Chapter 26
Kori gasped. Then she looked and saw fireworks in the sky.
That wasn’t gunfire. Her mind must be working overtime.
“Those must be from the neighbors,” Wyatt said. “The Hendersons. They’re always up to no good.”
Another burst of red exploded in the sky.
“Strange timing,” Kori muttered.
“Everything about them is strange.” He shrugged. “Now let’s get you inside.”
After Wyatt had told his family goodbye and pulled away, Millie showed Kori to her room.
Three other women were staying at the house, but they’d all turned in for the night already.
According to Millie, their newest guests liked keeping to themselves.
Kori did hear one of them next door, probably closing a dresser drawer or something.
She washed her face and got ready for bed. But before turning in for the night, she slipped back into the living room.
It was now empty. The fire had burned down to coals, and the dogs had redistributed themselves. Hamilton and Good Boy had stretched out near the hearthrug. Biscuit had migrated to the warmest corner of the couch.
Kori glanced toward the kitchen and saw Naomi standing at the sink, working through a stack of dishes. The portable crib sat a few feet away on the kitchen floor, positioned where Naomi could see it without turning. Grace was in it, awake, making small, unfocused movements.
Naomi looked up and smiled. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not yet.” she glanced around. “Where did everyone else go?”
“They’re checking on the dogs in the kennel.”
Kori stopped at the edge of the kitchen and nodded at the crib. “Can I—?”
“Please.” Naomi nodded toward the crib. “She’s been restless. Company might help.”
Kori moved closer and looked down.
Grace stared back up at her. One fist had worked its way free of the blanket. The other was tucked under her chin.
“She’s beautiful,” Kori said.
“She is.” Naomi’s voice was quiet, her tone both simple and complicated. “I’m thankful to have her—even if it’s just temporary.”
“Wyatt mentioned you were fostering her.”
Naomi turned off the water and reached for a dish towel. “It’s complicated. But basically, Grace’s father killed my sister. He’s in prison now. Then Grace’s mom was arrested, and this innocent little baby had no one.”
Kori’s eyes widened, and she straightened. She couldn’t imagine . . . “That sounds rough, to say the least.”
“It was.”
“Wyatt said Sarah built this place.”
“That’s right. Sarah and her husband, Richard. She had dreams for this property. A bed and breakfast, somewhere people could come and take a load off.”
Grace made a small sound.
Naomi glanced at her. “Would you like to pick her up?”
“I’d love to.” Kori reached into the crib and settled the baby against her chest.
The infant went still.
Something shifted in Kori’s chest that she didn’t have a name for. Longing? Maybe.
But she’d always been career-oriented and had told herself she wasn’t the motherly type.
Why did that feel like a lie right now?
She kept her expression even. “So how did you come to be here?”
“That’s a story within itself.” Naomi almost smiled. “The short version is that Sarah left this place to her family—which made Richard furious when he found out. We had quite a lengthy legal process to actually take ownership. After we did, we wanted to do something to honor our sister.”
“And you turned it into a women’s shelter.” Kori shifted Grace slightly, settling her weight. “A place women could come with their pets.”
“Most shelters won’t take animals. And a lot of women won’t leave without them. So . . .” Naomi lifted one shoulder. “We keep it quiet. The shelter side of things. People in town know of Refuge Cove, but they don’t know everything it is.”
“It makes sense why you’d keep it under wraps.”
“Sarah loved dogs too. As a matter of fact, Thunder was hers.”
Kori’s eyes widened. “He was? I had no idea.”
“Wyatt adopted him, and the two bonded right away.”
Grace had gone fully still against Kori’s chest, her breath coming in a slow, easy rhythm that indicated she’d fallen asleep.
Kori looked down at her and thought about Sarah, who’d built something beautiful out of a hard life and hadn’t lived to see what it became.
She thought about Naomi, who’d shown up and made something out of the wreckage.
She thought about this family—the bread on the counter, the security gate at the end of the drive, and the way Caleb had said, You’re welcome here.
This was the kind of community most people longed for—full of loving, dependable people trying to leave the world a little better than they’d found it.
It was the kind of community she’d love to have.
She carefully lowered Grace back into the crib. The baby stirred, made one small sound of protest, and went still again.
“Get some sleep,” Naomi said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Kori straightened. “It is.”
She looked at Grace one more time before walking back down the hall toward her room.
Wyatt’s house sat at the edge of town.
He pulled into the gravel drive and shut off the engine, but he didn’t get out right away. The day lingered in his muscles, in the back of his mind, in the questions that hadn’t found answers yet.
Thunder shifted in the passenger seat then went still.
Wyatt glanced over. The dog’s ears were forward and his posture alert.
What did Thunder know that Wyatt didn’t?
Wyatt followed the canine’s gaze to the house. The same lamp glowed in the living room where he’d left it that morning. From here, nothing looked out of place. Still, he watched a moment longer before opening the door.
Thunder jumped down but didn’t head straight for the porch. He paused near the steps, nose low, taking in the ground before circling once near the door.
“Go on,” Wyatt said.
The dog moved forward, though not with his usual easy confidence.
Wyatt unlocked the door and stepped inside, his attention sharpening automatically as he crossed the threshold.
The house was quiet. No movement. No sound beyond the faint hum of the refrigerator.
He shut the door behind him and stood there a moment, listening. When nothing changed, he hung his jacket by the door and kicked off his boots.
Had someone been here? It could have been something innocent—a delivery man or someone selling something.
Or it could have been someone connected with this investigation.
He’d need to remain on alert, just in case.
Thunder circled once on the rug, then settled.
Wyatt paced into the kitchen.
The map of the forest still stretched across his table. He leaned over it, studying the terrain around Lost Hollow Trail again—the backpack location, the tracks that had run parallel to theirs, and the area around Harrow’s Mill.
What was going on out there?
When no answers came to mind, Wyatt rubbed his eyes, realizing he needed to step back and clear his head.
Instead, he grabbed his computer.
Out of curiosity, he typed in the name Kori Hutchins.
Her name came up quickly, followed by a professional profile.
He tapped the first result. A photo filled the screen—Kori in a tailored suit, her hair smooth, her expression composed in a way that felt very different from the woman he’d watched pick her way across a snow-covered trail that morning.
He scrolled.
Articles. Case summaries. Mentions of high-profile clients and successful outcomes. The kind of work that required precision, long hours, and a mind that didn’t miss details.
He opened one and read more closely.
She’d stood in courtrooms like that, making arguments that held up under pressure, navigating situations where a wrong move had consequences that lasted far beyond the moment.
Wyatt lowered the phone slightly.
Her world was a long way from this one. Yet she’d stepped into it without hesitation.
He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Thunder shifted again, and Wyatt looked up.
The dog was on his feet now, facing the hallway.
Wyatt followed his line of sight.
Nothing moved, but the feeling from earlier returned, quieter this time but still there.
He stood and walked the house, checking each room in turn. Bedroom. Bathroom. Back door. Windows.
Everything was as it should be.
No sign of forced entry. No sign anyone had been there.
He paused in the hallway, listening again, then let out a slow breath and returned to the kitchen.
“Guess we’re both tired,” he said under his breath.
Thunder didn’t relax.
His phone rang.
Micah.
“What’s up?” Wyatt answered.
“We’ve got a situation.”
Wyatt straightened. “Pete?”
“No. Not Pete. Someone else. A couple of hikers were coming down an old service road about a mile from Harrow’s Mill. They found a body.”
Wyatt’s breath caught. He waited, already bracing for the answer he didn’t want.
“It wasn’t Mackenzie. White male, forties. No ID.”
“What’s the scene look like?”
“Snow’s disturbed around the area. Hard to say how long he’s been there.” Micah paused.
Wyatt filled in the rest. “Foul play?”
“Gunshot wound.”
Wyatt glanced toward the window, where the dark outline of the mountains pressed against the night.
A body near Harrow’s Mill. The same place Mackenzie might have gone. The same woods where someone had been watching them.
“I’m heading out,” he said, ending the call as he reached for his jacket.
Two missing people. One body.
And a growing certainty settling into his gut.
Mackenzie hadn’t just gotten lost in those woods.
Something had happened out there.
Something dangerous.