dull with leftover gray from the storm, but the sleet had stopped. The ground was wet, the air sharp.
They crossed the lot to the cruiser, climbed in, and Ryker started the engine without a word. Emma glanced in the side mirror and saw Jesse and Hayes moving toward the second cruiser. They’d be right behind them.
Another body. Another mask.
And this time, Janette was at the center of it. Yes, they definitely needed to find out why Janette was on their turf.
Ryker drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. The cruiser moved fast but steady over the damp pavement, tires humming as they cut through the quiet stretch of highway just outside town.
Emma sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on the landscape as it rolled past.
The rental cabins were about a mile out, tucked near the creek where the trees grew thicker and the air always felt cooler, even in summer.
She knew the area. Not the kind of cabins meant for hunters or hardcore outdoorsmen.
These were high-end spots. Big windows, wraparound porches, overpriced wine in the mini fridge.
Romantic getaways for couples who wanted to pretend they were in the wilderness, without actually having to rough it.
It was the kind of place someone like Janette might rent if she wanted quiet. Or if she wanted to hide.
The road narrowed as they turned off the main stretch, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The creek came into view on the right, water dark and running fast from the recent sleet.
Emma’s heart thudded in a rhythm too quick and too familiar.
She didn’t say it aloud, but she was hoping, really hoping, this body turned out to be a dummy. Like the one with the mask. Like the sick joke someone had left behind at the Calhoun place.
Because she’d seen enough real death lately.
And she had a bad feeling they were about to see more.
The cabin came into view around the curve in the road, modern and polished, with clean cedar siding and a wraparound porch overlooking the creek. A single SUV was parked in the gravel drive, engine off, windows fogged slightly from the cold.
Emma spotted Janette behind the wheel.
The woman was hunched forward, eyes darting around, and when she saw them pull in, she threw open the driver’s side door and climbed out fast, one hand clutching an umbrella by the shaft, pointy end forward, like she meant to stab something with it. There was that tight coil of panic in her eyes.
Ryker stopped the cruiser, and before either of them could get a word out, Janette rushed toward them, umbrella still raised like a makeshift weapon.
“What took you so long?” she asked, voice sharp and shaking. “I’ve been sitting here terrified he’d come back. The killer. What if he’s still around?”
Ryker stepped out slowly, keeping his tone calm. “Then it’s best if you’re inside. Doors locked.”
“I tried,” she said, lowering the umbrella slightly. “But I panicked. I couldn’t remember the code to the door. I just froze. So I stayed in the car.”
Emma glanced past Janette toward the edge of the property, where a blue tarp lay half-pulled back by the wind.
The shape beneath it was unmistakable.
And if it wasn’t another mannequin… then someone else had indeed died. And they were running out of time.
Gravel crunched behind them as Hayes and Jesse pulled to a stop, stepping out of their cruiser with matching urgency. Neither asked for an update, just scanned the scene, already taking it in.
Janette turned to look at the tarp again. Her knuckles were white around the umbrella’s shaft.
“Who is it?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is it Ethan?”
Tears welled in her eyes, the kind that made her mascara smear just slightly, and she looked at Emma like she wanted her to fix it, like Emma could.
“We don’t know yet,” Ryker said, voice even. “But I need to ask, what are you doing here, Janette? Why rent a place this close to Outlaw Ridge?”
Janette dragged the back of her hand across her face, smudging her makeup even more. “I just thought… if Ethan was alive, maybe he came home. Maybe he’d try to find someone he trusted. Plus, Ethan and I stayed here a couple of times, and he really liked this place.”
Emma bit back the urge to roll her eyes.
This had been Janette and Ethan’s love nest. Or rather one of them.
She wondered if Ethan had brought Dr. Colvin here as well.
He certainly hadn’t brought Emma, and she considered that a good thing.
She was having to deal with enough memories of Ethan without having a visual of where some of those memories had been created.
“Get back in the car,” Emma told Janette, already moving toward the tarp with Ryker beside her.
But Janette didn’t budge. “If it’s him,” she said, her voice rising with each word, “I need to know.”
She started trotting behind them, umbrella still in hand like it gave her some kind of right to follow.
Emma stopped short, turned, and leveled a look at her. “Back. In the car. Now. The last time we saw something like this, someone fired shots at us and tried to blow us up.”
Janette froze. And for once, she listened.
Emma moved with Ryker down the slight slope toward the tarp, her eyes constantly sweeping the tree line. The luxury cabins in this area were designed for their views, cleared underbrush, wide spacing between the trees, sightlines straight to the creek. Pretty for couples. Not so great for cover.
Still, she didn’t take any chances.
She scanned every shadow, every movement in the distance, looking for the flicker of a scope, a shimmer of reflection, the shift of branches that didn’t match the wind.
Ryker did the same, his stance alert, hand near his weapon. She caught him glancing back toward Hayes and Jesse, who were doing their own sweep of the area as they followed from behind.
Emma’s pulse stayed steady, but that familiar thrum of anticipation was there, tight in her chest, just under her ribs.
Too many bodies. Too many masks.
And now one more, laid out like bait.
She reached the edge of the tarp and paused, eyes cutting back one last time toward the trees.
No movement.
Still, something crawled at the edge of her instincts.
Emma’s boots crunched over damp gravel and pine needles as she moved in step with Ryker, her senses tuned to everything, the creak of branches, the steady rustle of water from the creek, the low murmurs of Jesse and Hayes behind them.
The tarp flapped once in the breeze, a quiet ripple that tightened something in her gut.
She paused a second, eyes shifting back toward the cabins.
They were spread out along the curve of the creek, built for privacy and views, not neighborly proximity.
From this spot, tucked behind the rental and closer to the water’s edge, no other porch or window had a clean view of where the tarp lay.
“Doubt we’ll get any witnesses,” she muttered.
Ryker nodded. “Still have to canvas the area.”
He gestured toward the cabin’s back porch. Emma followed his motion and spotted the wreckage, plastic casing, exposed wires, shattered bits of a security camera scattered like confetti across the wood planks.
Her chest tightened.
“Camera’s busted,” she said. “But if it was live-streaming to a security company…”
Ryker finished her thought. “We might still get the feed.”
They moved the last few feet toward the tarp, and Emma’s breath caught as she crouched. Not at the body, at the mask.
It was Ryker’s face.
Her stomach twisted, the reaction cold, hard, and fast.
The detail was sharp, his jaw, his eyes, even the slight furrow in his brow. And in the center of that face, right between the eyes, was a single bullet hole.
She blinked once, hard, to steady herself. But the punch of it landed anyway. Not because she believed it was real, she didn’t.
But because someone wanted her to feel exactly like this. And it was working.
The wind shifted, catching the edge of the tarp and peeling it back just enough to reveal more.
Emma stiffened.
She saw the chest beneath it, tan fabric, patches, neat lines. A uniform. Military.
Ryker moved closer, crouched beside her. He didn’t speak for a second, just stared. Then his voice came rough and low.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “That’s the same uniform I wore. Same rank insignia. Same unit patch.”
Emma’s fingers curled into fists as her gaze dropped to the exposed torso.
This wasn’t a mannequin. This wasn’t plastic or foam or the sick illusion of death. This was a man. Flesh. Real.
And not just any man.
He was close in build to Ryker, broad shoulders, long legs, a strong frame that hadn’t softened even in death. His hair, dark and cut close, was nearly identical in shade and length to Ryker’s.
Whoever had done this had gone to meticulous lengths. The face mask. The uniform. The body.
Hayes approached carefully, stopping just short of the tarp. He scanned the area around the body, his gaze sharp and methodical.
“I don’t see any explosives,” he said. “No wires, no triggers. But I’ve already called the bomb squad. Just in case.”
Emma nodded, eyes still locked on the body. “Could be something underneath him.”
She didn’t think there was, but with what they’d seen at the oil field, caution wasn’t optional.
Ryker pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly snapped several photos, wide shots, close-ups of the mask, the uniform, the placement of the body.
Then he pulled on gloves, his jaw tight.
“I’ll lift the mask,” he said, already kneeling.
Emma crouched with him, every muscle on edge as he reached out and carefully peeled the rubbery face away from the man’s features.
A moment of breathless stillness passed.
The man beneath was in his early thirties, maybe. Clean-shaven. No obvious signs of trauma beyond the bullet wound that mirrored the hole in the mask. He had a strong jaw, short dark hair, close to Ryker’s color and cut. But Emma didn’t recognize him.
Neither did Hayes or Jesse, judging by their silence.
“No ID?” Jesse asked, stepping closer.
He crouched down beside the body, his gloved hands moving with practiced care as he patted down each pocket. A beat passed. Then he stood, shaking his head.
“Nothing.”
Silence settled again, thick with the weight of the scene, until a sharp ping cut through it.
Emma flinched, her eyes snapping to the sound.
It came from a phone, small, black, tucked between the dead man’s boots like someone had placed it there on purpose. The screen lit up with a new message. No contact name. Just Unknown Number across the top.
None of them touched the phone, but she had no trouble seeing the words that made Emma’s breath stop cold.
Emma, he’s next. Soon, you’ll find Ryker’s body beneath one of these tarps.
It hit her like a punch to the chest. Her stomach twisted, a cold, bitter knot forming beneath her ribs. The threat had always felt personal, but this was something else entirely. Now Ryker wasn’t just caught in the crossfire. He was the target.
She looked at him, heart in her throat. He hadn’t seen the message yet, but she knew the apology was written all over her face.
He met her gaze, calm despite the weight of what she wasn’t saying. He leaned slightly closer to see the screen, then let out a low breath and shrugged.
“It’s bullshit,” Ryker said, his voice rough. “They fired shots at both of us. We both could’ve been blown up at the oil field. I’ve been a target since the start of this, same as you.”
His words were steady, but they didn’t erase the chill that clung to her.
Because no matter how logical it sounded, the idea of Ryker under one of those tarps, gone, sickened her.
The phone made that pinging sound again, and a second message flashed across the screen.
And her blood turned to ice.
Want to save him, Emma?
All you have to do is die.
That’s it. Die and your lover boy will live.
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