11. Wren
WREN
A low voice comes out of the darkness less than a minute later. “It’s me.”
A shadow moves between the rocks to my right, then Cade emerges with a rifle held low and safe, his face shadowed beneath his cap. I sag an inch, and hate that I do.
Everything about him looks controlled except for his eyes, which are feral. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” My knee throbs in disagreement.
“I was too far back.”
I stare back at him, not sure how to respond to a man apologizing for giving me too much space.
Meanwhile, a flashlight beam cuts across the slope below.
“They split,” I whisper. “Two kept moving with the packs.”
“I know.”
“Whatever they’re carrying matters more than finding me.”
He puts his body between me and the lower slope. “We need to stay put. They’re not close enough to rush this position, but they’re too close to move you yet.”
We stay low in the rocks while the two men search below us. Five minutes pass, then ten. Despite my fear, I’m almost as aware of the nearness of Cade’s body as I am of the danger below us.
A sound rises from farther down the slope, and another sound answers from the west.
“They’re pulling back,” I whisper.
“Maybe.”
We keep still and wait until eventually the beams move into the distance and disappear completely. Even after that, we don’t move.
Rhett and Boone arrive without making a sound. One minute they’re not there, then they are.
Boone reaches me first, and his face changes as he scans my body. There’s a flash in his eyes that makes me wonder if he’s really as harmless as he’s led me to believe. “Wren.”
“I’m okay.”
Rhett crouches beside us, his fury so cold and contained, I swear I feel the temperature around us change.
“You’re angry,” I say.
“I’m a long way past angry.”
“At me?”
His eyes meet mine. “No. At the fact that those men were out here.”
Once they confirm I’m okay, Rhett and Boone trade information with Cade in fragments, like brothers who learned to communicate with each other before they learned anything else.
Rhett leads us along a route that avoids obvious paths, Cade stays close enough that I feel him as much as I see him, and Boone follows behind, as quiet as anything that hunts.
As soon as we’re safe inside their cabin and I set down my gear, my hands start to shake.
Boone pulls out a chair for me at the table, then brings over a mug of coffee and a glass of water. “Drink the water first.”
“I know how hydration works.”
“Then this’ll be easy.”
I glare at him, and he gives me a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Rhett is already pulling up the footage on my laptop.
None of us speaks as we watch the video load. In the moment, through the scope, the four men’s actions and purpose were clear. On screen, with the distance and the dark, the certainty doesn’t come through.
The figures are visible, but their faces aren’t. Their packs are visible, but their contents aren’t.
I freeze the best frame, zoom in, and the pixels break apart. One of the men is turned enough that his profile catches a sliver of light, but it’s not enough.
“Damn it,” I whisper.
But Boone leans closer. “That’s him.”
I squint at the screen. “Who?”
Rhett’s face has turned to stone again. All three brothers are staring at the screen with the same hard recognition.
“Who is it?” I ask again.
“Harlan Turner.”
“Should I know who that is?”
“Runs Elk Run Outfitters,” Rhett says.
The name faintly rings a bell. “Another guide company?”
“On paper.” Cade’s tone makes the room go cold.
“He’s been undercutting us for months,” Rhett says. “Taking clients at rates that don’t make sense.”
“We thought it was bad business,” Boone says, “but not this kind.”
“Are you sure that’s him?” It’s not that I don’t trust them, but the image is too rough to be used as meaningful evidence.
When they look at me, they seem to read it on my face.
“You recognize him because you know him. I can’t use the word of three business competitors when the footage is this unclear.”
Rhett’s mouth flattens because he knows I’m right.
“We thought he was cutting corners to poach our clients,” Rhett says.
“Not moving product through the passes.” Cade’s voice is flat.
I push my chair back and get to my feet. “I need to call my supervisor.”
Rhett tilts his head toward the hallway. “You can use my desk.” He leads me around the corner, but instead of the small office I’m expecting, I suddenly find myself following him into his bedroom.
There’s a desk against one wall, next to a short file cabinet. I suppose this arrangement makes sense for a small business that’s mostly run from trucks and trails or wherever Rhett can open a laptop, but it makes absolutely no sense to my nervous system.
He clears a few folders and maps out of the way, pulls out his desk chair, and gestures for me to sit, but I’m momentarily frozen in his doorway. There’s a big bed in the center of the room, with a rumpled blanket spread across it. The room smells like Rhett.
The space is spare, dark, and masculine, just like him.
With some effort, I get my legs to work and take the offered seat. Rhett goes back into the hall, but hovers like a guard dog while I pull out my agency phone and call the after-hours number reserved for field emergencies.
Dr. Ballard answers on the second ring in a voice rough with sleep. “Wren?”
“Got something tonight. I observed four men moving through the primary pass a little after eleven,” I say. “They were wearing heavy packs, and they accessed a concealed cache. They heard me, and two of them came after me while the other two kept moving with the packs.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Were you injured?”
“No. Just a couple of scrapes and bruises.”
Out in the hall, Rhett makes a sound that’s a lot like a growl.
“I captured photos and video,” I say. “They’re not clear enough for facial identification, but they show organized movement, the cache location, and what appears to be cache access or a package transfer.”
“Send everything through the secure portal.” Dr. Ballard sounds fully awake now. “Footage, stills, coordinates, route notes, timeline, and any changes to the displacement map.”
“I’ll upload it tonight.”
“I’ll watch for it. I’m expecting the preliminary residue screen tomorrow. If it comes back the way I suspect, this will escalate quickly.”
I glance toward the doorway, where Rhett’s shadow paces.
“Stay safe, Wren. No more night observation, and don’t return to that corridor unless I clear it.”
“Understood.”
“Get some rest if you can.”
As soon as I end the call, I head for the door, because staying in Rhett’s bedroom any longer than necessary feels dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with the men outside.
He’s waiting in the hallway, his broad body blocking my path, and I have to stop before I run into him.
He doesn’t step back. “You’re staying here,” he says.