Page 57 of Deadly Force

He bows his head, voice low and reverent. "Lord, we need wisdom. Courage. We're walking blind, and You see what we can't. If this is the spot, help us find it. And if it's not, don't let us waste time."

I barely hear the rest.

My mind's doing something it has no business doing. Wandering down paths thatfeel dangerous.

I tear my gaze away from him. Anything to stop the desire to confess something I shouldn’t.

Over twenty minutes pass by, nothing but dust, scrub, and sweat when something catches my eye.

My chest tightens as I spy the corner of faded cardboard.

“Over here,” I call.

Caleb's head snaps up, following my gaze.

Half-hidden under a nest of brittle branches and packed dirt, like something deliberately concealed. A torn edge of cardboard, sun-faded and warped, but unmistakable.

We crouch together, our knees almost touching in the dirt. My fingers dig carefully, brushing aside dry leaves and twigs.

God answered our prayers. Caleb's prayer.

It's heavier than I remember. Heavier than any collection of paper and cardboard should be.

Beside me, Caleb is quiet. Focused. But I feel the tension in him like a current under the surface—tight, coiled, ready to spring.

“Keep it hidden. We don’t know who might be watching,” he says.

I nod and tuck it under my arm. Just like I did the night Eliza gave it to me.

We're almost to the parking lot when Caleb slows. "Hold up.”

He signals Reese, who's waiting just ahead with a watchful calm he wears like second skin. Nothingabout him twitches. He just shifts his weight, scans the horizon, like someone trained to expect trouble behind every tree.

My heart rate jumps. “What’s wrong?”

"I should have done this earlier.”

“Done what?”

He gestures to Reese.

“We need to run a sweep," Caleb says, his voice low and clipped. "Gear, phone. Anything that could be leaking location."

The words hit me like cold water. Of course. Of course they'd think of that.

Reese doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a slim scanner from the case, something that looks military-grade, expensive. Powers it on with the efficiency of someone who's done this a thousand times. The low whine cuts through the dry air, electronic and alien in this place of dirt and sage.

He passes it over my bag first, moving methodically. My phone, my jacket, the sleeves of my shirt. Each pass makes my stomach tighten a little more. Then the binder itself, running the scanner along every edge, every corner.

Silence. Just the wind and that electronic whine.

He adjusts the frequency. The tone shifts higher, more urgent. Scans again, slower this time, more thorough.

Still nothing.

"No signal," he says finally, but his voice carries anote I don't like. Uncertainty. Worry. "No tracker. Not on her. Not on anything she's carrying."

Caleb looks at me, then at the empty space around us. The trail stretching behind us. Everywhere we've already been, every step we've taken that might have been watched.