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14

JENSEN

“ H ank!” Aubrey’s voice echoes through the tunnel, bouncing off the stone walls before fading into darkness. The worry in her tone cuts through the steady drip of water and the muffled breathing of the horses. “Did you hear that?” she asks me. “I thought I heard?—”

Suddenly a beam of light appears around the bend behind us. Hank emerges on his mount a moment later, looking sheepish but distinctly unsettled.

“Sorry,” he mutters, clucking to his horse and hurrying to catch up. “Nature called. Didn’t think I’d be missed so quick.”

“Jesus Christ,” I exhale, relief warring with irritation. “Next time tell someone before you decide to take a leak in the middle of a damn tunnel. I didn’t know what you were doing.”

Hank nods, but his eyes keep darting back the way he came. There’s something in his expression I don’t like—the wide-eyed look of a spooked horse. And until today, Hank wasn’t the type of guy to get spooked.

“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low so the others ahead don’t hear.

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Thought I heard something back there. Probably just echoes or rats, but…” He trails off, adjusting his hat with a trembling hand. “Let’s just get the hell out of these tunnels.”

I don’t press him. Better not to give voice to fears in places like this, where the darkness has weight and substance, where whispers can summon things best left undisturbed. Instead, I nod toward the faint gray light ahead where the others are already emerging.

“Almost through. Stay close,” I warn.

The final stretch of tunnel seems to elongate with each step, shadows retreating before our flashlight beams. The air grows heavier, pressing against my skin with clammy insistence. The horses sense it too—Jeopardy’s muscles tense beneath me, his ears flicking nervously back and forth.

Not much longer. Not much further. The mantra repeats with each hoofbeat.

When we finally emerge into the weak afternoon light, it feels like breaking the surface after too long underwater. The relief is immediate but short-lived as the biting wind hits us full force, carrying the first stinging particles of sleet. The turn in the weather that’s been threatening all day is finally making good on its promise. The reports said we should have had a clear spell for a few days, but things change so quickly up here.

“We need to push on,” I call to the others, who have stopped to regroup at the tunnel exit. “Mount Judah’s about three miles along the crest. If we ride hard, we can make it before dark.”

Red glances skeptically at the darkening sky. “In this weather? Trail’s going to disappear in an hour.”

“I know these mountains,” I reply, more sharply than intended. Better than you , I finish silently. “I can find the cabin blindfolded if necessary.”

I check my watch—3:18 p.m. Sunset comes early in October, earlier still when storm clouds blot out the sky. We have maybe two hours of usable light left, less if the snow picks up.

“Eli, take point,” I order, nudging Jeopardy forward. “You remember the way?”

He nods, his expression grave. Eli understands the stakes better than the others. He was there in the aftermath years ago, getting the call from my phone to come get me, luck having me in a rare patch of cell service. He helped me back to the ranch, half-dead and raving about things that couldn’t possibly exist.

Things that very much do exist, as we both know all too well.

The trail leading away from the tunnels follows an old railroad grade for half a mile before branching into the more rugged terrain of the upper slopes. Sleet has given way to light snow by the time we make the turn, fat flakes swirling in the wind and accumulating on the horses’ manes and our shoulders. The temperature is dropping rapidly, the kind of bone-deep mountain cold that seeps through layers and settles in your marrow.

Aubrey rides just ahead of me, her back straight despite what must be considerable discomfort after two days in the saddle. Duke plods carefully beneath her, finding secure footing on the increasingly treacherous path.

She surprises me, this woman. I’d expected complaints, hesitation, fear. Instead, she faces each challenge with quiet determination, adapting quickly to conditions that would break most city dwellers. For a fleeting moment I picture her at home on the ranch, seeing her slip into that lifestyle with ease, before I have to stop myself. I may have tasted her, but I don’t know her and I need to keep that distance between us.

The thought brings a twist of guilt. I push it aside, focusing on the immediate task of reaching shelter before the storm worsens. Before darkness falls.

Before they come out to hunt.

A hundred thousand dollars. That’s what she’s paying me to find Lainey. Enough to clear most of my debt to Marcus, keep the ranch afloat, maintain my mother’s care for another year or more. When she first named the figure, it felt like salvation.

Now, as we climb higher into the teeth of the storm, I wonder if any amount is worth the risk. Worth leading these people—worth leading her —into the territory of things that hunger for human flesh. Things I barely escaped the last time.

The trail steepens, switchbacking up a rocky slope toward the relative shelter of limber and white-bark pine. The trees grow stunted and wind-twisted at this elevation, their branches laden with snow. Between their trunks, I catch glimpses of the valley below, already disappearing beneath a blanket of white.

“How much further?” Cole calls from behind me, voice raised against the strengthening wind.

“Mile and a half, maybe two,” I answer. “We follow this ridge, then drop down into a protected valley. Cabin’s nestled against the eastern slope, sheltered from the worst of the weather and the peak.”

If we make it that far. The light is failing faster than I’d anticipated, the clouds bringing premature darkness. And with darkness comes danger.

I scan the ridgeline above us, searching for movement among the rocks and twisted pines. Nothing yet, but they’re there. Watching. Waiting. A curse as old as the mountains themselves.

Marcus would laugh if he could see me now, jumping at shadows, spooked by old legends. The crime boss values pragmatism above all else—cold, hard cash and the power it brings. To him, the world is simple: predators and prey, winners and losers. He’d never believe the truth about these mountains.

About what almost happened to me.

Sometimes I envy his ignorance, as well as covet his power.

“Jensen.” Eli has dropped back to ride beside me, his voice pitched low. “We’re losing light fast.”

I nod, already calculating. “Shortcut through the Emigrant Glades?”

“Risky in these conditions.”

“Riskier to be caught out after dark.”

Understanding passes between us, unspoken but clear. Eli knows what’s at stake. He nods once, then moves ahead to take the lead, guiding us toward a barely visible game trail that cuts through a stand of pine before ascending sharply toward a rocky saddle. The shortcut will save us nearly thirty minutes—the difference between reaching the cabin before full dark or being caught on the mountain.

I nudge Jeopardy forward, coming alongside Aubrey. “Trail gets rough here. Stay close.”

She glances at me, snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, her cheeks flushed with cold.

Looking damn pretty.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Just the weather,” I lie. “Storm’s moving in now, and faster than expected.”

Her eyes hold mine for a moment too long, searching. She senses there’s more I’m not saying, but mercifully doesn’t press.

The game trail narrows as we climb, forcing us into single file once more. Snow has accumulated enough to obscure the path, but the horses pick their way forward with instinctive caution. Above us, the saddle appears as a dark notch against the rapidly darkening sky. Once we cross it, we’ll drop down into the protected valley where the cabin waits. Just another half hour, maybe less.

A sound carries on the wind—a distant, mournful cry that might be mistaken for a coyote if you didn’t know better. My hand drops to the rifle in its scabbard, a reflexive gesture. Behind me, Hank mutters something that’s lost in the wind.

“Just the storm,” I call back, not believing it myself.

We reach the saddle as the last usable light fades from the sky. The wind hits us full force here, unobstructed by trees or terrain, driving snow horizontally into our faces. I dismount briefly, checking the trail ahead for safe passage. The descent is steep but manageable if we take it slow.

“Everyone dismount and lead your horses,” I order. “Too dangerous to ride down.”

No one argues. The danger is apparent even to Red, who’s been challenging my authority since we left the ranch. One misstep on this slope could mean a broken leg for horse or rider—a possible death sentence in these conditions, this far from help.

I take Jeopardy’s reins in one hand, offering the other hand to Aubrey as she slides stiffly from Duke’s back. Her gloved fingers grip mine for a brief moment, surprisingly strong despite the cold.

“Watch your footing,” I tell her. “Stay between me and Eli.”

The descent is treacherous, each step a negotiation with gravity and uncertain terrain. Snow has filled the depressions between rocks, creating false impressions of solid ground. Twice I have to catch Aubrey as she slips, her body colliding briefly with mine before she regains her balance. Each contact sends an unwelcome surge of awareness through me, a distraction I can’t afford right now, bringing up hungry memories from earlier.

Focus on survival , I remind myself. On reaching shelter. On keeping these people—keeping her —safe through the night ahead.

The cry comes again, closer this time. Not a coyote. Not the wind. I pretend not to hear it, but my pace quickens slightly. The horses grow more agitated, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes, ears flat back. They sense what’s out there, what’s following our scent through the gathering darkness.

“We’re almost there,” I call, voice steady despite the tension coiling in my gut. “Another quarter mile.”

The valley opens before us, a natural bowl sheltered by ridges on three sides. And there, nestled against the eastern slope just as I’d promised, stands the McGraw hunting cabin. It’s a solid structure of timber and stone, built by my grandfather after the war with an understanding of mountain winters and mountain dangers. Two stories with a stone chimney protruding from a steep shake roof that can shed the heaviest snow, and even an exterior door on the second floor just in case the snowpack gets that high, which isn’t unusual here in the middle of winter.

Relief floods through me at the sight, though I know better than to let my guard down. We’re not safe yet. Not until we’re inside those walls, with the doors barred and the fire lit.

“Thank god,” Cole mutters beside me, giving voice to what we’re all feeling.

We move across the valley floor with renewed purpose, fatigue temporarily forgotten in the promise of shelter. The snow is falling heavier now, driven by gusts that cut through layers of clothing to chill the skin beneath. The cabin remains our beacon, a dark silhouette against the whiteout conditions surrounding it.

As we approach, I scan the structure for signs of damage or unwelcome visitors, human squatters or otherwise. The windows are intact, shutters secured against the weather. The door stands firm, no tracks in the snow to suggest recent entry.

“Get the horses into the lean-to and rugged up,” I direct Eli and Cole. “Red, help me get the door open and start a fire.”

For once, Red complies without comment, following me to the cabin’s entrance. We don’t bother locking it. As much as I don’t want strangers squatting here, it seems cruel to lock it up when someone in the area might need to take shelter. I put my hand on the frosted knob and it turns with resistance, metal stiff with disuse and cold. Once inside, Red gets to making the fire in the hearth while I scout the place for mice. I only find dust.

It’s not a huge cabin, but it feels like a second home. Downstairs there’s a kitchen, dining area, living room and bathroom with a compost toilet (you used to have to travel outside to the outhouse, which is still there), then there’s the stairs leading up to a loft that’s divided by a partition, a single bed in each section.

Dinner is a quiet affair—canned stew heated over the stove, hardtack biscuits, some hot chocolate. Red and Cole make use of an old bottle of rye, but I forgo it. No one speaks much beyond practical necessities. The events in the tunnel, the punishing ride through worsening conditions, the isolation of our situation—it all weighs on us differently, but it weighs nonetheless.

Eventually Eli goes out to feed the horses, while Red and Cole drink their rye by the fire. Hank stays by the window, looking outside as if he’s waiting for someone to drop by, someone he doesn’t want to see.

Aubrey sits across from me at the rough-hewn table, steam from her mug of hot chocolate curling around her face like mist. In the wavering lamplight, shadows dance across her features, softening them, making her look younger, more vulnerable. It’s an illusion, I know. There’s nothing vulnerable about Aubrey Wells.

Unless she’s coming on my tongue.

“So, this is your family cabin?” she asks, breaking the silence that has settled over the room.

I nod, setting down my empty bowl. “Built by my grandfather after the war. Used to be our hunting lodge, long ago, back when the ranch ran cattle all the way up to the tree line.”

“You spent a lot of time here as a kid?”

“Summers mostly. My father would bring me up for weeks at a time.” The memories rise—summer storms, not unlike this one, the cabin a haven of warmth and safety while thunder shook the mountains. My father’s quiet voice explaining how to read the weather, the wildlife, the land. “It was…different then.”

“How so?”

I meet her gaze, weighing how much to say. “Simpler. Before the ranch hit hard times. Before my father died and left me with debts I’m still paying off.”

It’s more than I intended to reveal, but something about her steady gaze pulls the truth from me. Not the whole truth—never that—but more than I’m usually comfortable sharing.

“Is that what this job is about?” she asks quietly. “The money?”

When isn’t it? But not enough to risk these people’s lives. Not enough to risk hers.

“It started that way,” I admit. “Now…I’m not sure.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, perhaps, at my honesty. Or maybe she’s just seeing through the layers of bullshit I’ve constructed over the years, the hardened exterior I’ve cultivated to survive in Marcus’s world.

Either way, it’s unsettling.

The moment stretches between us, taut with unspoken questions. Then Cole yawns loudly, breaking the tension.

“Sleeping arrangements?” he asks, already eyeing the steep staircase that leads to the loft above.

“Loft only has two single beds,” I reply, grateful for the change of subject. “Bit cramped, but it’ll do if you spread the sleeping bags out on the rug. Aubrey gets one of them beds, though.”

“I’ll sleep down here,” Aubrey says quickly, already getting to her feet. “More room that way.”

“Not a good idea,” I say. “Heat rises. Loft will be warmer.”

She shakes her head, stubborn, and grabs her sleeping bag from the packs we hauled in from Angus and starts unrolling it. “I’ll be fine by the fire. Besides, someone should keep it stoked through the night.”

“I can do that,” I offer.

“You need your rest more than any of us,” she counters. “You’re the one who knows these mountains. We’re relying on you to get us through this.”

There’s logic in her argument, but all I can think about is her, alone on the main floor, while the rest of us sleep above. Though perhaps she wants the distance, not wanting to sleep among a bunch of strange men. Especially men like Red. I’ve seen the way he watches her when he thinks no one’s looking, a calculation in his eyes that has nothing to do with our mission and everything to do with the isolation of our situation.

Red catches me watching him and smirks, as if reading my thoughts. Something cold settles in my gut, a primal recognition of another predator in my territory. The irony isn’t lost on me—worrying about Red’s intentions while keeping my own firmly in check. As if my thoughts about Aubrey have been entirely pure and professional.

They haven’t. Far from it.

Nothing about us has.

“Suit yourself,” I relent, though everything in me rebels against it. “But if you need anything?—”

“I know where to find you,” she finishes, the ghost of a smile touching her lips.

Eli comes inside, shaking off the snow from his jacket just as the others troop up to the loft, Red, Hank, and Cole already arguing over the single beds. Eli pauses at the foot of the stairs, giving me a questioning look. “Need anything else?”

“As long as the horses are warm and fed and dry, we’re golden,” I tell him. “Get some rest.” He gives me a steady look. “Go on. I’ll be up in a minute.”

When it’s just Aubrey and me in the main room, I find myself reluctant to leave. She’s arranging her sleeping bag closer to the fire, her movements practical and efficient. The firelight catches in her hair, turning the blonde strands to gold, highlighting the strong line of her jaw, the graceful curve of her neck.

“Something else on your mind, cowboy?” she asks without looking up. Her voice is throaty, sending a rush of blood straight to my cock.

“Keep that front door locked,” I say, forcing my thoughts back to practical matters. “Don’t open the blinds, don’t open the door. No matter what you hear.”

Now she does look up, her expression questioning. “What would I hear?”

“Wind can play tricks in these mountains,” I say carefully. “Make you think you hear things that aren’t there. Voices. Names being called.”

She studies me for a long moment. “Like what I heard the other night?”

She knows the answer. “Just keep the door locked. And keep that fire going.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re really afraid of,” she says softly. “What’s out there that has you so on edge. You dance around it like you’re in the ballet.”

“Get some sleep, Aubrey,” I reply, ignoring her as I move toward the stairs. “Morning comes early up here.”

“Jensen.” Her voice stops me at the foot of the staircase. “Thank you. For bringing me this far.”

I glance back at her, this woman who has upended everything, who makes me want to be better than I am. Who makes me think redemption might still be possible, even for me.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn her. “We haven’t found your sister.”

The look she gives me is too perceptive, too knowing. “But we’re going to.”

I climb the stairs without answering, each step taking me farther from her but not from the question that hangs in the air between us. The question that has haunted me for three years.

What will Aubrey do when she finally learns the truth about her sister?

And what will she think of me when she discovers my part in it?