Chapter Two
The cold dampness of the subterranean vault did nothing to cut the suffocating heat rising between them.
Maya stepped back toward the halogen work light, her fingers instinctively brushing against the lapel of her turnout coat.
Four years had done nothing to soften the hard, lethal edge of Luke Grayson.
If anything, the time had carved him deeper narrower in the waist, broader through the chest, his dark eyes carrying a quiet, dangerous vigilance that made her pulse flutter in her throat.
"We need to seal the entrance," Maya said, her voice tight as she pulled her clipboard from her kit. "If word gets out that Thomas Mercer’s badge was found down here, Sheriff Mercer will tear this hollow apart with his bare hands before the state forensics team can map the grid."
Luke didn't move away from the open iron's chest. His gloved hand hovered over the third badge, his brow furrowed as his eyes cataloged every detail—the precision of the welds on the iron straps, the military-style radio frequency charts pinned to the cedar shelf above them, and the faint, unmistakable smell of gun oil preserved inside the airtight room.
"Pete Mercer is a good lawman, but he’s compromised," Luke murmured, his voice dropping into that dark baritone that used to send shivers straight down her spine during those late-night surveillance shifts in Fort Worth.
He turned to face her, stepping close enough that she could smell the smoke clinging to his Stetson. "And so are you, Maya."
Maya’s head snapped up, her dark eyes flashing with sudden heat. "I'm the lead arson investigator in this sector, Luke. I don't compromise on crime scenes."
"Your father’s name was on the land registry for this sector in ninety-four," Luke said softly, taking a single step closer until the toe of his boot nearly brushed hers. "Don't pretend you didn't check the county parcel maps before you drove out here tonight."
The air left Maya’s lungs in a sharp, quiet gasp. The secret she had buried deep in her chest for three decades was laid bare under his unblinking gaze. "My father was a land surveyor, Luke. He had nothing to do with three murdered state officers."
"I know he didn't," Luke said, his voice softening just a fraction as his hand reached out, his thumb catching a fleck of black ash on her jawline, his rough touch warm against her skin.
"But whoever put these badges here wanted his name on the deed.
They set him up, Maya. Just like they set us up four years ago. "
A sharp, distinctive bark echoed down the stone stairwell from the surface, followed by the heavy crunch of gravel under heavy boots.
"Grayson!" a deep voice called down the entrance. "You got a dog handler up here, or are we just admiring the masonry?"
Luke stepped back, the fleeting warmth between them vanishing as he looked toward the stairs. "Down here, Cole."
Game Warden Cole Remington descended the steps, his tactical vest dusted with white timber ash, his Belgian Malinois, Buster, trotting at his knee. The K9 stopped at the bottom step; his ears pricked forward, his black muzzle lifting as he caught the scent of old oil and damp earth.
Cole took in the vault, his sharp eyes sweeping over the iron chest and the badges before settling on Maya, giving her a polite nod. "Dr. Lin."
"Warden," Maya acknowledged, taking a steady breath.
"Buster found something outside," Cole said, his tone turning dead serious as he looked at Luke.
"While the fire crews were working on the ridge line, someone was sitting on the high limestone ledge directly above this bunker.
Fresh boot prints—size eleven, deep lug soles.
They were watching the dozers break through the iron door. "
Luke’s jaw set into hard granite. "How fresh?"
"Less than an hour old," Cole replied. "He doubled back through the smoldering cedar brake heading north toward the dark timber."
Luke looked back at Maya, his dark eyes burning with an intense, protective fire. "The killer knows the bunker is open."
Maya met his gaze without flinching, her hand coming up to rest solid on her equipment belt. "Then let's go give him a chase."