Chapter Nine
Lost and Found
Jameson Bishop
Finding a more detailed print, we stop to make a cast of it.
Rachel kneels beside it, mixing the plaster with steady hands, her brow furrowed in concentration. The print is enormous; longer than my forearm, claws gouged deep enough to split the soil. Seeing it preserved in white makes it feel more real.
I keep scanning the trees while she works. Every instinct I have is screaming that we’re being watched.
When the cast is dried, David lifts it carefully. “We’ll take this back to the station. Maybe someone can identify it.”
No one will. I already know that.
We continue down the trail, following the direction of the stride. The forest thickens, the air cooling, the ground sloping downward toward the river.
Then Rachel stops.
“Bishop…” Her voice is small. Tight.
I move beside her and I see it. The body.
Shredded. Collapsed near a fallen log. Clothing torn. Blood dried dark against the earth.
Rourke.
My stomach drops. My pulse spikes. My throat closes.
Rachel screams, a sharp, terrified sound that cuts straight through me. She stumbles back, hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.
I grab her before she falls and I pull her against me.
I shouldn’t hold her. But I can’t seem to let her go. She’s shaking.
She fits perfectly against me, and I allow myself a moment to enjoy the feel of her body on mine.
Her fingers clutch the front of my jacket, desperate. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, steadying her, shielding her from the sight even though it’s too late.
“Don’t look,” I murmur, voice rough. “Rachel, don’t look.”
She buries her face against my chest, breath trembling. I feel every shudder, every heartbeat, every ounce of fear.
And I shouldn’t enjoy the feel of her this close. I shouldn’t want to keep her here. But God help me, I do.
David kneels beside the body, swallowing hard. “It’s him. It’s Rourke.”
I force myself to look. To assess. To be the agent I’m supposed to be.
Claw marks. Deep. Violent. Clean.
Something tore him apart.
Rachel pulls back slightly, but she’s still trembling. I keep her in my arms, and she doesn’t push me away.
“We need the coroner,” I say, voice low. “Now.”
David nods and steps away to radio it in.
Rachel wipes her face, trying to pull herself together. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t expect…. I thought maybe he was still alive.”
“I know.” I keep my voice gentle. “It’s okay.”
She looks up at me, eyes red, expression raw. “This doesn’t make sense.”
She’s right. It does and it doesn’t. And more than ever, I want her somewhere safe. Somewhere far from this valley.
Far from me.
Because I can’t be effective with her here. Not like this. Not when every instinct I have is split between the case and her.
David returns. “Coroner’s on the way.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus. “We need to secure the area.”
Rachel steps closer to the body, swallowing hard. “Bishop… look.”
She points at Rourke’s side.
Embedded in the torn fabric of his jacket, lodged deep into the muscle, is a claw.
Long, curved, and broken cleanly. Nothing like any animal I’ve ever seen.
David stares, his face white. “What the hell…”
Rachel whispers, “This isn’t anything native.”
I crouch, staring at the claw, dread settling in my chest like ice.
Something killed Rourke. Something left this behind. Something is still out there.
And it’s hunting.
I stand slowly, looking at Rachel and the fear in her eyes. The strength beneath it, the way she’s trying to hold herself together.
I can’t lose her.
The coroner arrives faster than I expected for a place this remote. By the time they take Rourke’s body, Rachel is quiet and pale. She’s holding herself together with sheer force of will. It only makes me want to hold her more.
I stay close. Closer than is professional.
But I can’t help it. I need to reassure myself that she is safe.
We hike back to the ranger station in tense silence, the forest pressing in around us. Every shadow feels threatening.
Every sound feels like a warning. I keep Rachel in my peripheral vision the entire time, watching for anything; a stumble, a shift, a sign she’s still shaken.
At this point Im looking for a reason to touch her again. Like an addict that has already tasted it and needs another hit.
She’s scared, I know she is. But she’s trying not to show it.
It brings out familiar urges. Ones I have tried to keep buried. That are wholly inappropriate given the current situation.
When we finally reach the station, David leads us into a small lab area where two deputies are waiting.
“These two are our specialists,” David says. “Beth Mercer and Shaw Towers.”
Beth is already pulling on gloves, her expression sharp and focused. Shaw stands beside her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the claw we recovered.
Beth whistles softly. “This is… impressive.”
Rachel stiffens beside me. “Impressive isn’t the word I’d use.”
Beth glances up. “Sorry. I meant unusual.”
She takes the claw carefully, turning it under the light. “It’s keratin. Definitely from an animal. But the curvature is wrong. The density is wrong. The length is-” She stops, shaking her head. “There’s no species in this region that matches this.”
Shaw leans in. “Not even close.”
I folded my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. “Could it be from a bear? A mutation? Injury?” I already know the answer.
But Im looking for tells.
Beth shakes her head immediately. “No. Bears have thick, blunt claws. This is sharp, elongated. More like a wolf’s… but wolves don’t get anywhere near this size.”
Rachel steps forward, pointing at the cast of the print we made.
“And the stride pattern doesn’t match any known predator. The weight distribution is wrong. The depth is wrong. The spacing is wrong. The impact at the heel. These indentations are from a heel to toe gait. It feels like someone is fucking with us.”
Beth studies the print, her brow furrowing deeper with every second.
Shaw mutters, “Hell, it’s not anything native to the continent.”
Rachel looks at me.
I look away before I say something I shouldn’t.
Beth sets the claw down carefully. “Whatever killed your agent… its nothing I’ve ever seen..”
David nods grimly. “We’ve suspected that for months.”
Rachel crosses her arms. “This wasn’t a distressed mother. Or a territorial predator. This was a hunt.”
Beth meets her eyes. “Yes. A deliberate one.”
The room goes quiet.
I feel Rachel’s breath hitch beside me. I want to reach for her. I want to pull her out of this station, out of these woods, off this case.
But she’s here. And she’s not leaving. And I can’t force her.
Shaw clears his throat. “We’ll run tests. But I’m telling you now, you’re not going to like the results.”
I already don’t.
Rachel steps closer to the table, staring at the claw like it’s a puzzle she’s determined to solve.
“We need to find out what this thing is.”
She pulls a camera out of her bag and begins taking pictures of the cast and the claw from every angle.
Then scrapes the cast for debris, she and Beth moving to the microscopes talking about DNA sequencing.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I’m in trouble.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
Dinner is quiet. Now that Justin has been found there is an unsettled feeling that keeps me from speaking.
The ranger station cafeteria is nearly empty, just a few deputies scattered around, talking in low voices. Rachel sits across from me, pushing her food around her plate, not eating.
She’s pale, still shaken, but trying to hide it.
I should let her rest.
Instead, I’m watching her. Every twitch. Every breath. Every tremor she tries to suppress.
And it’s driving me insane.
She shouldn’t be here. Not after what we saw.
I set my fork down. “You’re going back to Dallas.”
Her head snaps up. “Excuse me?”
I clench my jaw. “You heard me.”
Her eyes narrow. “No. I’m not.” Her food is completely forgotten.
“This isn’t a debate,” I tell her, my anger starting to get the better of me. The idea of spanking her runs through my head before I slap it down.
“It wasn’t a request.” She snaps back.
I exhale sharply, trying to keep my voice level. “Rachel, this is too dangerous. You saw what happened to Rourke.”
“Yes,” she fires back. “Which is exactly why I’m staying.”
“You’re not trained for this.” I insist, knowing that this will hurt her and feel like shit for it.
She laughs; sharp, disbelieving. “I lived in these mountains for eighteen years. I know them better than you ever will. You need more protection than I do.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.” She shouts.
I lean forward, lowering my voice. “I can’t do my job if I’m worried about you.”
She freezes.
There it is. The truth I shouldn’t have said. I can’t take it back.
Her jaw tightens. “You’re sending me away because you have a problem focusing when I am around, then it sounds like the problem is you and not me.”
I don’t know how to answer without making the situation worse. By now we have the attention of everyone in the room. Beth, at the next table is watching us with concern.
I should have waited until we got back to the cabin, but the close proximity presents an entirely different problem.
She stares at me like I’ve betrayed her. “So that’s it? You’re sending me home because you’re uncomfortable?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m sending you home because you’re still shaking.”
She pushes her chair back, furious. “I’m human, Bishop. I reacted like a human being.”
“You reacted like someone who can’t handle this assignment.”
Her eyes flash in hurt, anger, and disbelief all tangled together. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” I say quietly. “I’m telling you as your Senior Supervisor, you are going home.”
She stands. “You’re being an ass.” She hisses at me.
“Good,” I say. “Maybe you’ll listen.”
She leans across the table, voice low and trembling with fury. “Fuck you.”
It hits me like a blow.
She straightens, breathing hard. “You don’t get to push me out because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Yes,” she says softly. “You are.”
I stand too fast, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You’re going back to Dallas.”
“No,” she says again, voice steady now. “I’m not.”
We stare at each other, the air between us crackling, the cafeteria suddenly too small, too loud, too bright. I am fully erect and ready to throw her over this table and give her a lesson in manners. Which, even to me, sounds insane.
David walks in, sees our faces, looks at Beth, and immediately turns around and walks back out.
Smart man.
Rachel grabs her jacket with more force than necessary. “I’m going back to the cabin.”
“Rachel-” I try again.
She doesn’t look at me, her eyes determinedly anywhere but my direction. “Don’t follow me.”
She leaves and I stand there, fists clenched, heart pounding, every instinct screaming that I’ve made this worse. Trying to convince myself it’s the right thing to do.
I have to get her out. Even if she hates me for it.