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Twice on the Clark's land.
Someone who hated the deep-rooted family and wanted to cause trouble?
Or perhaps the Clarks themselves?
Tom was brazen enough to shoot a man in front of two state rangers. What would the rest of their clan feel they could get away with on their own land?
She frowned, staring at the muddy trail.
"Make sure you get close-ups of the individual treads," she instructed Ethan, her voice steady and focused.
"Got it," he confirmed, taking several more pictures before stowing his phone away.
With the tire treads documented, Rachel and Ethan were about to leave when a sound caught their attention.
They both turned sharply.
Rachel frowned as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. She glanced at Ethan, who had swiftly taken a protective stance between her and the source of the noise. She stepped from behind him--he was obscuring her line of sight. The moon dipped below the trees, casting eerie shadows that danced across the crime scene.
"Who's there?" Ethan called out, his voice firm but tinged with uncertainty.
A trio of tall, imposing men emerged from the thick foliage, the fading sunlight glinting off their steely eyes.
A tall man. Averytall man with thick arms, despite his age, emerged from the trees. He had a large, silver beard, and half his teeth seemed to be missing and replaced by gold and silver.
He was also covered in tattoos. It looked to be the same man who'd been watching them from the porch, but he'd now come for a closer look.
And up close, she recognized him from his photos.
Silas Clark, flanked by two of his grandsons, stopped a few feet away from Rachel and Ethan. Their presence seemed to darken the atmosphere, like storm clouds rolling in over the peaceful countryside.
"Evening, rangers," Silas drawled. "Seems you've found somethin' interestin' on our property."
She knew they had to tread carefully here; Silas and his family were deeply protective of more than just their land, and any perceived intrusion could have dire consequences.
"Mr. Clark," she began, choosing her words carefully. Silas didn't reply at first, as if he were weighing her words. He stroked his long, white beard. Then crossed his arms over his broad chest. His grandsons mirrored his stance, their expressions a mix of suspicion and disdain. "Well, you ain't gonna find nothin' here. We ain't got no part in this mess."
"Actually," Rachel countered, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach, "We don't want to involve your family any more than necessary, but we're finding it difficult to leave you out of it with the constant intrusions."
She didn't back down. She knew men like this. Men who were so used to their own bubble that they assumed the power they wielded in their day-to-day extended to every walk of life.
It was the same attitude that had pulled Tom's trigger.
Was this the man who'd put his own son up to it?
She watched the thickset, tattooed giant with narrowed eyes.
Silas studied her for a moment, his own gaze narrowing as if trying to decipher her true intentions. Then, with a sly grin that made Rachel's skin crawl, he spoke.
"Y'know, it's a shame about that girl," Silas said nonchalantly. "I knew her, y'know. She was a... well, let's just say she made her living in a less-than-honorable way."
"You know the victim?"
"The one back that way. Yeah," he said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder. "Canda."
"Canda?"
"Candace."
