Page 65 of Tracking Safety

His shoulders tensed.

Who was that? Whoever was driving that vehicle was clearly checking out the place.

Balling his hands into fists, he started toward the vehicle.

But he’d only taken three steps when the car squealed away.

He stared after it. There was no catching up with it now.

He turned and went back inside, needing to be close to his family.

CHAPTER 26

That morning, Jenna awoke early.

She lay still a moment in the unfamiliar guest room, staring at the ceiling while the gray light of early morning pressed against the curtains. The house was quiet other than the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall and the vague sound of birds starting up outside.

She hadn’t slept well, but at least she’d slept. That surprised her.

Finally, she forced herself to get up. She dressed quickly and found the bathroom down the hall.

After getting ready, she went downstairs. Good Boy and Hamilton greeted her, and she gave them a good head rub.

The kitchen was empty, but Naomi had left a note, instructing her to help herself. She and Caleb and Grace had gone into town to pick up some things.

She welcomed the moment alone.

Someone had already set the coffee maker to auto. The aroma of the brew filled the kitchen with a smell that felt almost unbearably normal.

Jenna poured herself a mug and stood by the window over the sink.

The property stretched out gray and quiet in the early light. Dew dotted the grass. A bird crossed low over the pond.

The morning looked like peace, which felt at odds with everything inside her.

Hamilton lifted his head.

He’d been sprawled on a rug, but he came up off the floor and crossed to the back door, hackles rising along his spine. A low sound started in his chest, too quiet to be a bark. He fixed on the tree line and held there, still as a pointer.

Jenna followed his stare.

The woods sat gray and motionless at the far edge of the yard. Nothing moved.

Then, low in the dark between two trunks, a point of light caught the dawn and threw it back—a flat, glassy wink, there and gone before she could place it.

Or probably just dew on a branch.

Nothing important.

Or a lens. A reflection off glasses or binoculars. Or⁠—

She stopped and forced herself to breathe.

The dog stayed at the door a moment longer, ears forward, reading what she couldn’t. Then the growl wound down, and he let it go, turning back into the kitchen as if the morning had never held anything in it but coffee and quiet.

Jenna kept her eyes on the trees. Whatever had been there, she no longer saw it.

It had most likely been nothing. She was simply on edge and looking for danger where it didn’t exist.