Chapter 4
Knox
The next afternoon, I’d made little progress on packing the house, but I’d managed to shave, and that felt monumental.
The sound of an approaching vehicle pulled my attention from the box I’d been staring into for the past twenty minutes, still unable to move Mom’s things into storage or give them away.
I glanced through the window and smiled broadly at the sight of the dark blue pickup truck rolling into my driveway.
Archer and Colton were here.
I set down the box I’d been holding and headed for the front door, thankful for the break and the company.
By the time I stepped onto the porch, Archer Stone was climbing out of the driver’s seat, rolling his shoulders and working out the kinks from the drive.
At his size, no vehicle could be comfortable for long.
“You made good time,” I called.
Archer’s grin was immediate. “Colton navigated. I sped. Worked out pretty well.”
The passenger door opened and Colton O’Connor unfolded himself from the seat with considerably less grace than Archer. His pale skin was already turning pink in the late afternoon sun, and his sandy hair stuck up in about six different directions.
“Your definition of ‘worked out pretty well’ is different from mine,” Colton said. “He drives like he’s auditioning for The Fast and the Furious franchise. I think I was safer in Afghanistan.”
“Shut up.”
Colton grabbed a duffel bag from the truck bed and squinted up at the house. “This is nice.” He dragged the final word, clearly impressed. “Very beachy.”
I came down the steps and pulled Archer into a brief, hard hug. When I released him, I did the same with Colton. “It’s good to see you both. You have no idea how much.”
“You too, brother.” Archer’s expression turned serious as he studied my face. “How are you holding up?”
The question I’d been dodging for two weeks. From anyone else, I might’ve deflected. I owed these two honesty.
“Some days are better than others.” I gestured toward the house. “Come on inside. I’ve got beer in the fridge and enough food from well-meaning neighbors to feed a platoon.”
We climbed the steps together, our boots hitting the weathered wood in a rhythm that felt familiar despite the unusual setting.
Inside, I watched Archer and Colton take in the space.
My mother’s driftwood collection. The vintage nautical charts on the walls.
The floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the Atlantic.
“Damn this is beachy,” Archer said, his gaze going straight to the back windows. “That’s the ocean.”
I snorted and headed for the kitchen. “It is indeed.”
“You grew up here?” Colton asked quietly.
“I did.” I pulled three beers from the refrigerator. Twisted off the caps and passed them around. “Mom loved this place. Built a whole life here after my dad died.”
Archer took a long drink. The short sleeves of his T-shirt stretched to capacity with the simple bend of his arm.
He could easily bench-press me, but he’d have to catch me first. Archer was fast for a big guy, but agility could only scale so far.
That was just physics. “Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner. ”
“You’re here now.” I leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. “It’s weird being back. Doesn’t seem right without her here.”
We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant crash of waves beyond the windows.
Colton dragged his attention away from the view. “So what’s the plan? You staying or reenlisting?”
I met their eyes across the kitchen. “Right now, I’m staying. At least while I work on a pretty significant project my mom started before her death. After that, I don’t know. It’s hard to think about leaving, but it’s just as hard to imagine being here without her.”
Archer’s posture shifted slightly. Not obvious to anyone who didn’t know him, but I’d served with this man for six years. I recognized the transition from friend to operator the moment I said the word project. I had no doubt he’d heard the word mission.
“What kind of project?” he asked.
I filled them in on what little I knew about the missing hikers. Then, I told them about Mom’s interest and the woman who’d appeared at her shop, feeling as if she’d been followed.
“Serial predator,” Archer said immediately.
“That’s what I think. I can’t tell from Mom’s notes if she was just trying to help find them after the search parties stopped, or if she suspected something more as well.
” I set down my beer. “I found her research yesterday. She’d been collecting data on the subject for two years, since the first woman went missing.
Newspaper clippings, trail maps, timelines, witness accounts.
I’m guessing it was how she spent her time outside work. ”
Colton’s expression turned sharp and focused. “And you want to finish what she started.”
“Yeah. But there’s more.” I told them about Sloane’s hike, alone on Blufton Woods Trail where Jessica Hammond had disappeared three weeks ago. Then I told them about the man at the trailhead and the VW bus nearby, a detail that matched one of the notes Mom made.
“She just showed up at the shop while you were there?” Colton asked. “That’s a lucky break.”
I nodded. “I made sure she got back to her car. Then I called Nash, that’s the sheriff, Maggie’s brother, and I filled him in on what I knew.”
Archer leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “So you’ve got an active threat and two years of cold cases.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re here,” Colton said. He turned his baseball cap backward and hunkered down, ready for business. “What can we do?”
The question landed heavier than I’d expected.
These men had driven hours to be here. Not because I’d asked.
I hadn’t. But because they knew I needed them.
Because that’s what brothers did. I knew plenty of families sharing direct DNA that didn’t come close to being there for one another like my military brothers and me.
I stuffed the building emotion down and concentrated on the question.
“I’m still reviewing Mom’s notes,” I said. “I can’t tell what kind of pattern she was seeing, or if there is a pattern. And I want to make sure Sloane stays safe while I figure it out. I guess they were friends.”
“The woman and your mom?” Colton asked.
I nodded, and his fair brows rose. “I sent a text last night to be sure she made it home safely, and to let her know I’d reported the incident to the sheriff. She responded in the affirmative, so at least she’s safe. I don’t know about anyone else out there right now.”
Colton’s blue eyes narrowed. “Archer, did our major just say he texted this woman?”
My jaw tightened, because I was busted and fighting a smile. It was nice—and a real pain in the ass—to be with people who knew me so well. “She was in danger. I’d have followed up with anyone, even your ugly asses.”
“So you think she’s pretty,” Colton said.
Sloane was beautiful, even disheveled and distressed. Some long-buried instinct had roared inside me at the thought of anyone attempting to frighten or hurt her. The sensation was unsettling, and it haunted me through the night. I had no choice but to follow up. I wouldn’t have slept otherwise.
Colton’s head was shaking. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you would’ve. I think you’d have asked the sheriff to follow up if you had no reason to speak to her again.”
“I’m sure the sheriff did follow up,” I said, too quickly. Unthinking.
“Yet, you texted anyway.”
I frowned and swung my attention to Archer.
“We want in on this,” Archer said. “If someone’s out there terrorizing women, or worse, we should do everything we can to find him before our leave is up. Think of it as Marine beach bonding.”
I considered the offer, thankful for the help but unsure where to begin. The first woman went missing two years ago and no one had found her. “How long are you going to be here?”
“Two weeks,” Archer answered. “We’d stay longer if we could. Especially now that you’ve got all this going on.”
Colton nodded. “Hard to believe that this time next month, I’ll be in the same position as you, deciding if I stay or go. Civilian life or more Corps?”
Archer sighed. “I’m right behind him. Couple weeks longer, that’s it.”
I looked between them. “What are you thinking? Civilian life? Or will you keep living the dream?”
Colton took a long drink of his beer. “I’ve been a Marine since I was eighteen. I have no idea who I am, if I’m not doing this.”
“Same for me,” Archer said. “And I’ve got just about as much of a plan as Colton. Which is to say, none.”
“Does your sister still want you to take over your dad’s construction business in Fairytale?” I asked. Archer came from a small mountain town in Colorado. From what he’d told me, the place was a lot like all small towns, but the views there were drastically different from mine.
Archer’s expression turned wry. “She does. My dad’s ready to retire, and she thinks I’d be good at managing crews.” He shook his head. “Problem is, I don’t know if I can do the nine-to-five thing. Wake up in the same place every morning. No mission briefings. No objectives.”
“Just drywall and permits,” Colton muttered.
“What about you?” I asked Colton. “Family business waiting?”
“My mom remarried last year. She’s happy, and her new husband seems like a good guy.
” Colton shrugged. “But I don’t exactly fit into that picture.
I’m the son from her first marriage who’s barely been home in a decade.
Going back to Phoenix and playing third wheel in my childhood home doesn’t sound appealing. ”
I understood that as well as anyone. The Marines had given us all purpose, structure, brotherhood. But it had also taken years of our lives in exchange. Years we couldn’t get back. Moments we’d missed with people who mattered.
“You could stay here,” I said. “Both of you.”
Archer raised an eyebrow. “You offering us jobs?”