He nodded at Ghost, who pulled up some images and then turned the laptop to face the room. On the screen, photos showed a small clearing in the woods—trampled snow, theremains of a campfire, and a tarp strung between trees to create a makeshift shelter.
“Where is this?” Walker asked.
“About half a mile behind the forge, near the creek bend where Princess was found,” Boone answered. “I found it this afternoon.”
Ghost’s voice remained neutral, but his eyes were sharp as he looked at Maggie. “There’s evidence someone was living there for at least a few days. They’re long gone now, but given the proximity to where you found Princess, I suspect whoever was camping there is the one who hurt her.”
A cold shiver ran down Maggie’s spine as she stared at the photos. “You think someone was watching us? Watching me?”
“The campsite is positioned with a clear line of sight to both your cabin and the forge,” Ghost confirmed, scrolling through more images. “We found these buried in the fire pit.”
The next photo showed several crumpled food wrappers, a broken disposable phone, and singed photographs. Of her and Anson kissing by the creek.
“I’ve recovered some of the photos,” Ghost continued. “They appear to be surveillance shots of the ranch. And this was carved into a nearby tree.”
The final image showed a heart carved into bark with “L + M FOREVER” inside it.
“Landry,” Maggie whispered, but then shook her head. “I-I don’t understand. How can he have been camping here and in Nebraska at the same time?”
Ghost slapped a hand down on his laptop, shutting away those awful photos. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
twenty-four
After leaving the main house, they walked to the forge in silence, shoulders brushing occasionally. The night air bit at her exposed skin, but she barely felt it. All she could think about was Landry somewhere out there, getting closer with every passing hour.
Or maybe he was already here?
God, her head hurt.
Light spilled from the forge windows, and a shadow moved inside as they approached. Anson tensed and pushed her behind him, but then relaxed when Lila stepped into view through the open door, a pet carrier in her hands.
“Hey.” Lila smiled, though her eyes remained serious. “I figured I’d get a head start gathering them up. Hope that’s okay.”
“Thank you,” Anson said, stepping forward to help her with the carrier. Inside, Princess Jellybean mewed softly, the sound muffled by the plastic walls.
Maggie followed them into the forge’s warmth, her skin prickling at the transition from cold to heat. The scent of metal and coal wrapped around her, familiar now. Safe. Though after seeing those photographs, nowhere felt truly safe anymore.
Bramble stood near the kitten’s home, his shaggy head lowered as he watched them. His tail hung still instead of wagging, and his ears were pinned back.
“Bramble’s being a total mother hen,” Lila said, glancing at the anxious dog. “He won’t leave the kittens alone.”
“He knows something’s happening,” Maggie murmured, crossing to the kitten house.
Bramble moved to intercept her, pressing his massive body against her legs. He whined—a low, worried sound that rumbled in his chest.
“It’s okay, buddy.” She scratched behind his ears, hoping to ease his anxiety. “We’re just keeping them safe. Like you would.”
The wolfhound seemed unconvinced, tracking Lila’s movements with amber eyes as she prepared another carrier for the kittens.
Maggie scooped up Ember, and her throat tightened at the tiny, plaintive mew. “It’s just for a night or two, sweet girl.” She pressed a kiss between the kitten’s ears, then repeated the gesture with Spark and Smoke. “You’re going to stay with Dr. Lila, and she’ll take good care of you.”
Her voice wavered. How ridiculous to get emotional over a temporary separation. But these tiny creatures had become a constant in the middle of her chaos. Caring for them alongside Anson had been the brightest part of her days.
She gently tucked the kittens into a second carrier, making sure they had the wool blanket from their home.
Bramble shoved his nose against the carrier door, snuffling loudly. When she tried to cinch it closed, he pushed harder, nearly knocking it over.
“Bramble, back.” Anson’s command was firm but not harsh.
