Page 19 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

“Quincy Police Department,” Officer Smith answered.

“Hi, it’s Winslow.”

He grunted.

“I’m following Allen out of town. Can you tell me where he’s going?”

“There was a call from out of town. Emergency in the mountains.”

“Okay.” I waited for more of an explanation. He didn’t give me one. “What emergency?”

“Someone found a body at the base of Indigo Ridge.”

I gasped. “W-what? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Slipped my mind.”

Asshole. “Officer Smith, you and I will be having a conversation when I return to the station.”

With that, I ended the call, tossing my phone aside so I could concentrate on catching Allen.

His brake lights glowed as he slowed for a turnoff. There was no road sign or marker, but I followed his trail of dust down the gravel road, the mountains growing closer with every minute. One cliff stood out from th

e rest, its vertical face daunting as it towered above the trees and meadows below.

Three trucks were clustered together in the grass ahead, parked on the other side of the fence. Allen slowed when he approached, easing the cruiser toward the ditch.

I parked behind him, snagging my phone and shoving it in a pocket. Then I rifled through my purse for a small notepad and pen before climbing out.

“Chief.” Allen stood on the side of the road, waiting for me to join him.

“What’s going on?” Officer Smith’s short explanation had been lacking at best.

“One of the ranch hands for the Edens stumbled across a body this morning.”

“This is the Eden ranch?”

It was a stupid question. When I followed Allen’s gaze to the men standing beside the trucks, I spotted Griffin instantly.

His legs were planted wide as he stood beside that familiar black truck. His hands were fisted at his hips. The words go away might as well have been etched on the brim of his faded black hat.

I steeled my spine. “Lead the way, Allen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He set off through the tall grass, walking to the four-row barbed-wire fence past the ditch. With one hand pulling up the second wire and a booted foot pressing down the third, he opened a gap for me to duck and slide through.

I took his place, holding the wires for him, then it was my turn to lead, walking toward Griffin.

“Winslow.” His voice was flat. Unreadable.

“Griffin.” My voice sounded much the same. I had a job to do. “Can you show us the body?”

He nodded for us to follow him past the line of trucks.

A younger man was sitting against the tire of the last pickup in the row. Beside him crouched another man, older, with a handlebar mustache and a tan cowboy hat.

The kid on the ground looked pale. Tear tracks stained his cheeks. He must have been the one to find the body. I’d seen enough faces like his to know who was the first on the scene.

“Conor found the girl,” Griffin said, keeping his voice low as we walked toward the corner of the fence. Beyond it, rocks clustered at the base of the cliff.