CHAPTER 53
Kori forgotto breathe when she saw the man walking in their direction.
Wyatt squeezed her arm, silently reminding her not to move.
She watched as the man crossed the open ground between the farmhouse and the trees. His boots punched through the snow’s crust with each step.
He wasn’t in a hurry, nor did he look alarmed. But his eyes moved across the property in a slow, methodical sweep that indicated he wasn’t out here for fresh air.
She pressed lower and kept still.
The man was close enough now that Kori could see his face. He was older and heavyset, with a dark beard going gray at the jaw.
She didn’t recognize him.
She didn’t recognize any of them.
Who were these people? She’d assumed they were all probably locals from Blue Ridge Hollow or somewhere nearby. But looking at the vehicles parked near the house, at the number of people moving across this property, she wasn’t so sure.
A group this organized and deliberate could have come from anywhere. Across the state or the region. Maybe they’dcome from all over the country, drawn together by the same convictions toward the government and the same willingness to act on them.
And Mackenzie . . . Kori’s chest tightened.
She’d been dragged into the middle of all of it.
Kori continued to watch the man.
He was close. Twenty yards, maybe less.
If he found them . . . he could have a whole army of people on top of them within seconds.
Wyatt shifted beside her.
She glanced at him, trying to gauge his thoughts on the situation.
Her lungs froze when she saw him reach for his gun.
He was preparing for the worst.
Wyatt kept his hand on his gun and his eyes on the man.
Gunfire would carry in these woods, especially with the snow dampening every other sound. The moment he pulled that trigger, every person on this property would know exactly where they were. He and Kori would be surrounded in ten seconds flat.
They’d be outnumbered and exposed, with no backup and a storm closing in.
He mentally ran through the odds and didn’t like any of them.
Thunder pressed low beside him, his ears forward and body coiled. Wyatt rested two fingers lightly on the dog’s back—a signal. Thunder stilled further and made no sound.
The man stopped.
Wyatt watched him scan the trees one more time. His gaze moved slowly left to right.
Then the man turned and looked back toward the farmhouse.
Someone had called from the porch—too low for Wyatt to make out the words. The man raised a hand in acknowledgment and headed back toward the house.
Wyatt didn’t move until the farmhouse door had closed behind the man.
Then he exhaled slowly and took his hand off the gun.
They couldn’t stay here much longer.
Which meant he needed to get busy.
