The road narrowed as they approached the bridge, the tree cover growing denser, branches clawing toward the sky. The shadows deepened, the sun filtered and fractured through layers of leaves. Brenna could feel her pulse quicken with every mile.
Colt slowed the SUV and pulled off the shoulder about thirty yards from the bridge. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they rolled to a stop. He and Harlan grabbed their binoculars, scanning the road, the tree line, the edges of the bridge.
“Nothing,” Colt muttered. “No movement. No vehicles.”
Brenna leaned forward, her eyes locked on the structure. The bridge itself was old steel and concrete, long enough to span the creek bed but narrow, with no shoulder and limited sightlines. Too many places to hide. Too many angles they could be ambushed from.
Then a voice shattered the quiet.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
It was faint, but clear. And female.
Brenna’s heart stuttered. She looked at Colt, who was already reaching for his Glock. Harlan was doing the same.
“That’s not Wallace,” Brenna said. “That’s a woman.”
Harlan turned in his seat, locking eyes with Gary. “Stay put. No matter what you hear.”
Gary opened his mouth, but Harlan cut him off with a glare that said he meant it. Colt and Brenna jumped out first, weapons ready. Harlan followed, closing the door behind him.
Colt leaned toward them as they moved up the gravel shoulder. “Watch your backs,” he whispered. “If Gary is playing us, he could come out swinging.”
Brenna nodded and kept her gaze sweeping left and right. And behind her as well to keep an eye on Gary. As they neared the edge, she caught sight of movement just below the far side.
“There,” she said sharply, pointing.
A blindfolded figure dangled from the side of the bridge, her wrists bound in front of her and a rope looped under her arms. She was swinging slightly, her shoes scraping the concrete edge. Her voice cracked with another cry for help.
And this time, it was a voice that Brenna recognized.
What the hell wasshedoing here?
Colt and Harlan rushed forward while Brenna took position near the embankment, weapon up and ready. Colt grunted as he reached down and grabbed hold of the woman’s arms. Harlan leaned over to assist, both men pulling together until she was up and over the side, panting and trembling.
“Naomi,” Brenna spat out like profanity as she pulled the blindfold from her eyes, and Colt untied her.
The reporter slumped to the ground, her knees hitting the pavement hard. Blood trickled down one temple, and there were rope burns across her wrists, a bruise already forming on one cheek.
Brenna stepped forward, heart pounding. “Why are you here?”
Naomi looked up, her eyes wide and scared. “I got a text. Right after I spoke to you. It said if I wanted the truth about Timberline, I had to come here. Alone.”
Brenna’s jaw clenched. The text. Like the one Gary got. One sent him to the woods. One lured her here.
Someone was orchestrating all of it. Someone who wanted them on edge. Someone who knew exactly how to pull their strings.
Her gaze slid to Naomi. Then back toward the SUV where Gary was waiting.
Maybe one of them was playing the game. Or maybe they both were.
Colt crouched beside Naomi, scanning her for any hidden injuries. “Have you seen Wallace Kemp?”
Naomi shook her head and winced. “No. Is he the one who attacked me?”
“Why would you think that?” Brenna asked, watching her closely.
“Because someone grabbed me from behind. I didn’t see their face. They were wearing a ski mask and dark clothes. It happened fast. I barely had time to react before they hit me with something.”
