Page 36

T he next morning, Adam rolled out of bed to a gut feeling he couldn’t shake. Something was wrong. He dressed quickly, not bothering with breakfast, and stepped outside into the early morning chill.

Bolt was already at the gate, pawing the wood chips like he sensed it, too.

Rusty stood near the barn door, arms folded. “Peter didn’t show up for morning feed,” he said. “I haven’t asked much of him. A few chores in the morning, a few in the afternoon. Nothing more than a parent might ask a child.”

Adam frowned. “That’s not like him. He’s been doing well, right?”

“Yep. But we’re also missing two bales of hay from the southern stack.”

Adam scanned the horizon, jaw tight. “You think someone was here?”

“I think someone never left. I don’t know.

Maybe one of Brett’s crew is messing with us.

He landed just over the hill, in Palmer.

The rancher don’t care much for Clara Mae, so he probably believed whatever rhetoric Brett spouted off.

Not like Clara Mae’s gonna tell him otherwise.

She probably hopes Brett’ll take him for all he took her for. ”

Claire joined them a moment later, limping slightly on crutches but otherwise okay. “I didn’t sleep well,” she admitted. “Had the strangest dream. Felt like someone was watching me.”

Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “Gut’s been off all morning.”

Adam motioned for them to wait. He jogged toward the tree line. About thirty feet in, he crouched low. Fresh tracks — too heavy for Peter, and definitely not Clara Mae’s boots.

He followed the prints until he found a cigarette butt, still fresh.

No one smoked on Clara Mae’s ranch. Even the new hands had heard about the cattle prod incident. If they needed nicotine to get through the day, Adam suggested dip. He couldn’t stand watching the guys chew tobacco, but for many, nicotine was a harder addiction to break than alcohol.

A partial boot print smeared the dirt beside the butt, pointing toward the back trail that led to the main road.

He turned back, fury building. “Someone was watching. And they weren’t just out for a stroll.”

Rusty met his eyes. “You think it’s connected to Claire’s kidnapping?”

Adam didn’t answer right away. “I think it never ended.”

Claire reached for his arm. “Be careful, Adam?”

He glanced toward the ridge. “I will. But I intend to find out who it is. And make sure they never come near you again.”

Behind them, the ranch felt still, but the air carried a charge. The kind of hush right before a storm.

* * *

Adam hoped Peter was just acting out. He’d been extra good since Claire’s kidnapping. But now… he hadn’t come home.

He checked twice, his flashlight slicing through the trees near the old fence line and then up toward the abandoned barn behind Clara Mae’s property.

Nothing. No sign of his brother. Just the eerie sound of wind dragging loose metal across the roof.

He tried not to panic. Peter had always been impulsive. But something felt different.

Claire waited in the kitchen when he returned, wrapped in one of Clara Mae’s oversized cardigans, a cup of tea going cold on the table.

She used the table to push herself up when he walked in. “Still no sign?”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Do you think… whoever was watching… do you think they got to him?”

Adam leaned against the sink and stared out the window. “If they did, I’ll burn the whole world down to get him back.”

She stepped close. “We’ll find him. Just like you found me.”

He looked down at her, worry grinding behind his eyes. “He’s slipping, Claire. I can see it in his eyes. I hear it in the way he talks. He’s been good, but there’s something blank there.”

It reminded him of a battered horse. Luckily, Bolt had been rescued in time. Some horses could never heal from scars inflicted.

He hoped Peter wouldn’t hold onto his inflictions. You had to want to heal.

“He’s a kid,” Claire defended him.

Adam snorted. “He hasn’t been a kid since the night our parents died.”

A beat passed. Claire reached for his hand. “Neither have you.”

The screen door slammed without warning.

Both of them jumped. Clara Mae burst in, coat half-on, face flushed. “Just got a call from a bartender at Grizz’s. Someone was asking about Thomas Belgarde.”

Rusty walked in right after her.

“Grizz’s?” Adam asked, looking to both of them.

“It’s a roughneck bar in Falcon Run,” Rusty said.

“I called around, asking owners and bartenders to let me know if anyone comes looking for the Belgardes or… seeking muscle .” He motioned to Clara Mae.

“Mom here put up an award. If the men who took Claire and now Peter are from out of town, they’ll go to a dive bar for…

let’s say… contracted help. The kind of help that don’t clock out at five. ”

Adam was already moving. “I’ll go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Claire said, grabbing her coat.

“No. You’re not.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You’ve been through enough.”

Claire’s jaw clenched. “And so have you. Don’t shut me out.”

He hesitated. “Okay. But you stay in the truck. Knowing you’re there will keep me from beating someone to a pulp.”

She didn’t argue. She’d won the more important battle.

They drove the long stretch of highway north, the birch trees thick with shimmering early summer leaves. The sky darkened with more than just night closing in. Storm clouds gathered behind the mountains, thick and gray, as if Alaska herself knew danger was circling.

Adam remembered the bar now. Thomas had pointed it out once, said it was the roughest bar in Falcon Run. Far as Adam knew, it was the only bar in his hometown.

The rickety building didn’t look like much. No windows. No character. Just a long timber wood building. The only feature that stood out was a larger-than-life black door with a steel pipe contraption rigged up like a makeshift handle.

Adam didn’t wait for the truck to stop fully before jumping out.

A familiar figure stood outside near a sagging fence post — Jeff, in a frayed Army jacket, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked up just in time to see Adam charging.

“Whoa! Whoa!” Jeff held up both hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Exactly!” Adam snarled, grabbing him by the front of the jacket and slamming him back into the fence. “You didn’t do anything, and now Peter’s missing! You told me you’d help find the guys who… You promised, Jeff. But now Peter’s missing.”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I have tried, I swear. I don’t know who they are, man. I’ve kept my ear to the ground.”

Adam stared him down for a long second, then shoved him aside.

Claire climbed out of the truck, her cast thudding softly on the gravel. “Adam…”

Jeff turned to her. “Claire, thank God you’re okay. Look, I don’t know who they are. I told Adam the same thing. All I know is… some friend hooked Thomas up. Someone down south was all Thomas ever said.”

South … Adam thought. From Falcon Run, south could be Wasilla, Anchorage, Seward, or the Lower 48. Everywhere was south.

“Wait!” Jeff said. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t.” Adam’s fists clenched again. “Someone was in the bar just a bit ago, asking about Thomas.”

“Here?”

Adam stepped closer. “Yeah. Never mind, I’ll go check it out.”

The take-charge Jeff — the one who’d dragged him and Peter out of the house — stepped past him.

“Not happening, kid. You’re tough, I’ll give you that, but they’ll tear you a new one in there.” He slapped him on the back. “Hang on. And put her back in the truck.”

Claire crossed her arms. “No one puts me —”

“Thanks, Jeff.” Adam wrapped an arm around Claire. “You said you’d stay in the truck.”

Fifteen tense minutes passed, then Jeff pushed through the large black door. The long guitar riff from Stairway to Heaven — another of Thomas’s favorites — followed until the door swung closed with a thud.

He took a drag off his cigarette, then jogged to the driver’s side.

Adam rolled down the window.

Jeff leaned on the frame. “According to Big John, some guys came in a few days ago, looking for some crank. He’s been off a couple of days. Just got back tonight and saw the note Rusty left for him.”

“ Crank ?” Adam asked. “As in crankshaft?”

“No, kiddo. Like methamphetamine , the stuff your brother was making out in that old dry cabin behind your property. Their next question, after plying Big John with a pretty hefty tip was if he happened to know an old friend of theirs, Thomas Belgarde.”

Adam’s blood ran cold.

Claire gasped.

Adam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re not watching us… they’re hunting… until they find the one who can give them what they want.”

* * *

It was well after midnight when Adam pulled back into the ranch. He parked the truck, but neither he nor Claire moved to get out right away.

The barn stood quiet under a gauze of moonlight, and the mountains looming in the distance like silent witnesses.

“Clara Mae’s scared,” Adam said quietly. “I saw it in her eyes. She took us in like her own, and now we’ve brought trouble to her and her ranch.”

Claire rubbed her hands together, nervous energy tightening her shoulders. “So am I.”

He turned to her. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. You should be resting, not chasing down my messes.”

She gritted her teeth. “Don’t say that. This isn’t just about you. Or Peter. Or even Thomas. My cousin sicced them on me, Adam. That makes it my fight, too.”

He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll check out that old trapper’s cabin near the creek. If Peter needed to hide somewhere, that’s a place he knows.”

Claire nodded, pushing down the growing fear that they were already too late.

Inside the house, Clara Mae was still awake. She sat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in one hand and her .22 revolver resting beside her.

“You didn’t find him,” she said flatly.

Adam shook his head. “Not yet. But we will.”