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"Yeah... looks like," he said simply.
Rachel knelt down beside the lifeless body, her gaze fixated on the wounds that marred the officer's once vibrant form. The crimson trails painted across the pristine uniform.
Examining each wound with meticulous care, Rachel's eyes traced the delicate patterns etched into the flesh. The edges were ragged, evidence of a struggle fought with desperate determination. Defensive wounds adorned the woman's hands, testament to her valiant attempt to fend off her attacker.
The scene around them bustled with activity as forensic teams carefully documented every detail, attempting to skirt by the news crews.
"Whitehorse had gold on her too," Rachel said quietly, under her breath.
Ethan just nodded.
"What do you think it means?"
He hesitated, glanced at her, then murmured, "I don't know... Silas' alibi checked out."
"He couldn't have done this. He was in jail overnight."
"Obviously. So someone else with those same boots stole the ATV."
"That's right... Or he killed Whitehorse, and someone else killed Officer Vega."
"Is that what you think?"
"No. No, I don't think Silas would've left an ounce of gold behind. There's got to be at least three in this bag."
Ethan whistled. "That's a lot of money."
Rachel nodded, glancing around, frowning. The sun baked her features, and she straightened again. She could feel Whitehorse watching her, or perhaps she could simply feel his accusations still levied against her.
The reproach in his eyes reminded her of her aunt's. Of Sheriff Dawes'...
She didn't quite belong anywhere.
"Gonna clear my head," She said simply. "Log this in evidence?" She slipped the gold into Ethan's gloved hand. Before he could reply, she turned, and moved away from the corpse, the news crews, the angry councilman. She hastened away, without looking back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She moved hastily away from the crime scene, laden down with the glare of Councilman Whitehorse, with the accusation in his gaze.
The forest hushed around Rachel Blackwood, its tranquility a stark contrast to the cacophony of doubts warring within her. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered beams, casting latticed shadows on the leaf-strewn path. She took uneven breaths, each one tasting of pine and the approaching dusk. The woods had always been a refuge for her, an escape from the whispers of her orphan past and the piercing stares that questioned her place among the Texas Rangers.
A cardinal flitted across her vision, landing on a nearby branch with a delicate rustle. It was a splash of red in the sea of green, as if it held all the life's vigor that she felt drained of. Rachel's hand slid into her jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the cold surface of her phone. With a sharp exhale, she drew it out and found herself thumbing through her contacts, seeking a lifeline amidst the silence.
"Thomas," she murmured, his name a talisman against the solitude. The call connected, cutting through the stillness with its ringing.
"Greywolf."
"Thomas." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her stoic facade. "It's Rachel."
"Hey," came his steady response, a comforting rumble like distant thunder. "What's on your mind?"
She didn't know what to say. She'd called him... but it had been the call of someone in a dream, as if acting out some reverie.
She hesitated, frowning as she continued forward, moving softly through the woods.
"I heard about Whitehorse," said Thomas a second later.
"Gonna be on the news."
