Chapter Fifteen
~ Harlow ~
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dark tree line for headlights that should have appeared five minutes ago. Something wasn't right. Dan should have been here by now.
The clearing where we waited was silent except for the soft murmur of Knox and Ransom talking strategy behind me, but all I could focus on was the empty logging road and the growing knot in my stomach that said Dan was in trouble.
"He should be here," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I meant it to. "It doesn't take this long from town."
Knox checked his watch, his face half-hidden in shadow. "Could be taking extra precautions if he's being followed."
"Or got lost," Ransom added, but the joke fell flat when neither Knox nor I laughed.
The worry inside me grew with each passing minute, pressing against my ribs like it wanted to burst out. Dan wasn't the type to get lost. He was careful, methodical—things I recognized because they were the opposite of how my own mind worked most times. And he had promised to be here.
"I'm going to check the road," Knox decided, already moving toward the truck. "Harlow, stay put with Ransom."
I bristled at the command—the same tone Ma used when she thought I couldn't handle something. "I'm coming too," I insisted, falling into step beside him before he could argue.
We drove in silence to the fork in the road, Knox's face set in hard lines I recognized from childhood—his thinking face, the one that meant he was working through a problem. He killed the headlights as we approached, rolling to a stop just before the split in the logging road.
The moment Knox's flashlight hit the ground, I saw it. Fresh tire tracks veering right instead of left. Deep, distinctive treads I recognized immediately as Dan's truck.
"He went the wrong way," I said, confusion washing over me. Dan knew to turn left at the fork—I'd told him exactly that.
Knox crouched, examining the tracks more closely. "No," he said after a moment, voice tight. "Look at the pattern. Clean turn, no hesitation. He chose this direction."
Understanding hit me like a punch to the gut. Dan hadn't made a mistake. He'd gone right on purpose, leading whoever was following him away from where we waited. Away from me.
"He's protecting us," Knox said, standing up and brushing dirt from his hands. "Smart move, actually. If he'd come to the clearing, he would have led trouble straight to us."
"He's protecting me," I corrected, something hot and uncomfortable rising in my chest. "Because he thinks I need it. Like everybody else."
Knox's expression softened slightly, rare for him. "That's not it, Harlow. He's a cop. It's instinct to keep civilians out of the line of fire."
"I'm not a civilian," I argued, the words coming out sharper than I intended. "And I don't need protecting. Dan does. They already tried to kill him once."
Ransom pulled up behind us in his truck, cutting the engine and joining us in the road. Knox quickly explained what we'd found.
"So Deputy Boyfriend's playing hero," Ransom said with a low whistle. "Didn't expect that."
"We need to help him," I said, already turning toward the right fork. "Now."
"Hold up," Knox cautioned, grabbing my arm. "We can't just go charging down that road. If Dan's being pursued, we'll be walking into the same trap."
I pulled free of his grip, frustration building inside me. "So what do we do? Leave him out there alone?"
A look passed between my brothers that I recognized instantly—the silent communication they'd perfected over years of getting into and out of trouble together.
"There's another way," Ransom said slowly. "Remember that shortcut we used as kids? The one that cuts through the crown of pine trees and comes out near the dead end?"
"The poacher's trail," Knox nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "It's overgrown now, but it should still be passable."
"It'll put us ahead of them," Ransom added, turning to me. "We can set up before they even know we're there."
I felt a surge of relief. We knew this land better than anyone—had played on it, hunted on it, worked it our whole lives. If Dan was in trouble, there was no better place for him to be than McKenzie territory.
Without another word, we slipped into the woods, moving with the certainty of men who could navigate these trees blindfolded.
Knox led the way, Ransom bringing up the rear, with me in the middle.
The dense forest swallowed us immediately, branches and undergrowth closing in behind like we'd never passed through.
The childhood path was narrower than I remembered, nearly invisible to anyone who didn't know exactly where to look.
But my body remembered, feet finding the way even in the growing darkness, stepping over the same fallen logs, ducking under the same low branches that had been obstacles when we were boys.
Knox raised his fist suddenly—the military signal for stop that he'd taught us after coming back from service. We froze instantly, barely breathing. In the silence, I heard it—the distant pop of what could only be gunfire.
Birds scattered through the treetops overhead, dark shapes against the darkening sky, fleeing the sound that didn't belong in these woods.
"Move," Knox whispered, his voice barely audible. "Fast but quiet."
We picked up our pace, moving through the forest with urgent stealth. No more casual childhood journey—this was a rescue mission now. Knox's hand signals guided us through the thickening trees, communicating what words might reveal to unfriendly ears: Stay low. Watch your step. Enemy ahead.
The shortcut wound through a ravine before climbing a gentle slope that would put us near the dead end where the right fork terminated. As we neared the crest of the hill, another shot rang out, closer this time. Knox dropped to a crouch, motioning us down beside him.
"This is where we split," he whispered, eyes scanning the terrain ahead. "Ransom, take the west flank, circle wide. Harlow, east side, use the creek bed for cover. I'll go up the middle. We need to know what we're dealing with before we move in."
I nodded, already mapping my route in my head. The creek bed would give me perfect cover all the way to the edge of the clearing where the road ended.
"If it's Dan against those poachers," Knox continued, his voice deadly serious, "we come in quiet and fast. No heroics."
The look he gave me made it clear that last part was specifically for me. I met his gaze without flinching. "I won't do anything stupid," I promised. "But I'm not leaving Dan out there."
"None of us are," Ransom assured me, checking his knife before disappearing into the underbrush to my left.
Knox gripped my shoulder once, then pointed toward the creek bed. "Go. And Harlow—be careful."
I moved without another word, sliding down into the shallow creek and making my way east. Dan was out there, facing danger alone because he thought he was protecting me. He was about to learn that McKenzies protected their own—and like it or not, he was one of ours now.
The creek bed gave me perfect cover as I moved toward the road, keeping low and stepping careful like Pa taught me when tracking wounded deer. Water splashed soft around my boots, but I made less noise than the breeze through the trees.
When I reached the edge where forest met clearing, I sank down behind a fallen log thick with moss and peered through a gap in the underbrush.
What I saw made my blood run cold—Dan's truck lay on its side, riddled with bullet holes, and Dan himself was crouched behind it, clutching his arm where a dark stain spread across his sleeve.
Blood. Dan was bleeding.
My fingers dug into the soft, rotting wood of the log as I fought the urge to rush straight to him. Two men stood near a black SUV about thirty yards from Dan's position, both holding handguns pointed in his direction.
One wore a dark jacket and baseball cap, while the other, taller one had on a flannel shirt that reminded me of my own. They were taking turns firing shots at Dan's truck, not aiming to hit him but to keep him pinned.
"Collins wants you alive," the taller one called out, his voice carrying easily in the still forest air. "But he didn't say nothing about not hurting you first!"
Dan didn't answer, but I saw him check his service weapon, his movements quick and practiced despite his injury.
His face was set in determined lines, jaw clenched tight against pain or fear or both.
Even from my position, I could see the blood soaking through the sleeve of his shirt, but his hand remained steady on his gun.
Something dark and fierce rose inside me at the sight of him wounded, cornered like an animal. These men had hurt Dan. They could kill him if they got tired of this game. The thought made my chest tighten until it was hard to breathe proper.
I scanned the area, looking for Knox and Ransom.
A subtle movement in the undergrowth across the clearing told me Ransom was already in position on the west side.
Knox would be approaching from directly behind the SUV, using the road as cover.
Smart. The three of us had the shooters surrounded, but they didn't know it yet.
Pa's voice echoed in my head, lessons from childhood hunting trips: "Patience, Harlow.
Move like you're part of the forest itself.
" I slipped from behind the log and began circling to get closer, using every skill I'd learned tracking deer and elk through these woods.
Each step deliberate. Each movement controlled despite my size.
I was good at this—better than most people expected from someone as big as me.
The shooters were focused on Dan, not bothering to check their flanks. Sloppy. Dangerous. I worked my way through the thick underbrush until I was barely fifteen feet from the man in the baseball cap, close enough to see the sweat on his neck, to smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.