The reply came back almost instantly.On it.
Cal dragged in a long breath, focusing on the road, the turns, the shadows moving past them. This could be it. They might finally have Dexter pinned down, finally put an end to the threat that had haunted all of them for too long.
When they rounded the last curve, Cal spotted Raines’s cruiser pulled off to the side beneath a stand of mesquite. Raines and Miller were already out, geared up and scanning the tree line. Cal braked hard and pulled in behind them.
The air was thick with heat and cicadas. Cal climbed out, eyes narrowing on the drone circling overhead like a mechanical hawk. Good. Noah had them covered.
Alena slipped her comms in, and Cal did the same. He handed another set to Raines and Miller. “Stay on channel.”
They crept up toward the edge of the clearing. The cabin sat ahead, weathered boards and a sagging porch half hidden in the shadows of the trees. No movement. No sound except the creek running close by.
“Nothing,” Raines murmured, eyes narrowing as he scanned the front. He shifted his gun. “You two circle around back. Miller and I will take the front.”
Cal gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”
He met Alena’s gaze for half a second, a silent exchange of readiness, then they started angling off into the brush.
Cal pushed into the woods with Alena close beside him, the ground soft underfoot from the creek nearby. Branches clawed at their clothes as they moved, and the thick underbrush forced them to slow down. The air was heavy, damp, carrying the smell of cedar and river mud.
Every step seemed louder than it should have been.
He scanned the shadows, his gun ready. It was too quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of squirrels or deer. Just the buzz of insects and the creek rolling steadily through the trees.
His gut twisted. “Stay sharp,” he murmured into the comms, though it was as much for himself as it was for Alena.
Because this had all the makings of a setup. Dexter was smart, patient. He could’ve let that fisherman see him, knowing it would bring them straight out here. A lure.
Alena moved up beside him, her weapon sweeping the gaps between the trees. Her eyes flicked toward him once, and he could see the same thought etched in her face.
They kept on, careful, picking their way through tangled vines and brambles until the back of the cabin started to come into view between the trees.
Cal slowed, dropped lower, and raised a hand for Alena to do the same. His pulse thundered in his ears.
If Dexter was out here waiting, this was where he’d strike.
The cabin loomed out of the trees, weathered boards sagging under years of neglect. Shingles curled on the roof, and weeds pushed up through the cracked porch steps. It looked like the kind of place someone would use if they wanted to vanish.
Cal and Alena moved low, hugging cover as they slid along the tree line. He led them wide around the cabin, every sense keyed up, waiting for movement in the windows or a figure stepping out the door.
The creek cut right against the back of the property, the water sliding past with a steady, low roar. Here it was broad, thirty yards across, with thick brush choking the banks. Easy escape route if someone had a boat—or a death trap if they were pushed in.
A Jeep sat in the shadows behind the cabin. Cal froze, hand shooting out to stop Alena. The vehicle was dusty, but the hood still gleamed faintly with heat. Recently driven.
Keeping low, Cal pulled out his phone, tapped in the plates. The return came fast, punching him in the gut. “It’s registered to Arneson.”
Alena’s head snapped toward him.
Cal’s jaw tightened. “When we asked about his vehicles, he told us the truck was missing. Never said a damn thing about a Jeep.”
The implication of that hung heavy between them. Either Arneson had lied, or someone else was using his vehicle. Neither option sat right.
Cal eased forward, every nerve stretched tight. Alena moved with him, both of them skirting the brush until a flicker of movement caught his eye.
“Right side,” he whispered, tilting his chin toward the cluster of trees hugging the cabin. A shadow shifted again, deliberate, not the wind.
He touched his comm. “Raines, confirm position.”
“We’re on the front door,” Raines’s low voice crackled back. “Behind a stone fence about fifteen yards out.”
