“No,” Trevor grimly said. “Walk with or behind me, but I’m going first.”
They slowly made their way to the front door. With every step, the unmistakable stench grew stronger, and a low, droning hum filled Trevor’s ears.
Trevor didn’t bother knocking because he instantly recognized the dark, dried patina on the doorknob. Pulling a tissue from his pocket to prevent leaving fingerprints, he forced himself to reach out. The knob turned, and Trevor pushed the door open.
As it slowly swung inward and revealed the grisly tableau before them, his next words died in his throat as he and Garrison took in the scene from the threshold.
“Bloody hell,” Garrison whispered next to him.
Without turning, Trevor called out, “Lennox! Mattingly! Call Wilford and Ledeux, tell them what’s going on, and have them head to the parking area where Peyton went. We’ll meet you there shortly. We have to find Peyton. Right now. If he’s not at his car, wait for us to arrive. No one goes out alone.”
The other men bolted for their cars.
In the living room, the bodies of three people, who had obviously been dead for quite some time based on their color and the stench, lay splayed on the floor, each surrounded by dried pools of blood and gore and clouds of buzzing flies disturbed by the air current wafting through the room from the act of them opening the door.
An adult woman, a teenage girl…
And a young man.
“I don’t care if he’s on the bloody fucking moon!” Trevor screamed into his phone. “Find Geir Haugen now! If necessary, pull every string we have at our disposal. If we must send someone from Scotland Yard or INTERPOL in a helicopter over the bloody North Sea to put eyes on him, find me Geir Haugen!” Trevor hung up on his government contact and fought the urge to fling his phone into the windscreen.
Next to him in the driver’s seat, Garrison’s grim visage mirrored Trevor’s current mood. “You don’t think Geir Haugen’s responsible for this, do you?” Garrison asked.
“No. But it certainly lends credence to the mystery camper being Faegan Lewis, doesn’t it now?” He took a deep breath. “We need Geir brought in immediately. Firstly, to break the news to him. Secondly, to place him under protection.”
Geir wasn’t answering any of the other phone numbers they had on file for him, and this wasn’t news Trevor wanted to break to him in an email or text message. Even telling him over the phone wasn’t an option he liked, though it might end up being the only choice.
Because of the circumstances, they absolutely could not involve human law enforcement. There was an old bear shifter doctor they would contact in Lillehammer to help them get death certificates and bypass law enforcement. If for some reason that couldn’t happen, they could use packmates to carry the family members’ passports and impersonate them, travel to the UK, and then Trevor’s people in the UK could file paperwork and cite their deaths as the result of a car accident.
Trevor and Garrison had cautiously made their way inside the home and confirmed not only were the three bodies those of Fredrik, Vera, and Katarina Geir, but it looked like they’d all been tortured, with Fredrik kept alive longer than his mother and sister before his throat was slit. Vera and Katarina had been dead for at least three or four days based on their more advanced level of decomposition. Fredrik had been deceased for at least twenty-four hours because his rigor mortis had already passed.
Trevor had a trusted clean-up crew en route by air from the UK, but he couldn’t remain at the house and wait for them, and didn’t want to leave a man there and reduce their search force. They’d found a set of keys in Vera’s purse that locked the doors, then they checked all the curtains to make sure they were closed, secured the windows and doors, and retreated, hiding the keys outside where the cleaning team could find them. They were approximately ten minutes behind the other men heading to the parking area.
It was vital that they locate Peyton. Wilford had been duped by the caller, who obviously had intimate knowledge regarding shifters. The Haugen family was the only shifter family living close to this town and were—had been—the most remote wolf shifter family in this region.
With this development, Trevor suspected that Peyton—or himself—was the true target. Undoubtedly, the caller rightfully suspected both men would respond and take charge of this operation. Why else engage in this level of subterfuge? Why not contact Geir Haugen directly, imply his family was at risk, and not say anything, drawing him home to capture him? Not to mention, Geir didn’t hold a position of significant military importance regarding intelligence information.
And someone who held the level of knowledge the caller did about their search for Faegan Lewis no doubt knew Peyton and Trevor were deeply involved in the operation and not simply leading it from afar.
“Do we call the Targhee Pack and alert them, sir?” Garrison asked.
“No,” Trevor said. “Not yet. His mate and sister are new mothers. No need to alarm anyone, should we safely locate him.”
“And if we don’t locate him?”
Trevor grimly sighed. “Then I will have difficult calls to make.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Peyton
Peyton drove with the windows down to better focus on the local scents. Once he was outside town, the area took on a desolate feel that made his corner of rural Idaho look positively overcrowded in comparison. He didn’t bother turning on the radio because he didn’t want any distractions.
He wanted to focus on this mission and not let his mind drift to the troubles he faced at home, regardless of how this situation resolved itself.
I owe Gillian a lifetime’s worth of apologies.
He knew without a doubt that Ken was right—if Peyton didn’t have a mate bond with Gillian, he would already be on his way to a divorce.
