He stared at his furniture that had been overturned like it meant nothing, his couch ripped open. The kitchen drawers were spilled across the floor. His favorite books were scattered about as if the words on the page were meaningless. The cabinet doors hung open, contents thrown and broken. A half-empty box of ammo lay spilled across the floor, the rounds kicked and scattered.
“Someone was looking for something,” Savvy said quietly. “Or wanted to make it look like they were looking for something.”
Patch moved in, sweeping the room with his weapon, doing what he was trained to do, ignoring that this was his home. That this was his sanctuary. “Clear,” he muttered. “Stay here. See if anything is actually missing. I’ll go check out the rest.”
“All right,” she said.
The bedroom was worse—the mattress slashed, his duffel emptied and torn. Bathroom cabinet doors swung wide, contents strewn in the sink. It took a lot to rattle Patch, but this did more than get under his skin. This assaulted his sensibilities. But this wasn’t about him, and he knew it. This was about Savvy. This was about the woman he loved more than life itself. He couldn’t admit that out loud. He couldn’t say that to her, her brother, or anyone else. But he sure as shit could say it to himself.
And it fucking scared the shit out of him.
Whoever this was, whether that be a hired gun or someone in the 73 or Black Ledger, they knew she was in the bayou and that meant they knew too much. That meant this little game of cat and mouse was about to get a little too real.
“They tore through here fast,” Savvy said. “Nothing’s missing from what I can tell and that tells me this was just a warning. Just a message, saying we’re here and we know you’re here too and we’re coming for you.”
Patch holstered his gun and pulled his SATphone from the backup bag stashed under a floorboard that had miraculously gone untouched. He wasn’t taking any fucking chances at this point. He dialed.
McGuire picked up on the first ring. “If you’re calling me on this, something bad happened. What is it?”
“Cabin’s been hit,” Patch said calmly.
“Is she okay?” McGuire asked. “Are you okay?”
“We’re both fine. No sign of who did it. But they destroyed the place. Didn’t take anything, but the message was clear.”
“Get out of there. You know the drill.”
“We’re heading to the old place. I’ll check in when we’re secure.”
“I’ll get supplies and meet you there with the ATV,” McGuire said.
He ended the call and looked at Savvy. “Let’s get what we need and get the hell out of here,” he said. He hated feeling violated or vulnerable. Outside of feeling like he wasn’t in control, it was the worst sensation ever.
But all those things tore through his system like a raging river.
She held up a compact bag. “Some food. Six bottles of water. A couple of knives from the kitchen drawer. Your computer and my tablet. That’s it.”
“That’s enough for now.” Patch nodded. “Let’s go.”
They made for the dock behind the cabin, neither of them speaking. The air felt heavier now. Every rustle in the reeds, every bird call, echoed like a warning.
Patch untied the boat, climbed in, and extended a hand to Savvy. She took it and stepped down carefully.
The motor started with a low rumble. Patch eased them away from the dock and into deeper water, heading north, scanning every section of the shoreline for anyone or anything that didn’t belong.
As the cabin disappeared behind a curtain of mist, he tightened his grip on the throttle.
Someone had found their trail.
Now they’d see how far they were willing to follow it.
Savvy stood over the stove, grateful for a purpose. She needed to move. Keeping her body fluid meant her mind wouldn’t wander. At least that’s what she told herself.
The old cabin had a different kind of silence—it wasn't hollow or dangerous, but it had a rough-edged way about it. Yet it had a subtle charm in the way Patch had hung a picture over the old sunken sofa. He’d always been a detail-oriented man. He liked structure. He liked knowing everything had a spot, and this run-down old shack wasn’t any different. Even though she was being hunted, this space gave her an odd sense of comfort. Perhaps it was knowing it belonged to Patch. Or maybe it was because she was with him and knew his team was always in the background, watching, waiting to leap into action to protect their own.
A fire crackled in the small woodstove, casting flickering light across the uneven floorboards. The windows were still boarded tight, but a breeze filtered through the screen door that Patch had rigged with wire and stubborn will. He’d promised to take the boards down tonight before bed, but she figured it would be fine if he didn’t. It wasn’t that hot this evening, and the cabin was hidden under a big tree, up behind a bend in the river. She didn’t think the sun touched it during the day.
Savvy stood barefoot on the cool wood, stirring a battered pot of beans and rice. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was hot and filling. It would fuel their bodies, and sometimes that’s all food was meant to do. The scent of smoked sausage and onions softened the air, reminding her of just how hungry she really was.
