Chapter 54 Louise
LOUISE
Austin, Ryder, and I sat on horseback at the bottom of the mountain.
Ryder was on Liberty, I was on Prudence, and Austin was on a chocolate-brown quarter horse named Bullet, the butt of a pistol visible beneath his jacket.
We agreed to split up, search for an hour, then meet back at the base of the mountain to regroup.
Ryder pulled the compass from his jacket and handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine. “If you get turned around, head southeast. It'll take you back to the lower pasture.” His gaze dropped to my face. “You sure you're okay to do this?”
I nodded, though the truth sat like a stone in my gut. “I can do it.”
He didn’t let go of my hand right away. “Stay alert. Don’t do anything stupid. You see anything—anything—you get back to me.”
“I will.”
Our eyes held a second longer than they should have, and I could tell he wanted to say more. But Ryder was already slipping into a different mode—military, mission-focused.
This was the man who used to run black ops for Astor Stone. Cool, calm, collected, and laser focused. Ryder was in his element. He was a born leader, there was no question about that.
I, on the other hand, was a total mess.
Flashbacks of finding Kara’s body sent renewed anxiety through me. I was right back to where I’d been days earlier, searching the woods for a missing girl.
He gave a sharp nod to Austin, then kicked Liberty into motion and veered off to the right.
I took the center trail up the mountain. Austin headed left.
And then I was alone.
The deeper I rode into the woods, the more the landscape seemed to close in. The trees bowed under the weight of snow and ice. Shadows grew longer. The cloud cover had thickened, casting everything in a dull, foreboding gray.
The silence was unnatural. A heavy, watching silence. Like something was holding its breath.
I kept calling Margie’s name, my voice bouncing back at me, absorbed by the trees. I’d heard Ryder’s voice once—faint, maybe a quarter mile away—but it had been minutes now. Maybe more.
My scarf was tight around my throat, yet I couldn’t shake the chill crawling down my spine.
I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, the leather of the reins creaking in my grip.
Every now and then, I’d spot a broken branch, a hoofprint, and hold my breath until I passed and was certain it wasn’t Margie lying there—hurt, dead or alive.
I didn’t know if it was fear or instinct—or both—but something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Cupping my hand to my mouth, I called out for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Margie!”
I checked the time on my phone again. Forty more minutes before I needed to head back.
“Maaargie!”
This time, my voice echoed.
I crested a hill, and a sharp gust of wind sent a flurry of snow from the trees above. Prudence snorted and danced sideways.
“Easy, girl,” I murmured, steadying her with a pat.
Then I saw it. A disturbance in the snow. A trail of broken branches.
Adrenaline surged as I guided Prudence off the trail and toward the edge of a narrow ravine. Jagged rock formations cut like knives through the snowdrifts, before dropping off at least thirty feet.
I dismounted, boots sinking into the snow.
My breath came fast and shallow as I closed in on the ravine.
I inched forward carefully, the wind howling in my ears—and then leaned over.
Margie’s body lay crumpled and twisted among the rocks, her skin bloodless and pallid. Her pants were around her ankles. Her legs bent unnaturally. Her mouth open, frozen in a silent scream.