We strip off the rest of our gear, hand it to Marty, then climb into my pickup.
On the road, I toss Jeff my phone. “Click the link.”
“Whoa, you never mentioned Officer Dickhead took the lead.” Shaking his head, he frowns, scrolling like mad. “Missing since Wednesday and we’re just hearing about it now?”
“My sentiments exactly.” Deep in thought, I scratch my beard as I pull to the curb next to the diner. “Guess I’ll bring the drone. Your turn to buy coffee.”
A few minutes later, I take a gulp, letting the caffeine rip through my system. “Should be a law against four a.m. alarms.”
As I put my red Ford in drive, my friend sighs. “Poor lady. No way her daughter will let her live alone now.”
He places his cup in the center console, then holds up my phone. “Unlock it again. I wanna see who we’re supposed to find.”
Once I press my thumb to the screen, he reads in silence. At a stop sign a few blocks from my house, he shoves the device to my face. “Whoa, check her out.”
The photo shows a pilot in Navy dress blues—brown hair, brown eyes. Pretty, yet hardly the hint of a smile.
She’s not my type. Why then, does my pulse kick up?
Tamping down my interest, I scowl. “What else does it say?”
Jeff studies the screen.
“Not much. Parents think she was depressed. Put her whole life in storage after she was fired. She told them she was going to do a—” He air-quotes. “Jack Reacher.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “The fictional character who travels with only a toothbrush?”
“Know any other?” He arches a brow, glancing over. He’s picturing the same train wreck I am.
My gut tightens as I swing into the driveway and punch the garage opener. “So which is it—batshit girl who wandered off, or ex–Navy pilot in over her head?”
“Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.” Dolan hops out and jogs inside.
While he unhooks the hovercraft from the wall, I let the dog out. Tail wagging, my St. Bernard–Lab mix gives a sharp woof, then bolts to the tailgate.
She feels it too—a pulsing urgency thrumming through the air, impossible to ignore.
Chapter 2
Briana
Last Monday Morning
On the east side of the mountain, orange beams of sunlight snake through the wet leaves before landing on my face. Shaking off the chill, I roll up my sleeping bag and begin breaking down the tent.
Thank God Andrea’s still asleep. At least I won’t need to rehash last night’s argument.
Six hours into the hike, her words still loop like a stuck podcast.“He’s so sweet. Nothing personal, but you’re… well, you’re cold. Indifferent.”
Learning she’d slept with my previous boyfriend left me speechless. Of course, she took my silence as an opening to cut deeper.“Not only that, he said you’re way too independent. Too direct. Well, let’s face it, hun. You’re butch.”
“Fuckin' Brett. Fuckin' Andrea. Stupid job. My life blows, dammit.” Once I shove a few breakfast bars into my backpack, I adjust its weight onto my shoulders, ready to head down the trail.
Certain she’s not following, I fish out my phone, open the AI therapy app, and tap the mic icon. “Hey, Herman.”
There's a half-second pause before the familiar voice breaks the dead air. “Hi, Bree. It’s been a few. How ya doin’?”
“Oh, peachy.” I halt, my voice catching. “My best friend told me she was screwing my ex while we were still a couple.”
