Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
LINC
The cold hit me the second I stepped out the door.
The kind of sharp, merciless cold that crept straight through layers and found the skin underneath.
My breath came out in a white fog that hung in the still air before drifting away.
The night was so quiet it felt like the sound itself had frozen solid.
Every small noise carried. The soft squeak of snow under my boots.
The low whine of the porch hinge. Even the steady hum of the generator behind the barn seemed louder than it should have been.
The world around me had been stripped clean, left raw and silver under the weight of moonlight.
Every fencepost threw a shadow across the yard, long and cold. Nothing moved.
Kristin’s words echoed through my head. Someone’s out there.
I shifted my grip on the rifle, keeping it low but ready, the wood worn smooth against my palm.
My heartbeat settled into that quiet, controlled rhythm that only came when things could go wrong fast. Every nerve in me was awake, but I kept my breathing steady.
Panic made people sloppy. I’d seen it a hundred times before.
Men who charged instead of thinking. Men who got themselves or someone else killed because they moved too fast.
Not tonight. Not here.
The snow was fresh, clean, and untouched except for the tracks that cut across it. The snow told the truth before anything else did.
Boot prints led from the fence line toward the porch.
Large. Deep. Heavy treads. I swept my flashlight across them, the beam low and narrow.
Whoever it was had moved quietly, carefully, like they knew how to make themselves small.
The tracks stopped ten feet from the steps, turned back toward the trees, and vanished into the dark.
They had stood there long enough to watch the house.
I crouched and ran a gloved hand along the edge of a print. The snow crumbled under my fingers, still soft, still holding shape. Fresh. Maybe an hour old. Maybe less.
My stomach tightened.
Behind me, the glow from the kitchen window spilled onto the snow.
The light looked fragile against the dark.
Kristin was upstairs now. I pictured her peeking through the curtain even though I’d told her not to, her breath fogging the glass, her fingers pressed against it like she could will me back inside.
I wanted to go back in. Lock the doors. Keep her safe where nothing could reach her.
But that wasn’t how we handled things. Not here. Not ever.
I clicked the small radio in my coat pocket, the one I hadn’t used in months. The static buzzed sharply in the cold. “Kipp, you up?”
A pause, then a yawn. “Not anymore. What’s wrong?”
“Need you to call the boys. No lights, no noise. Bring flash and sidearms. Someone’s been on the property.”
The line went quiet for a beat, that kind of silence where you could feel the air tighten. “Copy that,” Kipp said finally, his voice all business now. “We’ll meet at your gate in ten.”
I shut the radio off, the small click sounding too loud in the stillness. I turned back toward the trees. My breath misted again, slow and steady. Somewhere out there, someone was watching my house. Watching her.
I scanned the tree line one more time before heading down the drive. The snow crunched beneath each step. Every movement echoed. When I reached the end of the lane, I crouched behind the old fence post and waited.
Ten minutes in that cold could feel like an hour.
The world stayed silent. Then, faint and low, headlights flickered once from the main road before cutting out.
Kipp’s truck rolled in first, dark paint blending into the night.
Griff followed, his engine running smooth as ever.
Nash was right behind him, steady as always.
Ryder came last, his blacked-out Chevy creeping in like a shadow.
They stepped out one by one, boots crunching, breath rising in white clouds. No words at first. Just the kind of silence that only comes from men who know what they’re walking into.
Kipp came up beside me, his heavy parka zipped to his chin. He scanned the yard before he spoke. “Tracks?”
“North fence,” I said quietly. “Came close to the porch, turned back.”
He nodded, eyes sweeping the distance between the house and the trees. “You wake Kristin?”
“She saw him. I sent her upstairs.”
“Good. Do you think she’ll stay there?” Kipp’s tone was short, and I nodded. I didn’t really think she’d want to tangle with this fucker again.
Nash swung a flashlight under his arm, beam cutting through the shadows. “Could be a drifter.”
Ryder’s voice came low, but sharp. “Or it could be the same son of a bitch who’s been calling her phone from blocked numbers for three weeks.”
I shot him a look. “You weren’t supposed to say that.”
“She told Lexie,” he said with a shrug. “Lexie told me. Don’t look so shocked. Women talk.”
Griff joined us, his breath clouding in the air. “Are we checking fences or following tracks?”
“Both,” Kipp said, already taking control. “Ryder, west line. Nash, east. Griff, loop behind the barn. Linc, you’re with me. Move quietly.”
Everyone nodded. No more talking. No questions. Just motion.
The moon was bright enough we barely needed flashlights, but I kept mine trained low. The beam carved a thin path through the snow. The prints cut straight through the open gate, following the treeline down toward the creek.
Kipp’s voice came low beside me, calm but tight. “Whoever it was knew where to stand to stay in your blind spot.”
“I noticed.”
“Any cameras still working from before?”
“Only the barn and the drive. I disconnected the rest after she left.”
He didn’t press. “You might want to reconnect them.”
We reached the north fence. The wire sagged slightly inward, snow packed on both sides. Someone had climbed over. On the far side, faint tire tracks curved through the trees toward the service road.
Kipp crouched, tracing a gloved finger along the tread. “Half-ton, maybe a Chevy. New tires. You recognize it?”
“Not one of ours.”
He stood again, brushing snow from his knees. “You want to call it in?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what the others find.”
I wasn’t ready for outsiders. The sheriff would make noise, and noise would bring questions. Kristin didn’t need that kind of attention. Not again.
A few minutes later, Griff’s voice came through the radio. “Nothing in the barn. Horses calm. Found a cigarette butt near the tack room door. Still warm.”
He appeared out of the dark, holding a small evidence bag. Marlboro Gold. I didn’t smoke, but I’d seen that brand before in places I wished I hadn’t.
Nash came over the line next. “East side’s clear. Only your tracks from feeding.”
Ryder followed a moment later. “Found where the tire tracks cut north past the creek. Looks like he parked out by the service road and came in on foot. I’ll mark it.”
Kipp met my eyes, his voice quiet. “You still think it’s a drifter?”
I didn’t answer.
We regrouped near the porch, boots crunching in the snow. Griff unscrewed his thermos and passed it around. The smell of coffee mixed with diesel and pine.
“Could be someone scouting,” Nash said, his breath clouding. “We get strangers this time of year.”
Ryder snorted. “Nobody scouts at ten at night when it’s this cold.”
Kipp took a slow sip, eyes still fixed on me. “You think it’s connected to Vegas?”
The word hit like a punch. Nobody had said it out loud since the day we got home.
I looked toward the house. The upstairs light glowed faintly through the curtains, Kristin’s shadow moving behind it. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. The generator hummed behind the barn, steady and constant, the only sound besides our breathing.
Griff broke the stillness. “Then we handle it.”
Kipp nodded once. “We tighten the perimeter. Cameras back up, lights checked, motion sensors reconnected. Nobody outside the crew needs to know a thing.”
Ryder’s grin was quick, sharp, and humorless. “Feels like old times.”
“Except we’ve got families sleeping two miles that way,” Nash said. “Let’s keep it quiet.”
Kipp clapped his gloves together. “Ryder, you and Griff follow the tire tracks to the road. Get a tread cast. Nash, take photos near the porch. I’ll pull your camera feeds, Linc.”
They moved without hesitation. Each man fell into rhythm, like the years between this and the old days had never happened.
I stood still a second longer, staring at the tree line. The wind moved through the branches, soft and low, a whisper in the dark. That crawling feeling under my skin wouldn’t quit. It wasn’t fear. It was familiarity.
Whoever had been here knew what they were doing. They knew how to move unseen, how to watch, how to disappear.
And they’d been close enough to see her through the kitchen window.
An hour passed before the yard settled again.
The snow had started to fall heavily, slow flakes spinning through the light like ash.
The men drifted back one by one, their breath white in the dark.
Ryder leaned against his tailgate, his phone glowing in his hand as he typed out notes.
Griff stood near the fence, his shoulders broad and still.
Nash tightened the strap on his gloves, watching the tree line.
Kipp poured the last of his coffee into the lid of his thermos and handed it to me.
“Tire cast looks good,” Ryder said. “No plates on the road, but we’ll match the tread when we get it run through the shop.”
Griff held up his phone, showing me a picture of the cigarette butt sealed in a bag. “We’ll send it to Billings in the morning. Our contact still owes me.”
Kipp nodded once. “Until we know more, this stays between us. Kristin doesn’t need the weight of it yet.”
Nobody argued.
Nash gave a half-hearted smile. “Lexie’s going to figure it out faster than any of us. She’s got radar for trouble.”