Page 50 of Ranger Devotion

Seconds later, Annie slid to a stop next to Dwayne’s UTV and tucked in behind the bumper. At this distance, in the dark, she was nothing more than a shadow. Still, Tate made out her hand signal.

His turn.

He calculated the distance between his position and the shed door. Thirty yards, all of it in the open. Four seconds at a dead run on a good day, but the ice-slicked grass would slow him down. Sucking in a breath and trusting with absolute certainty that Annie had his back, Tate sprinted away from the shelter of the trees.

Cold air smacked his cheeks. He slipped on a patch of ice and nearly ate it, but caught himself. Heart thundering and chest tight, he flattened himself against the generator shed. He slid to the entrance. Annie’s shadow shifted as she eased from behind the bumper of the UTV. Tate paused, straining to listen. Nothing.

He raised his weapon, facing the woods once more, and then waved at her to advance. She crossed the distance in a flash, her footing impressive given the icy conditions. The moment she was at his side, Tate felt as though he could breathe again. He touched her hand, then reached into his pocket for the flashlight she’d given him.

Tate felt her shift into position beside him. Ready.

He pivoted into the generator shed, the beam of his flashlight sweeping the space along with his weapon.

A growl drew him up short. Bud, hackles raised, stood next to one of the generators. Shock hit Tate at the sight of what lay just beyond the shepherd mix.

Dwayne, his hands bloody, knelt next to the body of Dylan McCrae.

TWENTY-FOUR

Shock rendered Annie motionless as Dwayne stood, holding out his bloody hands. Blood spread across the cement floor underneath Dylan’s still body. Garish purple tinsel sparkled against his jacket, and one hand was wrapped around a Raven Hills High School pennant.

“It’s not what you think.” Dwayne’s eyes were wide underneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “He was like this when I got here. I was checking for a pulse.”

“Don’t move.” Tate stepped closer, his weapon held at the ready. His flashlight swept the ground before lifting to scan Dwayne’s clothing.

Dwayne kept his hands raised. “I was trying to help.”

Bud, positioned between them and Dwayne, growled. It was low and threatening, a clear warning that he was in protective mode and would do what was necessary to safeguard his master.

Annie’s flashlight beam trembled. It slid off Dylan’s body and rose to Dwayne’s face. The light carved him out of the darkness. Rainwater dripped from his hat brim. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, drawing attention to his hooked nose.

His nose.

Those blue eyes.

Her breath stalled. The photographs she’d studied all night surfaced in her mind’s eye. Marcus’s driver’s license, that clean-shaven face she couldn’t stop returning to…Add twenty years. Add more silver to the hair, lines to the skin, sorrow to the eyes. The answer slid into place like a lens snapping into focus.

That’s what had been nagging at her. The resemblance to Dwayne.

“Jeb.” The name left her lips in a whisper.

Dwayne went absolutely still. His gaze shot to hers. No confusion. No denial. Wind whistled through the open door, sending an icy shiver down her spine.

She jerked her weapon up. “Get facedown on the ground and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Dwayne didn’t move. Bud growled again, his dark eyes locked on Tate.

“Annie?” Tate didn’t look at her, but even in the darkness, she heard the tension in his question.

“He’s Jeb Morrison. Seth’s father.”

Tate’s sharp inhale echoed in the small space. His gun fixed on Dwayne. “You heard her. Down on the ground. Keep your hands where we can see them!”

Bud took a step forward, snapping, his teeth bared. Tate held his ground, but Annie feared the standoff would end badly if she didn’t intervene. Bud knew her and was far less likely to see her as a threat. She shifted to step in front of Tate, but before she could, Dwayne acted.

“Bud.” His quiet voice rumbled with authority. “Stand down. Sit.”

The dog’s haunches hit the cement floor, although a whine escaped him in protest. Dwayne stepped in front of his dog, his hands still raised, his eyes pleading with Annie. “Let me explain.”