Page 21

20

AUbrEY

T he sky is the kind of endless cerulean you only find at high elevations where the air is too thin to trap pollution or moisture. It stretches above us like a vast inverted bowl, unmarred by clouds, the midday sun reflecting off the snow with blinding intensity. I’ve had to pull my sunglasses from my bag, the glare giving me a headache, though my head hasn’t felt right since Jensen’s revelation about Lainey last night.

We ride in relative silence, the small talk that peppered the crew earlier given way to a few awkward comments and grunts. Duke moves steadily beneath me, following the dapple-gray Jeopardy with the practiced ease of a trail-ride horse. I’m getting used to the rhythm of horseback riding, my muscles moving with each movement, though I’m sure I’ll be sore again tomorrow. Who knew it was such a workout?

Every now and then Jensen turns to take stock of us, his gaze always lingering on me, concern evident in the set of his shoulders, the way he occasionally slows to make sure I’m still keeping pace. I ignore him, focusing instead on the trail ahead. Let him worry. Let him feel the weight of his deception, of what he kept from me. He deserves so much worse than that.

My mind keeps circling back to last night, to everything Jensen revealed about Lainey, about Adam, about the McAlisters and Josephine. That my family is connected by blood to the Donner Party tragedy. That my sister came here deliberately, seeking answers about our family history, about the apparent hunger she’d felt her whole life, hunger I had no idea about.

About the dreams we both had—blood and snow—though I’d never admitted mine to her.

All this time, I knew Lainey was doing what she could to cope with the loss of our parents. I thought my mother’s death pushed her into her strange obsession, I thought my father’s death pushed her into drugs. I never thought that it was something more than that. Never thought she was trying to cope with a fucking generational curse .

The anger comes in waves, ebbing and flowing as we make our way higher into the mountains. Anger at Jensen for hiding the truth for so long. Anger at Lainey for never telling me what she knew, what she suspected about our family, our connection to this place. Anger at myself for missing all the signs, for failing to protect her from Adam, from whatever happened to her in these mountains.

Some sister I am.

Some FBI agent I am.

Years of training, of developing instincts for deception and danger, and I still couldn’t see what was right in front of me.

Or maybe I didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to believe that Adam was isolating her, controlling her, that Lainey was following a compulsion deeper than rational thought, driven by something in her blood.

“We’ll reach Benson Hut by late afternoon,” Jensen announces, breaking the silence as we pause to let the horses rest at the top of a particularly steep incline. “Trail levels out a bit from here.”

I nod but don’t reply, taking a swig from my water bottle instead. Behind me, Cole and Red are having a hushed conversation, their voices carrying just enough for me to catch fragments—something about trails and signs, about whether Jensen knows what he’s doing. Hank sits apart, staring into nothing, his face blank. He’s been quiet since we left the cabin, the jovial manner he displayed this morning giving way to a more watchful demeanor.

Eli crosses to where I’m standing, leading his horse by the reins. “How’re you holding up?” he asks, quiet concern in his voice. Good ol’ Eli, always looking out for people. Except at the moment I’m a little pissed at him too. He also knew the truth of why we came up here. I know I couldn’t have expected him to bypass his boss to tell me, but my feelings aren’t rational at the moment.

“I’m fine,” I reply automatically, the answer I always give no matter how untrue it might be.

He studies me, gaze too perceptive for comfort. “He told you, didn’t he? About Lainey and Adam.”

I nod, not wanting to get into it.

“I know you’re probably mad at him,” he says. “Hell, I’d be furious. No one likes being lied to, especially when you’re in a foreign situation and your trust, your life, is in that person’s hands. But do know that Jensen is a good man. He’s loyal. He might have lost your trust but you can trust him just the same. He cares for you, Aubrey, truly.”

I brush that off. “Whether he cares for me is irrelevant at this point.”

“Maybe to you, but not to me. Just know, this has been eating him alive. Not only since the moment you walked onto the ranch, but for the last three years. He’s been haunted and now we’re chasing ghosts.”

I want to ask him more—about his side of events, about what he believes and thinks about all of this—but Jensen calls for us to mount up, and the moment passes. We continue our journey, following a trail that winds through stands of pine and fir, occasionally opening onto exposed ridgelines that offer breathtaking views of the valley below and the peaks beyond.

Under different circumstances, I would find it beautiful and exhilarating. Now, I can only see it as the place that claimed my sister.

That might yet claim us all.

By late afternoon, as promised, Benson Hut comes into view. It’s roughly the same size as the McGraw cabin we left this morning, a sturdy A-frame structure designed to shelter backcountry skiers and mountaineers from the harsh Sierra winters, or provide space and indoor comforts for hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail during the summer. It sits nestled against a granite outcropping, partially protected from the wind that’s beginning to pick up as the sun dips toward the western horizon.

Jensen leads us to a small clearing beside the hut where we dismount and begin unloading the horses. The routine is familiar by now—unsaddling, brushing down. Then we set up a makeshift corral with rope between the trees, laying out feed and water. There’s no lean-to for shelter, but Eli insists the horses are used to it and will be fine from the elements with their thick winter coats and the added rugs. I work methodically, grateful for the physical tasks that keep my mind occupied.

The interior of Benson Hut is spartan but functional—a main room with a wood stove, sturdy table and benches, and bunks built into the walls. A small side room serves as a rudimentary kitchen, and a loft accessible by ladder provides additional sleeping space. It’s cold inside, but not as bone-chilling as the cabin had been when we first arrived.

“Tell me this place has a toilet,” I say.

“There’s an outhouse just behind,” Jensen says. “I’ll clear a path so it’s easy to get to.” Sympathy twists on his lips. “Sorry. It’s not a bad one as far as outhouses go. There’s even a hand sanitizer station inside.”

I sigh. Men have no idea how easy they have it. I make a note to not drink much water. Last thing I want is to keep going outside to pee, especially in an outhouse. Perhaps I’m more of a city girl than I’d like to admit.

Eli immediately sets to work lighting the stove, while Red and Cole organize the supplies we’ve brought in. Hank volunteers to fill water buckets with snow for washing, and Jensen, after a moment’s hesitation, nods his agreement.

“There’s a creek just around that rocky outcrop past the horses,” Jensen says. “You could fill up the water bottles too. But take a rifle, just in case our mountain lion friend is still prowling around.”

Hank grins, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. I’ve always found the man to be creepy and off-putting but today especially so. “Don’t worry about me, boss. I know how to handle myself.”

As he leaves, I catch Jensen watching him with an unreadable expression. Whatever suspicions he harbored this morning seem to have neither been confirmed nor dissipated, leaving him in an uncomfortable limbo of uncertainty.

I busy myself setting up my sleeping area, choosing a lower bunk in the corner where I can keep my back to the wall and maintain a clear view of the main door. Old habits from the bureau die hard, even when off duty. I put my duffel right below for easy access.

“We should be able to reach the caves tomorrow,” Jensen says quietly, appearing beside me as I unroll my sleeping bag. “If we get an early start.”

I look up at him, trying to read his face in the fading light filtering through the windows. “Are you sure you can find them again? After three years?”

He nods, confidence evident in the set of his jaw. “I could find them blindfolded. Don’t forget I’m a tracker. Besides, some places imprint on you.”

“Like the place where you lose someone,” I say softly.

Pain and guilt wash over his brow. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

For a moment, the anger I’ve been nursing all day recedes. Lainey was just a client to him and yet I see he mourns her, or at least mourns the person he was before he lost her. We might not share the same grief, but neither of us are a stranger to guilt.

The moment breaks when Cole calls from the kitchen area, “Anyone know how to get this camp stove working? Damned thing won’t light.”

Jensen moves away, going to help with dinner preparations. I finish setting up my bunk, then join the others as we settle into the evening routine we’ve established over the past few days. Despite the strange events that have transpired, there’s a sense of normalcy in the tasks of making dinner, heating water for coffee and hot chocolate, discussing the next day’s plans. It’s starting to feel like we’re a unit, even if we’re still a little fractured from the raucous this morning.

Hank returns with full buckets of snow and a pack of water bottles, seemingly unchanged from when he left. If anything, he’s more talkative than before, regaling us with stories of his wilderness adventures from years past. Red and Cole laugh at his jokes, the tension of the morning gradually dissipating in the warmth of the now crackling fire and the comforting ritual of shared food.

Only Jensen and Eli remain watchful, exchanging glances when they think no one is looking. And me, of course. I miss nothing, even if I prefer to observe alone.

After dinner, as darkness settles completely outside, Jensen announces the watch schedule for the night. “Red and Hank take first watch. I’ll go second with Cole. Eli and Aubrey can take the third.” He looks at me, a question in his eyes. “No pressure. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Frankly I’d prefer you stayed safe and warm inside.”

“It’s fine,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “I don’t mind third watch. Means I can get some sleep in before.”

Red yawns dramatically. “Well, if I’ve gotta freeze my ass off on watch, might as well get it over with. Come on, Hank. Let’s make a round of the perimeter, check on the horses.”

They bundle up and head outside, rifles at their sides, the door closing behind them with a solid thud. Jensen immediately crosses to the window, peering through the curtains to watch them go.

“You still don’t trust him,” I observe quietly, moving to stand beside him.

“Trust is a luxury in these mountains,” he replies, gaze fixed on the darkness outside. “Especially after what happened last night.”

Especially after your lies , I can’t help but think. I keep that to myself.

Time both seems to slow and speed up and it’s not long before the hot chocolate I drank with dinner is coursing through me.

I sigh and get up from the couch, slipping on my puffer coat and knit cap. By now, Eli and Cole have retired to the loft, leaving just the two of us, even though I should be getting sleep as well.

“Where are you going?” Jensen asks, getting to his feet, the line between his brows deepening.

“I need to go pee,” I tell him. “Can’t hold it forever.”

“You’re not going out there alone,” he says gruffly.

I can’t help but bristle. “If you think you’re escorting me to the bathroom, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ll be fine.”

Although, I don’t quite believe that either.

“Plus, Hank and Red are out there,” I add.

He seems to relent, just a little. “I’m still going.”

“No,” I tell him. Then an idea crosses my mind. I hold out my hand. “Give me your gun.”

“What? I’m not giving you my gun.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t know how to use one.”

I stare at him, surprised he’s come to that conclusion, though I guess that means he hasn’t suspected my true profession. “How do you know? I’m a damn good shot,” I tell him. “My daddy taught me.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says.

But I still wiggle my fingers at him. “You have to give me your pistol or your rifle, I can shoot with either.”

He studies my face and eventually relents when he sees how serious I am. “Fine.” He takes his pistol and hands it to me. The weight of it is so heavy compared to my gun and the grip feels funny, grooved in places to match Jensen’s hand, but for the first time since I started this journey I don’t feel entirely defenseless. I feel powerful. Which is something I never thought I’d feel, considering how cautious I am with firearms. I’ve rarely had to handle them in action and I’ve never killed someone. But now, I feel closer to equal footing with these men.

And whatever monsters might lurk outside.

“You sure you can handle that?” he asks, eyes volleying between my face and the gun.

I grin at him, adjusting my grip. “Oh yeah. Be right back.”

I unlock and open the door, stepping outside. It’s not storming out but there’s a light breeze and snow is beginning to fall. I hear laughter in the distance, Hank and Red, and the snort of a horse. So far so good.

I pull out my flashlight from my coat pocket and do a sweep of the snow.

Eyes glint at me.

I gasp, about to raise the gun, when I realize it’s Angus the mule in the distance.

Get a grip , Wells , I tell myself and then follow the cleared path behind the cabin toward the outhouse. The breeze has blown back some of the snow, showing only frozen ground and I nearly slip a few times as I make my way there.

The outhouse has a nice view, at least I think it would in the day when it’s not all a black void, facing the back of the cabin and the valley below, though it leaves it exposed to wind from the east, which now comes in and rattles the stand of trees behind it.

I cautiously open the door, warily shining my flashlight, afraid of both the smell and seeing something gross. I’ve always treated outhouses and porta potties like the boogie man—if you don’t acknowledge it, it can’t hurt you.

But it’s surprisingly clean, just a few old pine needles on the floor and snow built up in the corners, a couple of rolls of toilet paper stacked on the spacious wooden bench. And yes, a hand sanitizer dispenser nailed to the wall.

Only problem is that there are a few gaps in the sides of the structure where the boards have shrunk. Thankfully the wind isn’t blowing in that way.

I leave the flashlight standing straight up beside me and sit down. I’m about done when suddenly I hear the scrape of something on the roof of the outhouse.

I freeze, quickly pulling up my pants, holding my breath.

Obviously just a branch scraping the roof.

Obviously.

Still, I quietly reach for the pistol with one hand, getting a good grip. I’m about to grab the flashlight when the scraping sound comes from my right side.

A long, deep scouring, like claws running down the side of the building.

Oh fuck no.

My breath hitches in my throat as I stare at the gaps in the wood planks, waiting.

A cold blue eye appears, staring right at me.

I scream.

Without thinking, I aim and shoot, the blast deafening in the small space, the wood splintering as the bullet hits, the force nearly knocking me backwards, not used to this kind of gun.

Then I burst through the door and run out, the pistol raised again, ready to shoot.

But there’s nothing there.

I run to the side and only see wood fragments in the snow.

No blood.

No tracks.

Nothing at all.

Holy fuck, am I losing my mind?

“Aubrey!” Jensen’s voice rings out and a second later he appears on the other side of the cabin. He spots me and runs. “What happened?”

“I thought I saw something,” I tell him. “But there was nothing there.”

He looks at the gun and then at the damage to the outhouse and I can see the wheels turning, like I mishandled the pistol and it went off accidentally.

“I’m telling you,” I go on, firmer now. “I saw an eye looking through the side of the outhouse. So I shot.”

“An eye? Jesus, Aubrey that could have been anyone. You could have killed someone.”

“None of us have pale blue eyes! I knew what I was doing.”

He runs his hand over his jaw, staring at the damage. “We should get you inside.” He holds out his hand. “I’ll be taking back my gun now.”

I want to fuss and hang on to it, convince him that I know what I’m doing, but it is his gun after all.

I hand it over to him. “You’re not concerned about what I saw.”

“I’m concerned,” he says carefully, holding onto the pistol with one hand while grabbing my arm and hauling me back toward the cabin. “But I’d rather be concerned from inside the hut.”

We go past the horses, who don’t seem to be acting anymore spooked than normal, the tall, wide figure of Red and the thin, short one of Hank a little ways off, lit by the lantern in one of their hands.

Jensen takes me toward them. “You guys seen anything odd yet?”

Red glances at him over his shoulder. “Heard a gunshot. Was that you?”

I’m about to tell him what happened but Jensen says, “Yeah, thought I saw something.”

“Feeling a little hasty tonight,” Red comments.

“You could say that,” Jensen says. He frowns at Hank, who is just standing there, not moving, staring off into the darkness. “You good, Hank?”

Hank just nods subtly, lets out a low grunt.

“We’re good,” Red insists. “You don’t need to fuckin’ dote on us, McGraw.”

Jensen takes that in stride with a tip of his hat, snowflakes falling off it and we head back to the cabin.

“So,” Jensen says once we’ve stepped back in, locking the door. “Tell me what you saw.”

I stomp the snow off my boots like an ornery horse. “I told you. An eye looking in at me.”

“Uh huh,” he says, hanging up his coat. “And you said it was pale blue.”

“Yes. First I heard scraping sounds on the roof, then down the sides, like claws running down the wood. Then I saw whatever it was looking in. So I panicked, I guess. I shot it. Ran outside but there was nothing there. No blood, no marks, and I know I would have hit it.”

He’s giving me the look like I was shooting blindly with no aim. Fine, let him think that.

“I’ll go out and take another look,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t want?—”

But before he can finish, he’s cut off by a scream that tears through the night.