Grant looked at the two shepherds. “Both of ’em?”
“Both,” Scout said.
Grant lowered the ramp and climbed into the bobcat.
The machine rolled slowly toward the marked spot.
Sheriff Burke Scott stepped out of his cruiser as the engine idled.
“You ready?” he asked.
Scout nodded.
Grant eased the bucket into the soil.
The machine groaned, hydraulic fluid hissing in the cool morning air. The first two scoops were nothing but rich, loamy earth and the occasional snap of a root.
On the third pass, the bucket didn’t bite.
It skidded.
The sound was a dull, wrong scrape of metal against something that wasn’t stone.
Grant killed the engine instantly. The sudden silence rushed in, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal.
Luke didn’t wait.
He dropped to his knees in the fresh trench, the damp cold of the earth soaking into his jeans. He brushed a layer of silt away with a trembling hand.
There it was.
A flash of synthetic floral print—blue and pale pink—caught beneath a yellowed rib.
Luke’s stomach did a slow, nauseating roll. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t.
“Burke,” he whispered. The name felt like lead in his mouth. “We’re done digging.”
Burke stepped closer and looked down into the trench.
For a moment, no one said anything.
The bobcat sat silent and hulking at the edge of the trench.
Burke studied the exposed patch of ground.
Then he straightened. “Phones off.”
Scout’s thumb swept over his screen, and the little glow died, leaving only his reflection in the dark glass. Luke did the same, the soft light on his face disappearing. Jenkins slid his phone into his pocket without looking at it.
One by one, the tiny rectangles of light vanished, and they were left in the dim, foggy morning with nothing between them and the remains.
Scout looked down at the fabric again.
Eight years.
And now, finally, they might be looking at Caroline.
Burke turned to Jenkins. “Call Dr. Cade.”
