I should leave.
My breath fogs in the cold air as I back up another step, gun still raised. A coyote yips again, this time, closer. Too close. Then a low growl threads through the quiet. The coyotes are near something just inside the trees at the other side of this lot.
The coyotes must find what they’re looking for because suddenly, there is a furious growling. Another barkexplodes from the edge of the woods, followed by a frantic runaway rustling.
And then, a sharp metallic clang ripples through the quarry all around me. I flinch, gun jerking before I steady it again.
Every instinct screams:Get out. Get in the car. Leave.
Another voice barks an order:Evidence. A clue. Don’t walk away.
I freeze, caught between terror and training, and a thought hits me so hard, it nearly buckles my knees.
I wish Anton was here.
The image is instant and vivid—his solid body beside mine, his hand steady on my back, his bass voice grounding me. He’d put himself between me and whatever is out there without hesitation.
I should be thinking of Callum. Of radios. Of backup. Of protocol. But the first name that hit my tongue was his.
What does that say about me? About who I trust instinctively? Who makes me feel…safe?
The coyotes’ barks drag me back. They’re fading, heading deeper into the forest—probably chasing whatever ran off. My breathing slows enough to think. If I walk away now, whatever’s lying out there stays buried.
I inch toward where the sound came from, gun raised, every step a battle between fear, duty, and the fierce need to survive—not just for me but for the tiny life inside me. By the time I reach the forest’s edge, my breath is loud in my ears.
The undergrowth is disturbed, branches bent, leaves crushed in a clear path. Whatever ran…did it fast.
Just deeper, something glints. A wrench on a flat stone. This is what made the noise?
I crouch, gun angled toward the trees, and pull anevidence bag from my jacket pocket. I pick up the wrench through the plastic, praying there might be prints. I stand, heart hammering, evidence in one hand, gun in the other. I need to know who was out here. Who ran…
I back toward my car, never turning fully away from the woods. The coyotes are gone. The forest is still again, but it isn’t peaceful. It’s watchful.
I eventually slide into the driver’s seat and lock the doors fast. The evidence bag with the wrench hits the passenger seat with a soft thud.
I rest both hands on the wheel, trying to breathe logic through the pounding in my chest.
This might be nothing. A random tool. A hiker. A worker cutting through the woods.
But the timing… The loose bolts… The way someone was definitely there but didn’t answer when I called out.
My gut doesn’t believe in coincidences. Not after everything I just saw.
Something’s off here. Someone didn’t want to be seen.
I’ll log the evidence. I’ll follow procedure, and I’ll keep following my gut.
But even as I try to breathe myself back into logic, I can’t ignore the instinct that hit me hardest. When fear closed in, my instinct didn’t reach for my chief or my training.
It reached for Anton Easton.
14
Gabriel hashis boots up on the conference table of the Monarch Hills office, despite his brother Rio having already given him two dirty looks.
We’ve both admitted we’re over stakeouts and time on the road. There’s not enough business in Echo Valley to work in this town alone.
Gabriel nods. “I’m not interested in being on nights forever either.”
