Chapter 31
Kori stood at the edge of the activity and watched paramedics treating the woman they’d found. They checked her vitals, wrapped her in a thermal blanket, and talked to her in low, careful voices.
The woman hadn’t spoken to them since she’d given up the knife.
Who was she? Did she know Mackenzie?
Finding this woman had derailed Kori’s plan to rescue her sister today. With each day that passed, the odds that Mackenzie could survive out there grew slimmer.
Her gut tightened at the thought. But she couldn’t stop picturing her sister out in the woods. Cold. Alone. Hungry.
Just like this woman had been.
At least there were still people out there looking. She hoped and prayed someone found her.
She drew in a long, slow breath as she tried to get her thoughts under control. Giving in to her emotions wouldn’t help them find Mackenzie. That was something Kori told her clients all the time.
Instead, Kori tried to calculate what she knew.
This woman was young. She was hypothermic, frostbitten, and dehydrated. She was too thin and had scars—so many scars.
And she was frightened. But of whom? The person who’d given her those scars?
That made the most sense. After all, the scars were still pink, still new.
And how was this forest connected to all of it?
The isolation would make it ideal for drug operations. Plus, there could be poachers or people doing illegal logging. There could even be squatters.
The possibilities seemed endless.
“I saw you there.”
Kori went still before slowly turning.
The woman looked directly at Kori. Her eyes seemed clearer now than they’d been on the trail. She almost seemed focused, like she’d been saving her energy and words for the right moment.
Kori’s heart pounded in her ears as she stepped closer. “What did you say?”
The woman stared at Kori, her gaze hollow and her breathing still too shallow. “I saw you there.”
Wait . . . had this woman seen Mackenzie? Kori and her sister looked alike. Though their style was different, they had similar facial features. Kori was three inches taller and thinner. But she could see how someone could get them confused.
Was that what this woman was implying?
Kori’s heart hammered harder. “Where? Where did you see me?”
The woman opened her mouth.
“Ma’am.” The medic stepped forward, her voice firm but not unkind. “I need to get her to the hospital. She needs immediate treatment.”
“One minute.” Kori kept her eyes on the woman. “Please. One minute.”
“I’m sorry.” The medic was already reaching for the ambulance doors. “You can talk to her at the hospital once she’s been stabilized. Her heart rate is all over the place. She needs to see a doctor ASAP.”
Panic raced through her. “But she might have information about my sister. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Kori.” Wyatt suddenly appeared beside her.
“I think this woman might know where Mackenzie is—”
“She needs medical attention right now.” His voice was quiet. “If we don’t let them go, she may not be able to tell us anything at all.”
Kori looked at the woman. She stared back at Kori through the open doors, her expression unreadable.
Then the doors closed.
Kori stood in the parking lot and watched the ambulance pull out. Watched it turn onto the road and disappear.
Her chest squeezed with disappointment.
“I think she saw Mackenzie.” Her voice came out flat. “She knows where she is.”
“We’ll get to the hospital as soon as we can.”
Kori looked at the road where the ambulance had been.
Why did she feel like it might be too late by then?
Wyatt studied Kori’s profile after the ambulance left. Tendrils of her dark hair escaping from beneath her black knit hat, her tense jaw, the worry in her gaze.
Then he thought about the photograph from Mackenzie’s backpack. The one of Kori’s family looking so happy and normal.
He remembered the image of Mackenzie there.
The sisters definitely resembled each other. They looked enough alike that a frightened woman might get them confused.
What if that woman had seen Mackenzie? What if she had information that would help them find Kori’s sister?
They definitely needed to talk to her again. And they would. Just not yet.
His phone buzzed, and Martha’s name appeared on the screen.
He stepped away to answer. “Martha, thanks for calling back.”
“Wyatt.” Her voice sounded thinner than usual. “Does this have something to do with my Pete?”
“To be honest, I don’t know yet. We’re working various leads right now.”
“Of course. What do you need to know? You said something about the farmers market?”
“That’s right. One week there was a jewelry vendor there selling cord bracelets, with small stones. Do you remember them?”
Kori looked over at him as if curious about his words.
“I do. It was two women, and a man was with them—though he just kind of hovered in the background and watched them. They were an odd bunch.”
“Can you tell me what you remember about them?” he finally asked.
Kori stepped closer, her brow furrowed.
“They’d missed the registration deadline.” Martha’s voice steadied. “Most vendors sign up weeks ahead. The event is very popular. Anyway, these three showed up the morning of, asking for a spot. I almost turned them away, but I did have one space open after our sourdough vendor called in sick.”
“Do you remember anything else about them?”
She paused in thought. “The women seemed young—probably in their late teens or early twenties. The man was middle-aged. I tried to make conversation with them the way I do with all the vendors, but I got nothing back. I figured they were just private. You get that sometimes.”
“Did they give you a name and phone number? An address?”
“They did, and I tried to contact them when I had another open spot a couple of weeks later. The call went straight to voicemail.” Shuffling sounded in the background. “Let’s see . . . here’s the paperwork. They did leave an address, but it’s a PO box in Staunton.”
A PO box? That would most likely be a dead end.
“What name did they register under?” he asked.
“Get this, the man—the person who signed the paperwork—said his name was Thomas Paine.” She snorted. “I remember thinking it couldn’t be real, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. They paid for the booth rental in cash.”
Thomas Paine . . . a political writer during the American Revolution. From what Wyatt remembered, the man had authored Common Sense, his writing ultimately helping convince the colonists to break away from Britain.
The man stirred images of history, influence, and words that had once moved entire crowds.
Wyatt frowned as the thought settled. This wasn’t about the man himself. It was about what he represented.
Influence. The power to make people believe something strongly enough to act on it.
Wyatt’s gaze drifted to the symbol they kept finding, each one etched with intention, too deliberate to dismiss as coincidence. They weren’t random or meaningless.
They were leaving that symbol to send a message, a claim.
His chest tightened as the pieces began to shift into place. What if this wasn’t just one person? What if it was a group?
After all, people didn’t leave symbols like that unless they want to be recognized. What if they were some kind of cult? A dangerous cult? One that Mackenzie had somehow gotten involved with?