Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
I escort her back down the ridge without asking permission, staying slightly behind while my eyes scan the tree line constantly.
She notices.
“Do you always hover?”
“Yeah.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It’s kept me alive.”
She glances back at me over her shoulder then, and something in her expression shifts slightly at the scars on my hands.
At the limp.
At whatever she sees there.
“You were military,” she says quietly.
“Was.”
“What happened?”
IED.
Fire.
Screaming.
Blood.
I shrug instead. “Wrong place. Wrong time.”
Her gaze lingers a second too long.
Not pity.
Curiosity.
That’s better.
We reach her rental cabin just before dusk settles fully across the mountain.
And that’s when I see it.
A photograph tucked beneath her windshield wiper.
My entire body goes cold.
I yank it free immediately before she can stop me.
Then I look down.
It’s her.
Sleeping inside the cabin.
Taken through the damn window.
Nora goes silent beside me.
For the first time since I met her, she looks genuinely shaken.
Slowly, I lift my gaze toward the dark tree line surrounding the property.
Somebody’s watching us right now.
I can feel it.
Chapter Three
Nora
The Spring Rescue Auction looks less like a fundraiser and more like a small-town riot with beer.
By the time I walk into Devil’s Peak Lodge, the place is already packed wall to wall with flannel, denim, and loud laughter bouncing off the timber ceilings. Strings of white lights hang across the rafters, country music blasts from old speakers near the bar, and somewhere near the back of the room somebody’s yelling over a bidding war involving a fishing trip and a chainsaw sculpture.
I stop just inside the entrance, taking it all in.
“This is insane,” I mutter.
A woman carrying a tray of beers brushes past me and grins. “You haven’t seen anything yet, honey.”
Apparently not.
A group of women near the stage shriek as a tall blond man in a black henley winks at them while flexing theatrically beside an auction table.
“That’s Rune West,” the woman beside me says knowingly. “Land developer. Professional flirt. Margie’s been trying to marry him off for years.”
“Margie?”
“The woman currently threatening the auctioneer with a wooden spoon.”
I glance toward the stage and immediately spot an older woman with bright red lipstick aggressively shoving a stack of papers at a laughing man holding a microphone.
“Lord help us,” the woman sighs fondly.
“I’m starting to think everyone in this town knows everyone.”
“They do.”
That doesn’t exactly comfort me.
I move deeper into the lodge, camera bag hanging against my hip while I scan the room automatically, watching conversations stop and restart as people notice me. Some of the looks are curious. Some annoyed. A few openly suspicious.
Reporter from Seattle.
Trouble from the city.
The woman asking questions about missing hikers.
News travels fast in Devil’s Peak.
I head toward the bar, slipping onto an empty stool just as the bartender slides a whiskey toward a dark-haired man beside me.
“Another?” the bartender asks me.
“Tequila,” I answer.
The bartender nods approvingly. “You’ll survive longer up here drinking that.”
I’m halfway through the first sip when someone drops onto the stool beside mine.
“Careful,” a deep voice says. “They’ll eat you alive if they smell fear.”
Dark hair. Scar near his jaw. The kind of face that looks permanently amused by chaos.
“I thought sharks smelled blood,” I reply.
“Mountain people smell weakness faster.”
“Good thing I’m not weak.”
His grin widens slightly. “That’s exactly what Rhett said you’d say. I’m Jace, Search & Rescue.”
My grip tightens faintly around the glass. “Rhett talks about me?”
“Not much.” Jace takes a drink. “That’s how we know he’s interested.”
“I’m not interested in Rhett.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
I glare at him.
He laughs outright this time.
“You city girls are fun.”
“I’m not a city girl.”
“You’re drinking tequila at a mountain bachelor auction while wearing boots that cost more than my truck tires,” he says calmly. “You’re definitely a city girl.”
Before I can answer, the microphone squeals loudly overhead.
“Alright, ladies,” the auctioneer booms. “Who’s ready to spend irresponsible amounts of money for mountain men and women and make some questionable life decisions?”
The crowd erupts.
A woman near the front yells, “Take your shirt off, Rune!”
Rune points toward her dramatically. “Buy me dinner first, sweetheart.”
The room explodes into laughter.
I can’t help smiling despite myself.
The energy here is infectious. Loud and chaotic and warm in a way Seattle never is.
Until it shifts.
It happens slowly at first.
A few glances.
A whisper behind me.
Then another.
The back of my neck prickles instantly.
I turn slightly on the stool, scanning the room.
And there he is.
Dark baseball cap.
Tourist jacket.
Too focused on me.
Cold unease slides through my stomach.
“You alright?” Jace asks quietly.
Before I can answer, a drunk voice cuts across the room.
“Well, look who showed up.”
The entire lodge quiets just slightly.
I turn toward the sound and spot a broad man near the stage holding a beer bottle loosely in one hand. Tourist. Late forties. Red-faced already.
He points directly at me.
“Seattle reporter lady,” he says loudly. “Come to write another hit piece about the mountain folk?”
Several people shift uncomfortably.
I straighten slowly. “Just asking questions.”
“Yeah?” he slurs. “That what you people call it now?”