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Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You think he's involved in all this?"
"I don't know yet," Rachel replied, her fingers still dancing across the keyboard as she pulled up more information on Wyatt Reddeer. "But we can't afford to ignore any lead at this point."
They found an address for Wyatt Reddeer—a small, weathered house at the edge of the reservation.
"He's got priors," Ethan said, consulting his own screen.
"Figures," Rachel's voice was a blade, cutting through distractions. She scrolled, her gaze catching on keywords—prior offenses, restraining orders, a mugshot that stared back with dead eyes.
Wyatt Reddeer was a brute of a man, with shoulder-length, raven-black hair that hung in unkempt waves around his scarred face. His gaze, sharp and piercing like an eagle's, seemed to cut through the screen. Deep lines etched across his forehead and around his eyes hinted at a life filled with hardship and pain.
"Violence against women," she read aloud, the words tasting like ash. Her jaw tightened, every muscle coiled. "Not just any women. Our kind of women."
"His kind of prey," Ethan added, the weight of implication heavy in the air.
"Exactly." Rachel's thoughts raced, each one a sharpened edge. She had grown up learning to navigate the shadows of the world; now they seemed to converge here, in this desolate place, on this man with a history written in bruises.
"Could be our guy," Ethan's hand hovered near hers, a silent show of unity. "Or a lead at least."
"More than that," Rachel said, conviction hardening her features. "A pattern. A predator returning to his hunting grounds." She slammed the laptop shut with a finality that echoed off the walls. They had a name, a face, and a trail growing cold by the minute.
"Where to?" Ethan stood, ready to follow her lead.
"Into the lion's den," she answered, her voice devoid of doubt. "We're paying a visit to the reservation."
The wind outside sang of desolation, but inside, the hunt was on.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rachel's boots crunched on the arid soil, the only sound in a vast silence that stretched over the reservation. The sun was a merciless observer, unblinking in a sky scrubbed raw by winds.
Ethan's absence was a palpable void beside her, but reservation land meant reservation rules. And Councilman Whitehorse's influence could be felt.
It had taken six phone calls just to get permission to come onto the reservation, and without Sheriff Dawes' vouch, she didn't think it would've worked anyway.
Ethan, though, had been refused entry.
The land itself seemed indifferent to her presence, the rugged terrain sprawling endlessly, dotted with sparse vegetation that clung stubbornly to life in the inhospitable environment. Dust devils danced across the distant mesas, playfully stirring up the red earth.
She pulled her hat down lower against the glare of the sun, which seemed to scrutinize her every move, an unspoken challenge issued by the very air she breathed. Each gust of wind carried the scent of sagebrush and the faintest hint of danger.
"Big country," she whispered, the statement hanging in the air before being swept away by the breeze.
She moved away from where she'd parked her vehicle at the reservation line, the car now left on the side of the road. Rachel's boots kicked up small clouds of dust with each step, the grains fine as ash. Her eyes searched the expanse for any sign of her contact. Then she saw him, standing by an old Jeep that looked like it had been forged from the very earth it rested upon.
"Ms. Blackwood?" His voice was like gravel, rough and unpolished.
"That's me," she replied, squinting against the brightness. The native cop was a tall man, his skin etched with the map of a hard-lived life. His name tag read 'Lone Elk.'
"Was told to wait for you." Lone Elk's words were clipped, his mouth set in a line that suggested smiles were strangers to his lips.
"Thank you for meeting me," Rachel said, trying to read the man who gave nothing away.
"ID," he said simply. The tall, native cop eyed her with a clear vein of suspicion. She didn't take it personally.
Instead, she reached for her badge, procuring it. He scrutinized it with intensity, then nodded.
"I'm told you know Wyatt Reddeer," she said.
