Page 9 of Knox

“So you think she’s pretty,” Colton said.

Sloane was beautiful, even disheveled and distressed. Some long-buried instinct had roared inside me at the thought of anyone attempting to frighten or hurt her. The sensation was unsettling, and it haunted me through the night. I had no choice but to follow up. I wouldn’t have slept otherwise.

Colton’s head was shaking. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you would’ve. I think you’d have asked the sheriff to follow up if you had no reason to speak to her again.”

“I’m sure the sheriff did follow up,” I said, too quickly. Unthinking.

“Yet, you texted anyway.”

I frowned and swung my attention to Archer.

“We want in on this,” Archer said. “If someone’s out there terrorizing women, or worse, we should do everything we can to find him before our leave is up. Think of it as Marine beach bonding.”

I considered the offer, thankful for the help but unsure where to begin. The first woman went missing two years ago and no one had found her. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Two weeks,” Archer answered. “We’d stay longer if we could. Especially now that you’ve got all this going on.”

Colton nodded. “Hard to believe that this time next month, I’ll be in the same position as you, deciding if I stay or go. Civilian life or more Corps?”

Archer sighed. “I’m right behind him. Couple weeks longer, that’s it.”

I looked between them. “What are you thinking? Civilian life? Or will you keep living the dream?”

Colton took a long drink of his beer. “I’ve been a Marine since I was eighteen. I have no idea who I am, if I’m not doing this.”

“Same for me,” Archer said. “And I’ve got just about as much of a plan as Colton. Which is to say, none.”

“Does your sister still want you to take over your dad’s construction business in Fairytale?” I asked. Archer came from a small mountain town in Colorado. From what he’d told me, the place was a lot like all small towns, but the views there were drastically different from mine.

Archer’s expression turned wry. “She does. My dad’s ready to retire, and she thinks I’d be good at managing crews.” He shook his head. “Problem is, I don’t know if I can do the nine-to-five thing. Wake up in the same place every morning. No mission briefings. No objectives.”

“Just drywall and permits,” Colton muttered.

“What about you?” I asked Colton. “Family business waiting?”

“My mom remarried last year. She’s happy, and her new husband seems like a good guy.” Colton shrugged. “But I don’t exactly fit into that picture. I’m the son from her first marriage who’s barely been home in a decade. Going back to Phoenix and playing third wheel in my childhood home doesn’t sound appealing.”

I understood that as well as anyone. The Marines had given us all purpose, structure, brotherhood. But it had also taken years of our lives in exchange. Years we couldn’t get back. Moments we’d missed with people who mattered.

“You could stay here,” I said. “Both of you.”

Archer raised an eyebrow. “You offering us jobs?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’ve got my mom’s business to figure out. She had a popular outdoor excursion company, and this house is bigger than it looks. Five bedrooms, three baths. One of the bedrooms is an office right now, another is a home gym, but they can be converted while you figure out where to go from here.”

“If you stay,” Archer said.

“If I stay,” I agreed.

“You know how to run a business?” Colton asked.

“No. But I know how to learn.” I met their eyes. “And I know it’ll be a hell of a lot harder to do it alone. If you two wanted to stick around, help me build something, expand what she started, maybe there’s something here for all of us.”

Archer and Colton exchanged a look. Some silent communication I couldn’t quite read.

“We’ll think about it,” Archer said finally. “Right now, we’d better take a look at those notes.”

I led them to the living room where I’d spread Mom’s notebooks and manila folders across the coffee table. Newspaper clippings, printed social media profiles, and trail maps marked in red. Her handwriting filled the margins with questions and observations.