Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Every muscle in Tate’s body stiffened. He kept one hand on Annie while pulling his weapon with the other. His grip was compromised by the bandage covering his stitches, but it wouldn’t prevent him from protecting everyone in the lodge.
A ping came from Annie’s phone. She reached for it and opened an app. “The generator is out. System failure. That shouldn’t have happened.” She unholstered her weapon. “The weather let up, and now he’s making his move.”
But what move? They weren’t sure who they were dealing with, or even how many perpetrators there were.
The number of unknown elements ratcheted Tate’s nerves tight.
He reined them in. Emotions would only be a distraction.
He gave his eyes another moment to adjust. Then with one hand holding Annie’s, the other gripping his weapon, he moved into the lobby.
The fireplace glowed, casting the lobby in a low orange light. Evan was up, body tense, staring out the windows into the yard. Brooke’s quiet murmur came from the air mattresses as she assured their fellow classmates that everything was okay.
Evan turned, his expression taut. “I don’t see anything. Could the storm have taken out the generators?”
“Maybe,” Annie whispered. “But I doubt it. The weather conditions have improved, and the generators are housed in their own building, clear of any trees.”
“He’s luring us outside.” Tate felt it in his bones. “Trying to separate some of us.”
Annie went still. “Dwayne. He’s on his way here and likely got the same alert I did.” She pulled the radio from her belt and called for him.
Nothing came back.
“Dwayne, come in.”
He still didn’t answer. Her eyes wide, she looked up at Tate. “Something’s wrong. Dwayne always responds. The generator shed is between the main lodge and staff quarters. If he got the alert like I did, he would’ve stopped to check it out.”
“Dwayne isn’t a target,” Evan whispered harshly.
“No, but the killer could use him to ensure one of us comes looking for him. We’ve been radioing periodically all night.”
She was right. Tate ran through his options. They narrowed to one. He couldn’t leave a civilian out there with a killer. “I’ll go.” He headed for the row of coats hanging by the door.
“Not by yourself you won’t.” Annie beat him to the hooks, found her jacket, and yanked it down.
He admired her bravery, but putting Annie in harm’s way was a non-starter. “Someone needs to stay here and guard the group.”
“He’s not after the group,” she countered, shoving her arms through the sleeves of her coat and zipping it up.
“This killer attacks when people are alone. Kayla. You. Now Dwayne. Going out there by yourself is reckless. You need someone to watch your back.” She met his gaze, her determination unyielding. “We’re a team in this, remember?”
Tate shrugged on his coat and glowered at her. “Just so you know, I hate having my own words used against me.”
She wrapped a scarf around her neck and smooshed a knitted hat over her curls. “Get used to it, Ranger. I’m gonna hold you to what you say.”
The rebuttal brought a ghost of a smile to his lips, and the meaning of her words, that easy claim on his future, undid him. He kissed her. Quick. Brief. But enough to send his already elevated heart rate into a full-on sprint. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He zipped his coat, grabbed his cowboy hat, and double-checked his magazine.
Annie handed him a flashlight. He shoved it into his pocket.
The generator shed sat a quarter mile out, roughly halfway between the lodge and staff quarters.
The killer would expect them to use the side exit.
Instead, Tate reached for the front door, tossing a glance at Evan over his shoulder.
“Lock this door behind us. Don’t allow anyone in except me or Annie. Understood?”
“Got it.” He briefly touched Annie’s arm. “Be careful.”
Tate shoved open the front door, and a blast of frigid air seized his lungs.
Ice coated the porch, making the wooden boards treacherous.
He picked his way across with care, grateful for the tread on his hiking boots, his gaze scanning the darkness beyond the safety of the lodge.
Sleet fell in softer veils, giving everything a hazy appearance.
Water dripped off the brim of his hat onto his back.
Annie waited next to the door until the lock clicked before navigating the slippery porch. She lifted the hood of her jacket to cover her knitted hat. “What’s the game plan?”
“We’ll use the woods to cover our approach.”
“Agreed. I’ll lead the way.” She slanted a glance at him, cutting off any potential protest. “I know the property better than you, and that’ll help us move faster in the dark.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Before she could take a step though, he stopped her with a touch.
“Don’t use the radio anymore unless you absolutely have to.
The killer may be monitoring our transmissions.
” It was the only thing that made sense.
How else could he have known that Dwayne was leaving the staff quarters?
He couldn’t keep watch over all the buildings at once.
The main lodge and Cabin 1 had a clear line of sight, but the staff quarters were too far out.
Then again, this could be a trap laid by Dwayne. Tate still didn’t know if the man could be trusted.
Annie stiffened and then nodded once. “Follow me.”
She led him into the tree line, and the darkness closed over them.
They didn’t use flashlights. Beams would announce them from a hundred yards.
Instead, Annie moved by memory, and Tate followed the faint shape of her shoulders.
She never hesitated. A dip in the ground, a fallen log, a low branch—her gloved hand would appear in the gloom, signaling each one a moment before it could betray him.
Tate’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He touched Annie’s back, silently asking her to stop, and then, blocking the light with his jacket, checked the message. It was from Grady.
There’s a small break in the storm. Luke and I decided to risk it. We’re on our way now.
“What is it?” Annie whispered.
“Luke and Grady are coming.” Some of the tension in Tate’s muscles eased. He shot off a reply text, letting his fellow rangers know of their predicament, then pocketed his device. “They should be here in about an hour, provided they don’t get lost.”
He prayed for their safety as he fell back into line behind Annie.
Sleet hissed through the canopy. Ice-laden branches groaned overhead, and every few seconds something cracked deeper in the woods as limbs surrendered to the weight.
The sounds covered their approach, but they could also hide a killer.
If Marcus was their assailant—and it was likely he was—then he’d trained for situations like this.
He could be standing in the dark, and they wouldn’t see him until it was too late.
Lord, be our eyes tonight. Protect us.
Annie’s fist rose, signaling they should halt. She stopped at the wood’s edge and crouched behind a pine. Tate eased down next to her, his breath fogging, and followed her line of sight.
The generator shed sat across a stretch of open ground, a squat metal building crusted with ice. Dwayne’s UTV was parked in front of it, the driver’s side door hanging open.
The shed door stood open too. Darkness within.
No Dwayne. No Bud. Nothing but the sound of the wind.
Annie leaned closer. “We can approach in stages. I’ll go first while you cover me. Once I’m behind Dwayne’s UTV, you head for the shed.”
Tate didn’t like the idea of Annie being exposed to a potential shooter hiding in the woods, but there was no way to know what danger was lurking beyond the open door of the generator shed. The killer could be sheltered inside, knife at the ready, waiting for someone to enter.
All the options sucked. He gritted his teeth. “Let’s do it. On my mark.”
Tate raised his gun, resting his finger against the trigger guard.
He breathed out, doing his best to block out the fact that Annie was about to run headlong into a potentially deadly situation, but it felt impossible to keep an emotional distance.
His heart pounded and his skin felt tight.
He wanted to grab hold of her and run the other way.
Instead, he took another deep breath, let his gaze sweep across the woods surrounding the clearing once more, and then whispered, “Go.”
She bolted across the grass in a low crouch, quick as a jackrabbit.
Tate kept his attention on the shadows beyond the tree trunks, searching for any sign of a shooter.
He half expected a bullet to fly in Annie’s direction.
Despite the icy temperatures, sweat dripped between his shoulder blades.
He kept his gaze shifting. Searching for signs of danger.
The stitches in his hand throbbed with his heartbeat.
Seconds later, Annie slid to a stop next to Dwayne’s UTV and tucked in behind the bumper. At this distance, in the dark, she was nothing more than a shadow. Still, Tate made out her hand signal.
His turn.
He calculated the distance between his position and the shed door.
Thirty yards, all of it in the open. Four seconds at a dead run on a good day, but the ice-slicked grass would slow him down.
Sucking in a breath and trusting with absolute certainty that Annie had his back, Tate sprinted away from the shelter of the trees.
Cold air smacked his cheeks. He slipped on a patch of ice and nearly ate it, but caught himself.
Heart thundering and chest tight, he flattened himself against the generator shed.
He slid to the entrance. Annie’s shadow shifted as she eased from behind the bumper of the UTV.
Tate paused, straining to listen. Nothing.
He raised his weapon, facing the woods once more, and then waved at her to advance.
She crossed the distance in a flash, her footing impressive given the icy conditions.
The moment she was at his side, Tate felt as though he could breathe again.
He touched her hand, then reached into his pocket for the flashlight she’d given him.
Tate felt her shift into position beside him. Ready.
He pivoted into the generator shed, the beam of his flashlight sweeping the space along with his weapon.
A growl drew him up short. Bud, hackles raised, stood next to one of the generators. Shock hit Tate at the sight of what lay just beyond the shepherd mix.
Dwayne, his hands bloody, knelt next to the body of Dylan McCrae.