“Damn it,” he muttered, already pulling his phone back up. “I’ll ping his comm and call it in.”
Brenna felt that same twist of unease deepen. If Beck had vanished too, this wasn’t just coincidence. This was escalation.
Noah’s voice crackled through the phone speaker. He rubbed his forehead, staring at the wall of photos.
Harlan ended his own call and looked up. “The security cams near Gary’s place were jammed all night,” he said. His eyes flicked to Noah, then to us. “What the hell is going on?”
Colt stepped forward. “Beck didn’t check in this morning. Noah’s just making sure he’s all right.”
“Good call,” Harlan muttered. He sank into a chair, folding his arms. “This is starting to feel like a shitstorm in the making.”
Yes, it did.
Noah ended his call and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve got someone on their way to check on Beck. Maybe he just overslept.”
Brenna nodded, relief flickering in her chest. She hoped that was it.
Noah’s phone rang again. He didn’t put it on speaker this time. His brow creased deeper as he listened.
“What is it?” Brenna asked.
He glanced at Harlan, then back to us. “Sheriff Chase just got a call. Six more relatives of the original hostages are missing.”
Her stomach dropped. “Not the ones in protective custody?”
“No,” Noah said. “These are other family members. Six of them. The same number who died at Timberline.”
Silence filled the room. Six missing. Six dead. It was a pattern that couldn’t be ignored. But how did Gary and Beck fit into this?
Or did they?
All their phones pinged at once. Brenna grabbed hers, heart thudding. A text. No number. Just an attachment.
She met Colt’s gaze. “You got it too?”
He nodded. So did Harlan and Noah.
Noah stepped forward, already moving fast. “Let me run a quick scan before we open it.”
They watched as he worked. Seconds dragged.
“It’s clean,” he said, then tapped the screen. The image blinked into view on the large monitor.
Timberline.
Brenna felt her breath catch.
The once-controlled perimeter was now wild. Overgrown trees leaned in, their branches curling like claws around the rusted fencing. Ivy crawled over what was left of the buildings, stone and metal choked by green. The ground was thick with weeds and vines, as if the earth had been trying to reclaim it. Even the air in the photo looked heavy, like it carried the weight of memory and rot.
“It looks like the woods are trying to erase it,” Brenna said softly.
“Or bury something,” Colt added.
Brenna stood staring at the photo. Colt was beside her, silent but watchful. Harlan paced a slow line behind them, jaw tight. Noah manned the controls, his gaze fixed on the screen as if staring long enough might force it to give up its secrets.
Then all four of their phones buzzed again. Another message. Another photo. No sender. No text. She tapped the screen. And all the interior of the sealed wing at Timberline. The room no one had entered since the investigation after the massacre. No one was supposed to be able to get inside. It had been part of the original crime scene, shut off.
But someone had clearly gone in.
