Page 366 of Romeo

I moved past the dock and followed the edge of the clearing toward the trees.

That was where I found the first print.

I stopped with one boot half raised and stared down.

Not mine.

Too wide through the toe. Different tread. Deep enough that whoever left it had been heavier than Fiona but not necessarily heavier than me.

I crouched long enough to look at the tread and the clean edges pressed into the damp earth.

Recent.

I immediately searched the ground around it.

Another print.

Same tread.

Then a second set several feet away.

Different sole.

Two people.

At least.

I followed without stepping directly into either track, moving slowly enough that I could distinguish disturbed leaves from ordinary mess. There wasn’t a trail exactly. Whoever had come through here knew enough not to stomp a straight path toward the cabin.

That bothered me more.

Tourists got lost.

Fishermen wandered.

People who knew how to avoid leaving a clear trail usually had a fucking reason.

I backed toward the cabin instead of pushing forward.

If somebody was out there, my job wasn’t to hunt them.

Fiona was inside.

That changed every instinct I had.

Ten years ago, I would have followed those tracks until I found whoever made them and asked questions afterward. Five years ago, probably the same. Hell, six months ago, I might have done it just because someone thought sneaking through the woods near me was a good fucking idea.

Now every step away from the cabin meant another step away from my wife.

Not happening.

I moved around the opposite side instead, keeping the structure between me and the trees while I checked the waterline.

That was when I saw the boat.

Barely.

Dark hull tucked beneath a curtain of branches on the far side of a narrow channel where nobody had any reason to anchor. No fishing gear visible. No person sitting inside. From where I stood, I couldn’t tell whether the engine was warm or whether anybody had recently stepped out of it.