Greta was already by the door, double-checking her backpack. “Got a horse for me?”
“Take Dakota,” Boone said. “He’s solid in rough country.”
“Perfect.” Greta slung her pack and strode out into the bright morning. “Let’s go.”
twenty-four
They cutnorth through the back acreage, following the muddy path that paralleled the fence line. The sun was weak and cold, the kind of light that stripped color from everything. Ghost’s hands felt numb on the reins. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work the tension out, but all it did was send a stinger of pain up his right side. The shoulder had given him trouble for years, thanks to a bullet that bitch Isolde put in him. He ignored it. Pain was a familiar shadow, and it kept him sharp.
They rode hard, barely slowing for the switchbacks or the tangle of deadfall along the trail. Greta set a punishing pace. He liked her more for it.
Bear followed on his equine bulldozer, Titan. He didn’t say much, but the grim set of his jaw made it clear he was ready for trouble. King loped alongside Titan, a massive, shaggy shadow with his tongue out and his eyes always moving. Cinder stayed close to Ghost’s stirrup, matching the horses’ stride for stride, never outpacing them, never lagging.
She was a good dog. Too loyal for her own damn good.
He checked the radio every few minutes, but nothing came. Static and the occasional status update from back at the Ridge.Nobody had eyes on Naomi, which meant nobody had a real lead yet.
The closer they got to Cole’s cabin, the more the atmosphere changed. The woods out here were denser, darker. Less touched by civilization. More wild, more unpredictable. The wind carried sharp, shifting scents through the trees, and the horses got jumpy as they left the last fence line behind.
Greta signaled them to slow as the trail narrowed, then dropped her voice. “He’s got motion sensors and trail cams everywhere. Don’t touch anything. And don’t make any sudden moves unless you want to get a warning shot.”
Bear snorted. “You sure he’s not gonna shoot first and ask questions later?”
“Only if you’re stupid,” Greta answered, her eyes never leaving the trail ahead. “And something tells me that’s not your first instinct.”
Ghost’s jaw clenched as they continued on. The trees grew denser, branches hanging lower, forcing him to duck occasionally. A flash of something metal caught his eye—a wire, nearly invisible among the fallen leaves. He raised his hand, signaling the others to halt.
“Trip wire,” he warned. “Ten o’clock.”
Greta nodded. “He’s got them everywhere. Follow my path exactly.”
They picked their way forward, the horses stepping carefully under their guidance. Cinder stuck close, her eyes alert, nose working overtime, hackles raised slightly.
The cabin came into view on the path ahead. Rough-hewn logs darkened by weather, a metal roof gleaming dully in the weak sunlight. Smoke curled from the stone chimney. Two windows faced the approach, both with the curtains drawn. The entire place had the feel of a fortress, meant to keep the outside world at bay.
A Cane Corso with a head like a cinder block sat on the porch steps, watching their approach with predatory focus. It didn’t bark or growl. Just watched, which somehow made it more unnerving.
Ghost tensed as the beast rose to its feet, muscles and scars rippling beneath its short, dark coat. At his side, Cinder went rigid, a barely audible rumble vibrating through her chest.
“That’s Tilly,” Greta murmured. “Don’t stare her down.”
Tilly?
What a ridiculous name for a dog that looked spawned by the pits of hell.
The cabin door swung open before they could dismount. Evander Cole stepped onto the porch, rifle balanced casually in the crook of his arm. Not pointed at them, but not exactly put away either. He was tall and lean, all sinew and hard muscle earned from splitting wood, hauling water, and wrestling a living out of the wilderness, with the coiled stillness of someone who’d seen real combat and had killed enough people to stop counting. His face was all hard angles, hidden behind a thick, full blond beard, and those watchful brown eyes missed nothing.
Cole’s gaze settled on Ghost first, lingering there with the cool assessment of one predator recognizing another, then shifted to Bear with the same calculation. But when he finally looked at Greta, his expression changed, softening a fraction.
“Greta.” His voice was low, graveled from disuse or smoke. “Didn’t expect company.”
“Sorry for the surprise, Evander.” Greta stayed on her horse, hands visible on the reins. “We need your help.”
Cole’s gaze flicked back to Ghost, measuring. “With what?”
“Naomi Lefthand is missing,” Greta said. “Our K9 team picked up her scent at the edge of your property line.”
Cole didn’t react beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes. “Don’t know her.”
