“Both,” Kipp said, already taking control. “Ryder, west line. Nash, east. Griff, loop behind the barn. Linc, you’re with me. Move quietly.”
Everyone nodded. No more talking. No questions. Just motion.
The moon was bright enough we barely needed flashlights, but I kept mine trained low. The beam carved a thin path through the snow. The prints cut straight through the open gate, following the treeline down toward the creek.
Kipp’s voice came low beside me, calm but tight. “Whoever it was knew where to stand to stay in your blind spot.”
“I noticed.”
“Any cameras still working from before?”
“Only the barn and the drive. I disconnected the rest after she left.”
He didn’t press. “You might want to reconnect them.”
We reached the north fence. The wire sagged slightly inward, snow packed on both sides. Someone had climbed over. On the far side, faint tire tracks curved through the trees toward the service road.
Kipp crouched, tracing a gloved finger along the tread. “Half-ton, maybe a Chevy. New tires. You recognize it?”
“Not one of ours.”
He stood again, brushing snow from his knees. “You want to call it in?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what the others find.”
I wasn’t ready for outsiders. The sheriff would make noise, and noise would bring questions. Kristin didn’t need that kind of attention. Not again.
A few minutes later, Griff’s voice came through the radio. “Nothing in the barn. Horses calm. Found a cigarette butt near the tack room door. Still warm.”
He appeared out of the dark, holding a small evidence bag. Marlboro Gold. I didn’t smoke, but I’d seen that brand before in places I wished I hadn’t.
Nash came over the line next. “East side’s clear. Only your tracks from feeding.”
Ryder followed a moment later. “Found where the tire tracks cut north past the creek. Looks like he parked out by the service road and came in on foot. I’ll mark it.”
Kipp met my eyes, his voice quiet. “You still think it’s a drifter?”
I didn’t answer.
We regrouped near the porch, boots crunching in the snow. Griff unscrewed his thermos and passed it around. The smell of coffee mixed with diesel and pine.
“Could be someone scouting,” Nash said, his breath clouding. “We get strangers this time of year.”
Ryder snorted. “Nobody scouts at ten at night when it’s this cold.”
Kipp took a slow sip, eyes still fixed on me. “You think it’s connected to Vegas?”
The word hit like a punch. Nobody had said it out loud since the day we got home.
I looked toward the house. The upstairs light glowed faintly through the curtains, Kristin’s shadow moving behind it. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. The generator hummed behind the barn, steady and constant, the only sound besides our breathing.
Griff broke the stillness. “Then we handle it.”
Kipp nodded once. “We tighten the perimeter. Cameras back up, lights checked, motion sensors reconnected. Nobody outside the crew needs to know a thing.”
Ryder’s grin was quick, sharp, and humorless. “Feels like old times.”
