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16

AUbrEY

I wake to the dying embers of the fire and the sound of the cabin door closing. Pale morning light filters through the gaps in the shutters, casting thin stripes across the rough-hewn floorboards.

I stretch beneath the heavy wool blanket, memories of the night washing over me in fragments—Jensen’s strong hands moving over my skin, alternating between unexpected gentleness and frenzied roughness, his mouth hot against my neck, the weight of him pressing me into the bearskin rug before the hearth. The quiet intensity in his eyes when he looked down at me in the firelight, as if memorizing every detail before he flipped me over and took me from behind.

I sit up, running a hand through my tangled hair. The cabin is quiet save for the occasional creak of timber adjusting to the morning sun. From upstairs come the sounds of men still sleeping—Cole’s loud snore, the rustle of someone turning in a bunk. They don’t know what transpired down here last night. Or at least, I hope they don’t.

I sigh and stare at my hands. I know sleeping with Jensen was reckless and unprofessional. Carlos would have my badge if he knew I’d compromised an investigation by getting involved with a person of interest.

And yet, this isn’t an official investigation and Jensen isn’t a person of interest. I’m not here as Special Agent Wells of the FBI. I’m just Aubrey, a woman searching for her sister. A woman who, for a few hours last night, found comfort in the arms of a man as haunted as she is.

The thing is, he knows what I’m haunted by.

I don’t know what he is.

And he’s certainly haunted by something.

I grab my clothes and dress quickly in the cold air, layering thermals beneath shirts and flannel, slipping on my jeans. My gun is still tucked deep in my bag where the others won’t notice it. I quickly bring it out, the familiar weight of it offers reassurance as I check the chamber and safety before returning it to its hiding place.

Old habits die hard.

By the time I’ve used the toilet, rekindled the fire, and put coffee on to boil, the sound of movement from above tells me the others are waking. I brace myself for the day ahead, for navigating not just the dangerous terrain outside, but the shifting dynamics within our small group.

The door opens, bringing a blast of cold air and the sharp scent of pine. Jensen steps inside, stamping snow from his boots on the threshold. His eyes find mine immediately, something unreadable passing through them before his expression closes off.

“Morning,” he says, voice gruff. “Storm’s passed. Left about eight inches of fresh snow. You’re going to need a better jacket today.”

“Got one. Good tracking conditions?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral, professional.

“Nothing better than fresh snow for recent tracks,” he says. “Can’t say the same for old tracks. But it will do.”

The moment stretches between us, loaded with everything we’re not saying, not just about the sex, but also the idea of fresh tracks in general. Then footsteps on the stairs break the spell as Eli descends, followed closely by Cole and Hank.

“Coffee?” Eli asks hopefully, sniffing the air.

“Almost ready,” I reply, grateful for the distraction from the awkwardness between Jensen and I. “Won’t be as good as yours, though.”

Red is the last to appear, his gaze moving between Jensen and me with calculating interest. There’s something in his expression that sets my teeth on edge—the look of a man who knows more than he’s letting on. The kind of man that covets.

“Beautiful day for a hunt,” he drawls, dropping into a chair at the table. “So what’s the plan, boss?”

The question is directed at Jensen, but Red’s eyes remain fixed on me, assessing, almost predatory. It takes considerable effort not to shift under his scrutiny, not to reveal the discomfort his attention triggers. He seems the type that thrives on making women uncomfortable and I have more than my fair share of experience with men like that.

Jensen moves to the woodstove, pouring coffee into tin mugs before answering. “We’ll head northwest from here, toward Cedar Creek. It’s about a couple miles as the crow flies, but slower going with the fresh snow. Look around, search for clues, come back. Should take most of the day.”

“Why Cedar Creek?” I ask, accepting the mug he offers without letting our fingers touch. “What’s there?”

“Just a hunch,” he replies, not quite meeting my eyes.

Breakfast is a quick affair—instant oatmeal and a few strips of jerky, washed down with more coffee. The cabin gradually warms as the fire establishes itself, but a certain chill remains in the air between us all, as if we’ve been unable to shake the trials of yesterday’s ride.

As if we’re mentally preparing for something to get worse.

Eli does the dishes with quiet efficiency, occasionally glancing at Jensen with a question in his eyes that goes unanswered. The rest prepare the packs. I make sure my duffel is always in my sight. It feels like the longer I’m here, in a small space with Jensen and his crew, the more chance I’ll slip up. I know I can blame the firearm on just being an American woman, but I don’t want them to question me at all.

Jensen is back to being all business, the man from last night—vulnerable, tender, rough, almost desperate in his need—is nowhere to be found. In his place stands the hard-eyed guide, focused solely on the task ahead. Guess I should appreciate his commitment to Lainey, even if he’s doing it because I’m paying him all my inheritance.

“Make sure you dress warm,” he instructs as we prepare to leave. “Basin’s exposed, wind cuts like a knife up there.”

Outside, the world has been transformed. A blanket of pristine white covers everything—the trees, the cabin roof, the horses in their lean-to who snort their hellos. The sky above is a hard, brilliant blue, the sun reflecting off the snow with blinding intensity. The mountains rise around us, majestic and indifferent to the human drama playing out in their shadow.

It’s absolutely beautiful, the fresh sharp air filling my lungs, and yet there’s something menacing in the beauty. Like it’s all an illusion, darkness and depravity waiting just underneath the icy skin.

The horses are skittish as we saddle them, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes at shadows, as if they too know the dangers that lurk out of sight. Duke seems particularly unsettled, dancing sideways when I approach with the saddle blanket.

“Easy,” I murmur, stroking his neck the way Jensen does. “What’s got you spooked, boy?”

“Animals sense things we don’t,” Eli says, appearing beside me with Duke’s bridle. “Horses especially. Their systems are extra sensitive to energies.”

“Energies?”

He gives me a look I can’t quite interpret—part warning, part appraisal. “Among other things. Did you know that your horse can synch their heartbeat with yours? It’s one reason why they can supposedly smell fear—they can sense the energy change. It’s also why equine therapy works. I’d reckon Duke has been good for you and you for him. Perhaps you’ll be able to reassure him that everything is fine.”

Yeah, except I know deep down it isn’t.

The ride to Cedar Creek takes us through terrain that grows increasingly wild with each mile. The trail, barely visible beneath the fresh snow, winds through stands of pine before opening onto exposed ridgelines where the wind has sculpted the snow into fantastic shapes. In places, the drifts are deep enough that the horses struggle, plunging through to their knees.

We crest a ridge around mid-morning, the ground falling away before us to reveal a natural basin cupped between mountain slopes. A frozen creek cuts through its center, its course marked by scrub brush poking through the snow.

“Cedar Creek,” Jensen announces, reining in Jeopardy to wait for the rest of us.

“Don’t see no cedar here,” Hank grumbles, pulling his scarf higher against the wind.

“They were planted further downstream,” Eli explains. “Old mining claims all through here in the 1880s. Exploited the natural cave system and then some. They tried to establish cedar groves too, for lumber.”

“What are you, a fuckin’ encyclopedia?” Red spits out.

“Hey, it’s not Eli’s fault you flunked out of grade school,” Jensen shoots back. It seems like good-natured ribbing, but Red’s expression doesn’t agree.

As we descend into the basin, I scan the landscape with new eyes. The FBI teaches its agents to observe systematically, to build a mental grid and process each section methodically. Time to put that training to use. Nothing immediately jumps out as unusual—just pristine snow, scattered pines, and the frozen creek winding through it all, but I feel my focus laser in. Perhaps I’m not too dissimilar from a tracker after all.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Cole asks, giving voice to the question in my mind.

Jensen doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the far side of the basin where a rocky outcrop juts from the snow like broken teeth. “Anything that doesn’t belong,” he says finally. “Anything…unnatural.”

At that, Duke suddenly tosses his head, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring.

“Whoa,” I murmur, tightening my grip on the reins as he sidesteps nervously. “What is it?”

Jensen is already scanning the tree line, one hand dropping to the rifle at his side. “Everyone stay alert.”

“Bear?” Cole asks, his own hand moving to his weapon.

“Maybe, though up here they should be in their den at this point,” Eli says.

Meanwhile, Jensen’s entire body has gone taut, eyes narrowed against the glare as he searches the shadows between trees.

Then I see it, a splash of dark color against the pristine white, perhaps a hundred yards ahead where the basin narrows toward the creek. At first glance, I think it’s exposed earth or a fallen log. But there’s something about the shape that strikes me as deliberate, organized.

Not organic.

“Jensen,” I say quietly, nodding toward it.

He follows my gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay here,” he orders, urging Jeopardy forward alone.

“Like hell,” I mutter to myself, nudging Duke to follow despite his reluctance.

As we draw closer, the dark shape resolves into something that makes my stomach clench. It’s a deer—or what’s left of one—arranged in the snow with meticulous precision. The animal has been dismembered, its parts laid out in a pattern that forms a crude star or sunburst. The snow around it is stained crimson, shockingly vivid against the white.

“Christ Almighty,” Hank breathes behind me, also having ignored Jensen’s order to stay back.

Jensen dismounts, approaching the grisly display on foot with a caution that speaks of experience rather than shock. I follow suit, sliding carefully from Duke’s back and securing his reins to a nearby sapling. My hand instinctively shifts toward where my weapon would be, but of course it’s back at the cabin. I stop myself and look around to see if anyone noticed me reaching for an imaginary gun.

And meet Red’s eyes.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a crude smile.

Fuck.

“Don’t touch anything,” Jensen warns us as I turn my attention back to him, hoping Red made nothing of it. “Not until we figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Pretty obvious what we’re dealing with,” Cole says, though he makes no move to dismount. “Got ourselves a sick bastard playing games.”

But as I crouch beside the arrangement, my training kicks in, eyes cataloging details that don’t support Cole’s simple explanation. The cuts are too precise, too clean for a knife or axe. There’s minimal blood despite the extensive dismemberment, suggesting the animal was killed elsewhere and arranged here deliberately, even though there’s no trail of blood.

“This isn’t random,” I say, meeting Jensen’s gaze over the carcass. “And it’s not the work of a sick bastard .”

“No,” he agrees quietly. “It’s a message.”

“A message for who?” Red asks, keeping his distance from the grisly display.

“For us,” Eli says, his voice unnaturally calm.

“Someone’s been watching us,” Jensen says. “Following our trail.”

“Or they’ve been here all along,” I counter, scanning the tree line with renewed wariness. “Waiting for us somehow.”

Everyone else follows my gaze.

“The blood’s still liquid,” I go on, noting the way it pools rather than freezes in the snow. “This is recent. Hours, not days.”

“Well, well, well. Since when did you become Meredith Grey?” Red comments with a hoarse chuckle.

I would have laughed at the fact that Red watches Grey’s Anatomy if only his eyes weren’t narrowed at me in suspicion.

“Could have happened during the night,” Cole suggests. “While we were at the cabin. Maybe it wasn’t as cold.”

“No,” Jensen says with a certainty that draws my attention. “This was done this morning. After we set out for here.”

Suddenly, Duke throws his head back, yanking his reins free from the sapling with enough force to break it. A shrill whinny cuts through the cold air as he bolts, heading toward the tree line at the basin’s edge.

Oh fuck, my ride.

“Duke!” I call, already starting after him.

Jensen’s hand closes around my arm, stopping me. “Let him go.”

“Are you crazy? We can’t just?—”

“Something spooked him,” Jensen cuts me off, his grip tightening. “Something that might still be out there. We stay together. He’ll be back. He’s not dumb. He’ll find his way to us.”

I wrench my arm free, anger flaring hot and quick. “That’s my horse! I’m not leaving him.”

“Jensen is right,” Eli says, his calm voice a counterpoint to the tension crackling between Jensen and me. “If Duke ran, there was a reason. Probably ran back to Angus at the cabin.”

“You don’t know that and it’s all the more reason then to find him before something else does,” I argue. “I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

A standoff ensues—me against Jensen and Eli, with the others watching from the sidelines.

Jensen moves closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Aubrey, listen to me. We’re not abandoning Duke. I love that horse to death. But something out here is playing games with us, and I’m not letting you walk into a trap.”

The intensity in his eyes gives me pause. There’s genuine fear there, not for himself but for me. After what happened between us last night, I can’t dismiss it as merely professional concern.

“Fine,” I relent, though it costs me. “But what do we do? We can’t just leave him out here.”

“We’ll circle back toward the tree line together,” Jensen says, motioning to the others. “Everyone stays close, weapons ready.”

Red and Cole draw their rifles, while Hank produces a revolver from inside his coat. Eli stays close to the horses, keeping them calm with low murmurs and gentle touches. Once again I wish I had my weapon on me. Maybe I could ask them for a spare when we get back.

As we move toward the trees, I notice Jensen studying the snow intently, eyes tracking something invisible to me.

“What do you see?” I ask quietly.

“Tracks,” he replies. “But not Duke’s.”

I follow his gaze, squinting against the snow’s glare. At first I see nothing, then subtle indentations in the otherwise pristine snow, leading toward the same stand of pines Duke had bolted for.

“Human?” I ask, though something tells me it’s not.

Jensen shakes his head slightly. “Not exactly.”

Before I can press for clarification, a sound echoes from the trees—a horse’s distressed whinny, unmistakably Duke’s.

“There!” I point toward a flash of movement among the pines, Duke’s reddish coat visible for just a moment before disappearing deeper into the forest.

Jensen raises his hand, signaling the others to halt while he studies the terrain ahead. The forest here is dense, shadows pooling beneath the pines. Perfect cover for an ambush.

“We’re exposed out here,” Cole mutters, nervously scanning the tree line. “Fish in a fucking barrel if somebody’s got a rifle.”

“Nobody’s got a rifle,” Jensen says with a certainty I don’t understand. “They don’t work that way.”

“Work what way?” I demand, tired of the vague warnings and half-explanations. “What the hell do you think is out there, Jensen?”

He meets my gaze, and for a moment I think he might finally tell me the truth. Then his expression hardens.

“Stay here,” he orders. “All of you.” Before anyone can object, he’s striding toward the forest, rifle at the ready.

“Jensen!” I call after him. “For Christ’s sake!”

But he doesn’t look back, disappearing into the shadows between the trees.

“Your boyfriend’s more stubborn than you, city girl,” Red drawls, stepping up beside me.

I ignore the jab, focusing instead on the point where Jensen vanished. Minutes stretch into an eternity as we wait, the only sound the whisper of wind across snow and the occasional snort from the remaining horses.

“Something’s wrong,” I finally say. “He should have found Duke by now.”

“Or something found him,” Hank mutters darkly.

I glare at him, but the cold knot of fear in my stomach tightens. Without thinking, I find myself moving toward the tree line, as if I’m being pulled there.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Cole demands.

“To find Jensen and Duke,” I say without breaking stride.

“He said to stay put,” Eli reminds me.

“I don’t work for him, he’s working for me ,” I snap back. “And I’m not leaving neither him nor Duke out there alone.”

I can feel their eyes on my back as I walk away—Cole’s disapproval, Hank’s fear, Red’s calculating interest. Only Eli’s gaze holds something like understanding, though he makes no move to follow me.

The transition from open basin to forest is abrupt, sunlight giving way to deep shadow. The air here is different—colder, heavier, carrying scents of pine resin and something else, something metallic and faintly sweet. Like blood.

“Jensen?” I call, voice echoing strangely among the trees. “Duke?”

No answer comes but the soft whisper of snow falling from branches.

I push deeper into the forest, following what I hope are Jensen’s tracks. The snow is disturbed here, multiple sets of prints overlapping, making it impossible to tell which belong to Duke, which to Jensen, and which to whatever else might be moving through these woods.

A branch snaps somewhere to my right, the sound like a gunshot in the stillness. I freeze, holding my breath, straining to see through the pattern of light and shadow.

Nothing moves.

“Jensen,” I try again, softer this time. “Are you here?”

Another snap, closer now, followed by the soft crunch of snow under heavy weight. Something is circling me, just out of sight.

My hand moves instinctively toward where my gun should be, finding nothing but the fabric of my coat. I’m cursing myself for leaving it behind. I back slowly toward the nearest tree, putting something solid at my back.

“I know you’re there,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady but failing because I’m scared as shit. “Show yourself.”

The forest holds its breath, like a predator considering its prey.

A tawny shape starts moving through the underbrush, powerful muscles rippling beneath its fur. A mountain lion, much larger than I expected, its amber eyes fixed on me with singular focus.

My breath catches in my throat, my stomach turning to water. The massive cat pauses, crouching slightly as it gauges the distance between us. I’ve heard all the advice about what to do when facing a mountain lion—make yourself look bigger, make noise, fight back if attacked—but in this moment, all that knowledge evaporates in the face of primal terror.

The mountain lion takes a slow step forward, its massive paw crunching in the snow. I press my back harder against the tree, searching desperately for any weapon, any advantage.

There’s nothing.

We stare at each other, locked in a silent confrontation. Its nostrils flare, taking in my scent. Then, unexpectedly, it hesitates. The great cat’s ears flatten against its skull and it lets out a low hiss, almost as if it’s detected something about me that it doesn’t like.

The mountain lion takes a step backward, then another, still watching me intently. I remain frozen, barely daring to breathe.

Suddenly, the crack of a branch breaking echoes through the trees. The mountain lion’s head snaps toward the sound, and in an instant, it’s gone—a golden streak disappearing into the forest undergrowth.

“Who’s there?” I yell in the direction of the sound, my voice breaking.

“Aubrey!” Jensen’s voice cuts through the silence, followed by the sound of him crashing through the trees, flooding my body with relief.

Moments later, Jensen emerges from the forest, Duke’s reins in one hand, his rifle ready in the other. His face transforms from concern to fury when he sees me.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demands, striding toward me. “I told you to stay with the others!”

“I was worried,” I manage, my voice shakier than I’d like. “You were taking too long.”

“So you decided to wander into the forest alone?” His voice rises with each word, eyes blazing. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

Uh, yeah.

“There was a mountain lion,” I tell him, still trying to process what just happened. “It was right here, watching me. It could have attacked, but it didn’t. It ran off when it heard you coming.”

Jensen’s gaze does a quick sweep of the surrounding forest. “Mountain lions don’t typically approach humans unless they’re desperate or sick.”

“Well, this one did,” I insist. “It was huge, Jensen. It was stalking me.”

He studies my face for a moment, something complicated passing through his eyes. “You got lucky. Very lucky.” His voice softens slightly, concern edging out anger. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Just rattled.” I reach out to Duke, running a hand down his neck, staring into his dark eyes that seem a little calmer now. “You found him,” I say, smiling.

“He was headed back already,” Jensen says. “Like I knew he would. A smart horse knows when to return to safety.” The emphasis on the word smart isn’t lost on me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, though a part of me isn’t. “I couldn’t just wait there, not knowing. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Jensen’s jaw tightens for a moment, intensity building in his eyes, and I think he might do something brash, like kiss me. But then he shakes his head. “Reckon I should be flattered. Let’s get back to the others before something else decides to take an interest in us.”

He pulls back and I realize how badly I was actually yearning for his touch. I’m usually pretty good at just sleeping with a guy and keeping it casual, but after last night I worry that maybe I’m starting to feel things for him that I shouldn’t. Not just in a physical way, which is a given, but something…more.

But I know how stupid that is. Things are already complicated enough.

We walk in tense silence, Jensen leading Duke through the trees, me following a step behind. The relief of being found quickly gives way to a prickling awareness that we’re still not alone out here. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, of eyes tracking our movement through the forest.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the mountain lion crouched in our tracks, ready to pounce. Nothing but trees and shadows meet my gaze, yet the sensation remains—a weight on the back of my neck, the instinctive knowledge of a predator’s focus.

“Stop looking back,” Jensen says gruffly, not breaking stride. “Just keep walking.”

“I feel like something’s following us,” I whisper.

“I know,” he replies, and there’s a grimness to his voice that chills me more than the cold. “That’s why we keep moving.”

We continue in silence, each step taking us closer to the relative safety of the open basin. Yet with every yard gained, the sensation of being observed only intensifies, as if whatever watches us is growing bolder, more certain of its advantage.

When we finally emerge from the tree line, I nearly sag with relief. The others are where we left them, horses saddled and ready, faces anxious as they spot us approaching.

“Found her wandering in the woods,” Jensen announces, his voice carrying an edge that makes me wince. “Had a close encounter with a mountain lion.”

“Lord,” Cole mutters. “You’ve got a death wish, lady.”

“Are all city folk this dumb, or just you?” Red adds with a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, Red,” Jensen growls.

But I ignore them, too focused on the forest behind us. I turn to look again, one last time, scanning the shadows between the trees.

Nothing moves. No tawny shape, no amber eyes reflecting the sunlight. Just still, silent forest.

Yet the certainty remains—we’re being hunted.

But by what, I’m no longer sure.

“We’re heading back,” Jensen announces, handing Duke’s reins to me. “Now.”

To my surprise, no one argues, though they exchange confused glances and shrugs. I check Duke over carefully for any sign of injury before mounting. He seems calmer now, though his ears still flick nervously toward the trees.

As we ride back across the basin, I can’t stop myself from glancing repeatedly behind us. The forest stands silent and watchful under the afternoon sun, revealing nothing of what it conceals.

But I can feel it watching us go. Waiting.

And something tells me, deep down, it isn’t a giant cat.