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Marie shot him an amused smirk and raised her brows. “Sounds like you guys took your hunting really seriously.”
Tommy slapped a hand on Owen’s back. “Do you remember how mad Katherine used to get when we wouldn’t let her up? Looks like the steps are still secured to the tree. Wonder if it’ll hold my weight?”
Owen closed the short distance to the tree trunk. The same wide planks of wood Pappy had helped them hammer into the tree sat secure on top of the rough, brown bark. One board sat inches above the next and the next, all the way up to the wide platform anchored around the tree. The blind they’d spent an entire summer assembling and painting sat snuggly against the thick branches, wide green leaves shadowing the structure. The pitched roof still covered the four walls they’d toiled over, taking weeks to fit the material together, then hoist into the tree.
“Can’t tell for sure, but it doesn’t look like any of the wood’s rotted. But if it could hold your weight, it could hold Bill’s. We need to check it out. I should do it.”
Tommy snorted. “No way I can walk past it and not go up. I’ll check it out.” Tommy gripped each makeshift step above his head, placing the side of his foot on the wooden planks. “I don’t remember it being so difficult to get up here.”
Marie took a step closer to Owen and grabbed the shirt covering his biceps in a tight grip. “Is this safe? What if he falls?”
Owen kept his gaze fixed on Tommy, and his muscles tightened with every step higher his brother took. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Tommy made it to the base of the blind and swung his leg over the side. The old planks shuddered but held in place. Tommy braced his hands on the railing and stared over the woods. “This is surreal. Everything looks the same.”
Marie released her grip on his shirt. “He proved he could still make it up there, now tell him to get down. He’s making me nervous.”
Releasing a pent-up breath, he couldn’t help but agree with Marie. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Take a quick look then come down. We’ve got work to do.”
Tommy lifted his index finger and grinned. “One second.” He disappeared through the thick foliage shielding most of the blind.
Owen chuckled and turned his stare on her. His heart constricted. A cotton tank top may be covering her curves, but the shape of her was imprinted in his mind. His fingers itched to feel her soft, smooth skin again.
Thud!
The platform shook and debris rained from the tree. Panic pounded against Owen’s temples. “Tommy! Are you okay?”
No response.
“Oh my God. It sounds like he fell.” Fear rose Marie’s voice an octave.
“Crap. I told him to come down.” Owen dropped the backpack to the ground and ran to the base of the tree. “Tommy, if you’re playing around, I’m going to kill you. Answer me, dammit! What’s going on?”
More silence.
He steadied his hands on the homemade ladder scaling the tree. “Stay here,” he said to Marie. He hated to leave her alone, even if he was right above her, but he needed to make sure Tommy was all right.
His limbs trembled as he clung to the slivers of moist wood. The tips of his fingers ached as he clung for his life and pushed himself up the tree. He didn’t look down, didn’t think about what would happen if his foot slipped or one of the old pieces of wood broke free from the trunk. He climbed as fast as he could and breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the platform and hoisted himself on the level floor.
The bottom of Tommy’s boot poked from the narrow door to the little hut. He hurried toward Tommy, the rushed movement causing the treehouse to sway. He slowed his paced and dropped to his brother’s side.
Tommy lay sprawled on his stomach with his eyes closed and breathing shallow.
What the hell had happened?
Owen swept his gaze around the gloomy space and ice froze his blood.
Bits of busted glass scattered on the ground and pieces of equipment lined a shelf he and Tommy had once used to hold their bags of chips and cans of cola. Crouching so he didn’t hit his head on the low ceiling, Owen crossed over to the study the equipment. A Bunsen burner sat tilted on its side and various sized beakers lay beside it.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Someone had used their hunting blind as a lab.
Realization dawned on him, and he rushed back to Tommy. Sinking to the balls of his feet, he followed the line of Tommy’s outstretched hand. A crate had been pushed against the wall, the tips of Tommy’s fingers brushing against the edge. Owen peered over the side of the crate. More shards of glass lined the top of the crate and a thin layer of white powder sprinkled between debris, bits of the powder falling down like dust to the floor.
White powder with this setup could only mean one thing. It was pure, synthetic Fentanyl. If touched with bare skin, it could be fatal.
A fist of fear squeezed Owen’s heart. He ran to the railing and stared down at Marie’s terror-filled expression. “Tommy touched Fentanyl. He needs Narcan now or he’ll die.”
