I also didn’t miss the two rifles sitting in the bed of the truck. Ones that are usually kept in a barn or on one of their saddles in case they need it.
The sky is washed out gray. The kind you see in movies and you just know something climactic is about to happen. Snowbanks blur past and the heater hums softly. But my fingers are cold anyway.
Beau looks at me,again,through the rearview mirror. “You good back there, Darlin’?”
“I’m sandwiched between two furnaces. I’m fine,” I lie.
Jas bumps my shoulder lightly. “You’re welcome.”
Lincoln doesn’t smile, but his leg presses slightly closer to mine.
Lawson’s gaze flicks to me from the passenger seat. It lingers a second longer than the others. “You change your mind, we turn around.”
“No.” The word comes out fast. I swallow and steady my voice. “You guys didn’t want me at home alone and I don’t want you split up. This is what we’re doing.”
His jaw tightens, but he nods once.
The truck grows quiet for a few miles, tires crunching over snow-dusted asphalt. I watch Beau’s hands on the steering wheel. They’re rough and weathered from days spent tending to the animals, the ranch, his family. They’re strong. Steady. They’re the same hands that held me last night and whispered words of “I love you” as I drifted off to sleep.
That softness feels far away now.
“Sebastian sent updated coordinates,” Jasper says, breaking the silence as he checks his phone. “Old hunting cabin near the Beartooth Foothills. Logging road access. Generator running intermittently.”
“Is Victor Hale there?” Lincoln asks.
Jasper scans his phone for a split second before answering. “Confirmed.”
“Whois he?” I ask.
Lincoln answers. “Former private contractor. Worked overseas. Now he does freelance enforcement work. High pay. Low conscience.”
“That’s comforting,” I murmur.
Lincoln wraps his hand around my thigh. “We’ve met him before. Honestly, he seems like all muscle no brains.”
Lincoln’s lying about as good as I was when I said I was fine.
Beau exhales through his nose. “He’s there to keep Grayson and Caleb from screwing up.”
“Or running,” Lawson adds.
“Or talking,” Jasper mutters.
The implication of Victor’s job settles thick in my chest.
I stare at the dashboard clock for what feels like the entirety of the rest of the drive. Before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I don’t think anybody has said so much as another word. Either that or I didn’t hear any of it.
Two hours.
Two hours closer to answers.
Two hours closer tothem.
Rubbing my palms against my jeans, I force myself to speak evenly. “And we’re sure Kat isn’t there?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Lawson says honestly. “But if she isn’t, the two of them will know where she is.”
If.
