Chapter 101
ONE HUNDRED ONE
Midnight Ridge Lodge
As Cord hiked up the snow-covered road to the decades-old abandoned lodge, the falling snow seemed to thicken. Giant flakes glistened on the trees and were freezing on the ground. His boots sank into the now two-inch blanket, crunching ice and gravel.
The light from the stone structure shimmered through the downfall, faint, but there was definitely a light burning from somewhere inside the lodge.
Ester and Faith’s stories about the family who lived there echoed in his head, and he ducked into the shadows of the trees, slipping as silently as possible to move closer to the lodge without being seen.
He’d heard teenagers thought the place was haunted and periodically challenged each other to spend the night in the eerie stone dwelling.
Some claimed to see the silhouette of a woman in a nightgown floating down the stairs, sobbing. Others insisted they heard screaming from the attic. And many cited that crows attacked the windows in an attempt to break inside.
Perhaps there were teens here tonight or someone taking shelter from the storm. He didn’t want to scare a bunch of kids, but if something nefarious was happening, he wanted to blindside whoever was inside.
The wind roared, tossing debris across the ground and rattling windowpanes.
Another noise. Footsteps. Boots crunching into the ice to the side of the house.
Instincts on alert, Cord pulled his knife. His fists had served him well over time, too. Fighting had been a necessary coping skill to survive when he’d lived in these woods.
He crept through the bushes, taking cover behind one tree after another, listening as he paused. Definitely footsteps heading around the rear of the lodge.
He followed the sound, gripping his knife until he spotted a broad-shouldered man in a brown coat, hat and gloves edging along the side wall.
He watched, studying the figure, searching to see if the man had a hostage.
No, he was alone. His senses on alert, Cord inched closer to the figure. Then he slipped his arms around the man’s neck and yanked him into a chokehold.
“Who are you?” Cord growled.
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked, his voice sinister.
“Ranger Cord McClain,” Cord said. “Your turn?”
“Let me go and I’ll explain.”
Cord debated but released him, his knife drawn and aimed at the man’s chest. But suddenly the man swung around and threw a fist. It landed in Cord’s jaw and pain shot though his face.
Damn bastard.
He swung the knife toward his attacker. The man threw another punch toward Cord’s belly. Cord grabbed him and they both went down, trading blows and rolling across the ground into the bushes.
A sound from the front drew the man’s attention briefly and Cord took advantage, jumped on top of him and pinned him down. He jammed the knife at the son of a bitch’s throat. “Now, your name and what are you doing here?”
“I used to own this lodge,” he ground out.
Cord’s grip tightened on the man’s neck. “You’re Larry Wheaton?”
Wheaton hissed a yes.
“I thought you were in prison.”
“I was,” Wheaton said. “Out on parole a few months now.”
Wheaton definitely didn’t fit the age profile of their unsub, but he had connections to this place and a murder conviction for killing his wife at Midnight Ridge.
He shoved the man to his stomach, yanked his hands and arms behind him, pulled a rope from his pocket and bound the man’s hands together. Wheaton grunted and protested, cursing beneath his breath, but Cord refused to let him go. He tied his feet then rolled Wheaton back over.
He had to call Ellie.