Chapter 28
Briana
Kade pulls into the all-too-familiar parking lot near the Long Trail. Cutting the engine, he meets my gaze. “If we find any evidence, we call Hunt. Just so we're clear—I’m taking the lead. You good with that?”
“Yes.” No.
Worried he’ll push the issue, I hop from the passenger side. His dog vaults over the seat, trotting beside me to the front of the truck.
The hood as his makeshift table, the S&R expert taps his map as he speaks. “This is where you met Andrea. Here’s where we found Brett. Show me where you heard the gunshot.”
“Here.” My finger traces a red line past a stream to a small clearing.
“We can get there and back in one day, but only if we move. No breaks. Think you can keep up?” Hiding his grin, he shrugs on his pack, then clips on the drone case.
“Don’t slow me down, old man.” Compared to him, my gear is light.
He chuckles, letting Becca run ahead. Once she disappears, he launches the hovercraft skyward on autopilot. “We find him, then head straight back.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” No way do I want to be anywhere near Mumbles once the sun goes down.
The path from the road climbs steeply. Keeping pace soon has me sweating. At times, the pine trees are so tightly packed, we have to detour around them. When we don't, Kade holds the branches so they don’t whip me in the face.
This is nothing like hiking a well-marked trail. Two grueling hours in, he tosses me his collapsible water bottle, then pops open Becca’s bowl.
While I catch my breath, a furrowed-brow Kade studies me.
“You okay, hun? I could slow down.”
“No, I’m fine.”
If he hears the lie, he allows me the dignity of not pointing it out. Instead, he cups my cheeks for a quick, unexpected brush across my lips. It feels an awful lot like a precursor to a relationship, something we both agreed wasn’t happening.
Another lie.
For hours, I ponder what our future might be like while we hike. His firm butt stretches those worn-out jeans, reminding me of last night—and how he said he’d take a bullet for me.
Is the sheriff talking or something more?
The sun hangs high overhead by the time we reach the double white slashes. Walking side by side, we fall into easy conversation—about everything and nothing.
Worried, my thoughts veer back to our mission. “What made you decide not to call your FBI buddy?”
“You mean my brother-in-law?” He kicks a rock off the trail. “Honestly? I didn’t want to get him in trouble if this doesn’t pan out.”
“Can I ask where you learned to track so well?”
“I grew up around here. Spent most of my youth in the woods. A local hunter got me interested. Later, I took a course in Jersey. From there—The Corps.”
To me, he seems like the type of man who might’ve stayed until he could collect a pension.
“Why leave?”
Pain flashes across his face. “Had enough death.”
His admission hits hard. Guilt stirs in my chest. “So now you’re the law. More death.”
“Not by choice. I was appointed by the governor.”
“You could’ve said no.” When my brows raise, his lips twitch into a grin.
“Yeah, but then I couldn’t have paid off my credit cards.”
“Damn bills,” I mutter, shaking my head in agreement. “They’re why I put my stuff in storage and split.”
He chuckles, then quiets. “Funny, isn’t it? We survive war zones, broken marriages, toxic jobs… but it’s the damn bills that break us.”
“I understand the appeal, believe me.” He sighs. “If not for my niece, I’d probably go full Reacher.”
“Only a toothbrush? Bit spartan for my taste.”
“You’re not so different, Miss Lives-Out-of-My-Tent.”
“True. Too bad our families don’t appreciate real freedom.”
The trail narrows.
We fall into single file, boots crunching dried earth, the trees closing in. A hush settles around us, broken only by the distant call of a jay.
For a while, we just walk. No talking. No pretending.
Then a boulder rises ahead, half-swallowed by moss and shadow.
“We found it.” I run to the packed earth, arms wide. “My tent was here. He stood about… right there.”
Raising an imaginary rifle to my cheek, I take aim. “Bang.”
Kade follows my line of fire, drops to his knees, and scans the ground. Moments later, he snaps a few photos. Gloves on, he digs out a small, faintly gleaming slug.
“Tell her what she’s won, Johnny.” Part game show host, part lawman, he slips the prize into a plastic bag.
As he drops it into his pocket, Becca barks—urgent—incessant.
“Shit.” Kade tackles me to the ground.
I take the lead, crawling along the same path I did that fateful night. Behind the giant rock’s cover, he pulls out his notepad, then shares the drone’s screen.
Becca’s infrared signature glows first. But what stops me cold is the second shape—upright, two-legged—closing in.
When the dog bursts into the clearing, Kade whistles her to his side.
Energy hums between us as we wait.
I’ve got my pistol—the sheriff, his rifle.
Maybe this ends here.
For no apparent reason, the orange blob stops, pivots, and bolts the other way.
As I spring to follow, Kade grabs my wrist. “Let him go. We got what we came for. It’s a trap. He wants us to follow.”
Pausing, I nod. “You’re right. Let’s get this bullet to forensics.”