So not Raines. Not Miller.
Cal’s pulse kicked harder. He lowered his voice to a near breath. “Copy. We’ve got movement in the trees. Could be him. Could be Dexter.”
Alena’s grip tightened on her weapon. Her eyes stayed locked on the shadows, waiting for the figure to show again. Cal steadied his Glock, finger resting just outside the trigger guard.
If it was Dexter, they finally had him in their sights.
Cal motioned for Alena to follow as they crept closer through the brush. The figure ahead shifted again, a man in a dark hoodie, gun in hand. His back was to them, shoulders tight, head angled toward the cabin as if he were waiting for something.
“Sheriff’s office!” Cal called out. “Stop right there. Drop the gun.”
Alena mirrored him, stance locked, weapon aimed. Her gaze never wavered from the man’s spine.
For a heartbeat the figure froze. Then he spun fast, bringing his weapon around. Cal’s finger tightened, ready to fire.
The hood slipped back just enough for his face to show.
“Arneson,” Cal hissed, pulse hammering.
Alena’s breath caught beside him, her gun still trained on the man who should’ve been nowhere near this place.
Raines and Miller rounded the corner fast, guns raised, eyes hard. “What the hell are you doing here?” Raines barked at Arneson.
For a beat, Arneson just stood there, hoodie half-shadowing his battered face, his grip too tight on the gun. Cal’s finger twitched on the trigger, waiting for the wrong move.
Finally, Arneson lifted his free hand a few inches. “I’ve been checking places my brother might hole up. Dexter and I rented this cabin a couple of times back when we went fishing.”
Cal narrowed his eyes, every instinct on alert. That might have been true, but it came out too fast, too neat. He didn’t lower his weapon.
Fishing trips or not, Arneson had shown up armed and hadn’t mentioned this Jeep or this cabin to anyone, so Cal wasn’t buying this.
Cal caught movement across the creek. He spun, Alena and the others moving with him, guns raised in unison.
On the far bank, half-hidden by the trees, Dexter stood. Sunlight caught his grin, wide and taunting.
A small boat rocked against the reeds at his feet, the water still rippling from where he’d stepped out. He’d used it to slip across the creek while they were closing in on the cabin.
“Morning, Crossfire,” Dexter called, his voice carrying easily across the water. “You’re too damn slow.”
Before Cal could fire, before Raines could shout a command, Dexter turned and vanished into the woods. One second he was there, grinning like the devil himself, and the next he was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time they pulled up at Cal’s cabin, Alena felt wrung out. Mud streaked her jeans and scratches stung along her arms where the branches had clawed her skin.
Cal didn’t look much better. They’d chased through the woods until their legs burned, but it hadn’t mattered. Dexter had a huge head start, and by the time they’d made it to the other side of the creek, he was long gone.
She shoved open the SUV door and stepped out, breathing in the heavy air. “We should’ve had him.” The words slipped out sharper than she intended, but the frustration had her raw.
Cal locked the vehicle and came around to her side. “Yeah. But he knew those woods, and we were already behind.”
She dragged a hand over her hair, trying to tamp down the mix of anger and exhaustion. “I just hope Raines gets something out of Arneson. If he was helping Dexter, he needs to go down for it.”
“Possibly aiding and abetting,” Cal muttered.
“Possibly,” she echoed. Her gut twisted. “But unless Raines can prove it, he’ll have to let Arneson walk.”
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Dexter was out there, and the one man who might’ve been helping him could end up free again.
