Tim gritted his teeth. “Fine. She doesn’t believe me, fine. I’ll follow the damn wind myself.”
He turned right where the mountain road split, letting the tires crunch over the loose gravel. Higher ground. That’s where he’d heard them. And if the wind had a direction, this was it. It always whispered down the mountainside before dark, like breath curling through a keyhole.
As the road narrowed, he slowed, his gaze flicking between the trees and the steep drop to the right. No headlights shone behind him. No sign of Laurel Snow or her army of feds. Good. They’d just talk him out of following the wind’s directions.
Another gust hit the windshield, and Tim felt the pull—stronger this time. Not metaphorical. Not spiritual. Physical.
He pulled off onto the gravel shoulder, brakes squeaking, and let the truck idle as Buster pushed up between the seats and gave a sharp bark.
“I know, boy. You feel it, too.”
They both jumped out.
The wind tugged at his flannel, and the smell of damp moss and pine needles thickened as they walked toward a trailhead—no signage, just an indentation in the brush like something had passed through often. Deer maybe. Or trucks.
Tim followed the path, winding upward through thick trees. It wasn’t long before he saw something that didn’t belong.
Stone. Concrete.
The building was half-hidden by the slope, built directly into the cliffside. It was nicer than it should’ve been, with steel-reinforced windows and polished wood siding. The facility was tucked behind rock and pine like someone had gone out of their way to bury it.
“I had no clue this was here,” Tim whispered.
Buster didn’t bark and just stared.
There was no driveway, no path down from the road. Whoever used this place had to be getting in another way.
A hundred feet away sat a low outbuilding. Utility shed? Generator shack? It had the right kind of loneliness about it. Tim crouched as he approached, boots soft in the moss, hand lightly resting on the handle of the small knife he always kept at his belt.
The windows were grimy, thick with dust and dead flies. He had to cup his hands against the glass to see. And there she was. The pretty blond girl.
Tied to a chair. Pale. Blood on her temple. Eyes wide and wild—until they locked on his.
Tim’s heart slammed into his ribs. “I knew you were here,” he breathed.
She shook her head quickly, frantically, as Buster gave a sharp bark and darted around the shed to the side door. It was unlocked.
Of course it was unlocked.
Tim pushed it open.
The girl gasped as the light shifted inside. Her eyes filled instantly with tears, but she didn’t sob. She didn’t scream. Her voice came out cracked and dry. “Please.”
Buster reached her first, levering up to put his paws on her legs.
Tim stepped inside, crouching to untie her. “It’s okay now. We’ve got you.” But he never finished releasing the knot.
Something whistled through the air behind him.
Viv’s face twisted in a silent scream, but the sound was drowned by the wet crack that followed.
Tim dropped instantly, his body folding like a paper doll, blood arcing against the concrete wall.
He hit the floor face-first and couldn’t move.
Buster let out a sharp, high-pitched whine.
Then the darkness took him. Where was the wind now?
