Chapter 24 #3
“What? I’m allowed to ask. My sister spends a week on a mountain with a man who’s been a ghost story around here for eight years, then comes back looking at him the way you look at him, and I’m not allowed to ask?”
“You’re allowed to ask. I don’t have to answer.”
“Fair.” He tossed the splinter. “But you’re going to, because I’m your brother and I have a right to know if I need to start sharpening my protective instincts.”
She almost smiled. Almost. “There’s nothing to protect me from.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She looked out at the yard. Evander had disappeared— into the barn, probably, or the infirmary, though she doubted the infirmary. He’d be wherever people weren’t, doing whatever needed doing that didn’t require conversation.
“I don’t know what happens next,” she said.
“With him. With any of it. I got here three days ago with blood on my hands and a federal marshal asking questions, and I haven’t had a minute to breathe, let alone figure out what comes after.
” She wrapped her arms around her knees.
“But I want the chance to find out. However that looks. However complicated it gets. I want the chance.”
River studied her. Then he nodded, once, the way men nodded when they’d decided something about someone they cared about and weren’t going to make a production of it.
“Well,” he said, “lucky for you, I’m excellent at complications. It’s basically my primary skill set. Right after getting chased by poultry.”
The tension broke. She shoved his shoulder. He grinned, the River grin — all teeth and no regret — and for a second she could see the brother she’d grown up with, the one who’d made her laugh in a house where laughter was scarce and precious.
The moment shattered when Brandt’s SUV pulled through the gate.
He parked near the barn and stepped out with the same economical movement he brought to everything — no wasted motion, no performance.
He wore the dark suit jacket over the black tee, the same outfit he’d had on yesterday, and his expression gave nothing away as he crossed the yard toward the porch.
Walker met him halfway. They spoke low, heads bent, and whatever Brandt said made Walker’s posture shift slightly. Not alarm. Alertness.
Rainey stood up. River rose beside her.
Brandt reached the porch steps and nodded to both of them.
“Update,” he said. No preamble. “Creed’s still missing.
The Sons have gone quiet — too quiet. Ghost repositioned cameras and motion sensors around the blind spots Cole identified.
We’ve got marshals watching the county road.
Everyone stays close until further notice. ”
He delivered it the way he delivered everything — clean, factual, stripped of drama. The effect was somehow more unsettling than if he’d raised his voice.
“Quiet how?” River asked.
“Radio silence. No chatter, no movement at their known locations. Could mean they’re regrouping.
Could mean something else.” Brandt’s gaze moved past them, toward the barn, and Rainey knew he was counting heads, making sure everyone he needed to account for was present.
“Just keep your people on the property. No solo runs, no unnecessary risks.”
He turned to go. Paused. Turned back.
“One more thing.” Casual. Too casual. “I spotted a horse near the eastern tree line on my drive in. Dark bay. Standing lame. No rider.”
The air changed.
Rainey felt it before she saw it — the shift in the yard, the way attention redirected. Boone was already moving toward the equipment shed. Evander emerged from the barn doorway, and she didn’t need to see his face to know what was happening behind it.
Boone came back with binoculars. He raised them, scanned the eastern tree line where the pines thickened toward the ridge, and held still. Then he lowered the glasses and crossed to Evander without speaking. Handed them over.
Evander took them. Raised them to his eyes. The line of his shoulders went rigid.
He lowered the binoculars. “That’s Sable.”
He was moving before the words finished. Three strides toward the barn, toward the tack room, toward whatever gear he needed to go after her. Boone stepped into his path.
“Hold on.”
Evander stopped. Barely.
“That’s the exact blind spot you mapped for Ghost yesterday,” Boone said. His voice was quiet. Flat. “Eastern game trail, hundred yards in from the fence line. Where the cameras don’t reach.”
“Creed,” Rainey said.
The name sat in the yard. Nobody contradicted her.
Evander’s jaw worked. He looked at the tree line, then at Boone, and whatever calculation was happening behind his eyes moved too fast to track.
“He’s using her as bait,” Boone said. Not a question.
Evander didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Rainey crossed to him. She put a hand on his arm, below the cut, where the skin was warm, and she could feel the tension in the muscle underneath. “Let Boone go with you.”
He looked at her. The conflict was naked on his face — the need to move, now, immediately, warring with the part of him that had spent eight years refusing to let anyone follow him into risk.
“Evander.” She kept her voice steady. “Take him. Please. For me.”