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Odd indeed.

I wrapped the warmed towel around my torso and swung the door open, releasing a massive cloud of steam into the small cabin. From his oversized bed, Benny watched with a raised brow as I hurried through to the bedroom. In record time, I was dressed in a pressed uniform, still-wet hair tied back in a tight bun at the nape of my neck, and hat situated. After securing the tactical belt around my hips, I tossed a treat across the room to Benny.

“I’ll be back later. Do you need to go potty before I go?”

In response, he stood, swiveled in his bed to put his lean backside to me, and lay down with an annoyed humph.

“Fine, then. No raiding the pantry while I’m gone either. Last time you got into the Frosted Flakes, your toots stunk me out for a week.”

Yes, I was having a conversation with a dog.

And yes, I truly believed he understood.

All animal lovers did. Which I was to the extreme, if you believed what others said. Which was why I went to college for wildlife management. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a Texas game warden.

But that never happened. No, one man, one deranged man, snuffed out my dream and pushed me from the beautiful state I once called home. Made me move thousands of miles away from my family and friends just to find a sliver of peace.

One day I’d move on.

One day I’d feel safe again. Trust again. Live again.

One day.

* * *

I’d workedseveral crime scenes in this park and in the Smokies over the last few years, but this one felt different the minute I pulled up. Yellow tape marked off a small section of the picnic area, while across the way the Search and Rescue team hunkered around a map, all fierce-faced as they formed their plans. I stepped out of the park-issued truck and scanned the scene again, hoping to pick up any subtleties I missed initially. In a master’s class I audited last fall, I learned to see what no one else saw, to pick up on the minute details that seemed ordinary until you zeroed in.

Three minutes I stayed by the truck, warmed by my heavy park police jacket, to observe the crowd. A few visitors gawked from their picnic tables, whispering to each other, probably trying to guess what was happening. To their right, five young kids chased a scurrying group of overactive chipmunks, squealing every so often when one got too close.

A booming, angry voice carried through the crowd, drawing my attention from the kids to the massive man surrounded by three teenage boys, towering over a volunteer ranger with a shaking fist.

That had to be the husband of… I looked down to my notepad to jog my memory.

Right, Christina Brown—the missing woman.

After mentally cataloging every detail of the scene, I lunged over the short wooden railing separating the picnic area from the parking lot to join the group. The quick flash of relief in the ranger’s eyes when I approached wasn’t difficult to miss.

I cleared my throat of the building knot and extended my hand between us. Dang, he was even bulkier up close. “Sir, I’m Officer Alta Johnson.” His massive hand wrapped around mine and squeezed. Careful not to show a wince, I yanked my hand back and clasped both behind my back. “Our division manager read me up on what happened, but I’d like to hear your version.”

“Where’s my wife?” he growled. An angry snarl curled the right corner of his upper lip.

“Sir,” I said calmly. “I promise you we’re working on it, doing all we can at this point. I would like to hear from you what happened.”

Strong tatted arms crossed over his broad chest. “The boys and I went on a hike over—”

“Which trail?” I cut in.

“That one.” He pointed toward the Grand Ditch trailhead several yards away.

While still staring toward the trail, I nodded and motioned for him to keep going.

“We were gone for like four hours—”

“Why didn’t your wife go with you?”

His frustration fell as a sad, wistful smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Hiking is our thing,” he said, motioning between him and the three boys. “Reading was hers. She loved coming out here and giving us time alone while she got some alone time of her own. They can be a pain in the ass— “

“Dad,” the shortest one grumbled.