Shadow Sabotage (Wildwood #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Claire

Am I seriously going to do this? I glanced around, double-checking to make sure the forest was still and silent, then slipped out of the last stitch of clothing covering my body. A thrill ran up my spine. I was alone and naked in the Wyoming wilderness.

I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the sting of sharp pebbles on the soles of my feet, then dove into the cold river. I gasped as the icy water covered my body. My chest constricted, my skin stung, my feet ached.

None of it mattered.

It had been too long since I’d felt freedom like this. And somehow, the fact that I’d lose my job if I got caught made the thrill even better.

I splashed and swam until I couldn’t take the cold any longer, then made my way back to the bank, shaking when the cold breeze hit my bare skin.

The sun still lingered in the sky. I turned my face toward it, grateful for the bit of warmth it offered.

After toweling off, I pulled on the jeans and green flannel shirt I’d left on the creekside.

I squeezed as much water as I could from my blonde curls, shoved my frozen feet into my boots, and began the hike back to my campsite.

Shadows lengthened as the sun began to slip behind the trees.

I stirred the coals from the fire I’d had earlier, adding just enough wood to keep them going.

Then I pulled out the food I’d prepped at home and tucked the foil packs into the coals.

It didn’t take long for them to start sizzling.

I wasn’t much of a cook, but the way I saw it, two things made food taste incredible: hunger and being cooked over a wood fire. Camping took care of both.

I sank blissfully into my camping chair. This was heaven. An entire day off of work, free to do whatever the hell I wanted. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a whole day to myself.

The bridge to the campground rattled as a vehicle approached. I glanced at my watch and smiled. Rhett and Cheyenne were right on time. The familiar truck slowly drove around the bend, searching for my campsite. I stood and waved, getting their attention, then waited while they parked.

Cheyenne, my lifelong best friend, hopped out of the driver’s seat.

Her dark hair hung in two long braids over her red flannel shirt.

She held the door open for Ash, her shepherd-mix dog, who jumped out of the truck with a canine equivalent of a grin on her face, as eager as we humans were for the camping trip.

Rhett, my brother, swung down from the passengers’ side, brushing his long hair back from his face.

In the looks department, he and I were about as different as two siblings could get.

My hair was still the light blonde I had been born with; his was even darker than Cheyenne’s.

I was barely over five feet tall; he was nearly six.

My eyes were green; his were a rich brown.

The only thing we had in common was the skin that turned to bronze every summer.

But despite how different we looked, he was the sibling I’d always been closest to —and the one who was most like me where it counted.

He was another wild soul in our family, and I was happy as hell that he’d moved back home this year.

He said hi to me, gave Cheyenne a quick kiss, then headed back to the truck to grab their gear.

“You already started dinner,” Cheyenne said, her face lighting up as she spotted the fire.

“I figured it was only fair, since you had to work today and I didn’t.”

Ash ran up to me, vibrating with excitement. I squatted down and let her lick my face, scratching her behind the ears as Cheyenne clipped a leash onto her collar.

“Great site,” Rhett said when he joined us, as he tossed their tent bag onto the ground and handed a camping chair to Cheyenne. “I can’t believe you found a campground this empty this time of year. We only saw a couple other campers out here.”

“Well, the main campground is full,” I explained. “But not many people go for the primitive sites. Most people want bathrooms and RV hookups.”

“ Primitive ,” Cheyenne repeated, laughing. “If they only knew.”

“Right?” I grinned.

Cheyenne and I were longtime members of the Sage County Search and Rescue team.

We were used to camping in a hell of a lot more primitive conditions than this, with only the supplies we could carry on our backs.

Bringing camping chairs, pre-cut firewood, and a cooler of food made this “primitive” campground feel like glamping to us.

Cheyenne sank down into her chair, the way I had minutes before. “Ahhh.” She sighed in satisfaction. “We needed this.”

“We did,” I agreed, taking my seat beside her. “Two full days of relaxation and enjoyment.”

“No tourists to take care of,” she said, smiling.

“No wannabe cowboys to babysit,” Rhett added, plopping down into his chair with a grin.

“And no breaking up bar fights, responding to domestics, or doing a lick of paperwork.” I flipped open the top of my cooler and pulled out three bottles of my favorite stout. “Food will be ready in about thirty minutes. In the meantime, want a drink?”

Rhett reached over and grabbed one from me. “Hell yeah.”

Cheyenne eyed me. “I thought the sign out front said no alcohol.”

I grinned, gesturing at the empty campsites around us. “Who’s going to tell?”

She laughed and reached for a beer. After she cracked it open and took a sip, she poked Rhett. “Shouldn’t you be setting up our tent?”

“I’ll flip you for it.” He gave her a wicked grin.

“Deal.” She pulled a quarter out of her pocket. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.”

She tossed the coin into the air, then smacked it down on the back of her wrist. When she pulled her hand off, she smirked. “Sorry. Tails. You’re up.”

“How do you always win?” He gave her a mock scowl as he put his beer down and headed over to set up their tent beside mine.

She winked at me. “He’ll never learn.”

As darkness fell, we feasted on steaming baked potatoes and foil packs of ground beef, onions, celery, and carrots.

I felt happy in a way I hadn’t in ages. When we had been kids, the three of us had done this kind of thing all the time.

But then Rhett left Wyoming, he and Cheyenne broke up, and our trio remained fractured for over ten years.

When he returned and they got back together, I thought we’d pick up right where we left off.

But we had a lot more responsibilities these days.

Seemed like we only saw each other in passing or at SAR training.

I’d missed this. A lot.

Part of me worried I’d never have it again once Cheyenne and Rhett got married—an event that was coming up way too soon.

I’d already felt the gap between me and Cheyenne grow while she focused on planning their wedding.

Instead of the three of us, they were becoming a pair with a life together that wouldn’t include me.

I was happy for them. But I also felt the absence of the closeness we used to share, and I wondered what would happen when they moved into a new life stage completely. If they’d leave me behind altogether when they start popping out kids and acting like, well, grownups.

Which, at nearly thirty, we were. But I sure didn’t feel like one yet. And I wasn’t ready for things to change again.

I grabbed the special foil pack I’d made for Ash—one without salt or onions—and checked to make sure it had cooled off before unwrapping it and placing it on the ground in front of her. A long string of drool dripped from her mouth, but the polite dog sat and waited for permission.

“Go ahead,” I said, encouraging her. “It’s yours.”

She gave me a look of pure gratitude, then gobbled it up, her tail thumping the leaves behind her.

“You’ll be her favorite now,” Cheyenne laughed.

“I’m counting on it.” I grinned, plopping back into my seat and taking another long swig of stout.

This was the life. The smell of woodsmoke, the crisp evening air, the stars popping into the sky one by one—this was Wyoming at its best. Figured there wasn’t another place on earth as pretty as this. I was here with my favorite people and the world’s best dog. It was perfect.

Ash started whining, looking at Cheyenne with big eyes.

“Potty time.” Cheyenne stood, shrugging. “And you know she’s too polite to go anywhere near the campsite. I wish I could just let her off-leash.”

“Do it. I won’t tell anyone,” I said, laughing.

She smirked, but her eyes were full of affection. “You know, you really are the worst deputy.”

I winked. “Don’t I know it.”

It was a sentiment we repeated often. It didn’t bother me coming from Cheyenne because I knew she didn’t mean it—even if everyone else did.

Truth was, being a deputy in the sleepy little town of Wildwood didn’t require all that much.

But I had very little patience for rules that didn’t take individual circumstances into account, which meant that the sheriff and I didn’t always see eye to eye.

I thought of him like a second dad, but that didn’t mean we always agreed.

This kind of thing was a perfect example.

Ash was a highly intelligent, well-trained dog who would never run off or make trouble.

Cheyenne was a great owner who would never allow her to.

Seemed silly to force rules onto them just because some people weren’t smart enough to know how dogs should behave in public.

But unlike me, Cheyenne was a rule follower who wouldn’t think of letting Ash roam freely inside the park. So poor Ash was stuck on a leash that wasn’t worthy of her.

She started sniffing around, tugging Cheyenne toward the edge of the tree line.

“Sorry,” Cheyenne called. “Looks like we’ll be a minute. She smells something she wants to explore.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said, jogging over toward them. Ash’s nose was to the ground, her tail down as she sniffed and pulled on the leash. “She’s got quite a nose on her.”

“I know. I’m thinking of training her for SAR work and starting a canine unit here. She’s got the nose and the drive. She’d be good at it.”

She said it casually, but it hit me like a gut punch.

Cheyenne and I had always worked SAR together—it had been that way for over ten years, even with Rhett now on the team too. But that would be over if she started a canine unit.

I didn’t have a dog that would qualify. Frankly, I didn’t have time to learn to be a handler even if I did.

Our team already cross-trained. Claire and I specialized in horses, but we could also run ATV searches, rope rescues, air evacuations, swift water rescues, and more.

But canine units were different. A canine and a handler were a team of their own, and they trained constantly on those skills.

Between my normal SAR responsibilities, working full-time, and helping the family on the ranch, I barely had time to think.

There was no way I could add something like that to the list.

I’d already lost my place as her best friend. But to no longer be her SAR partner? It would be the end of an era.

I swallowed hard. “Well. You’re right about one thing. We could use a canine unit here.”

“I know,” Cheyenne said, apparently missing the way my voice had come out all strained.

“We’ve needed one so many times lately, and having one in our county would significantly decrease our response times to those calls.

Besides, it’s really fascinating work. I’ve been chatting with Deborah, the head of the canine unit over in Park County.

She evaluated Ash and agreed we’re good candidates.

She offered to let us come train with her. ”

“That’s great.” My words were hollow, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She frowned and pulled a flashlight out of her pocket, shining it on the path ahead. “Speaking of Ash, she’s really onto something right now.”

“She is,” I said, realizing how far away from the site we were.

We were heading down a steep incline, completely out of sight from Rhett and the rest of the campground.

The woods had grown dark. Cold air stung my exposed skin.

I added my flashlight to the mix and stuck my other hand into my pocket, following as Ash picked up speed.

At the bottom of the hill, the dog started digging frantically.

“What on earth has she found?” Cheyenne stepped forward.

I swung my flashlight in their direction. My heart nearly stopped when I saw what she was doing.

“Pull her back,” I commanded.

Cheyenne’s head jerked at my sharp tone, but she did what I’d said.

I stepped forward and swung my light over the area, my heart sinking as I did.

“What is it?” Cheyenne crouched, holding Ash back.

Nearly hidden by the brush and pine needles was a pile of bones. That wasn’t an uncommon sight in the wilderness. The Bighorns were full of predator animals, and I’d seen my fair share of both fresh kills and old bones that had been stripped of meat and left scattered on the forest floor.

But this felt different. Maybe it was gut instinct, or maybe I’d just seen enough animal remains to realize something was off. Whatever it was, my alarm bells were going haywire.

I grabbed a stick and poked at the pine needles covering the area.

Out rolled a human skull.