Page 59 of The Sister's Curse

The river didn’t answer me. At least, not in words.

I exhaled. My mind was playing tricks on me.

Something was here, though. My skin crawled.

A gunshot sounded behind me, echoing off the stone of the ravine.

Instinctively, I crouched to cover Gibby and drew my own weapon. My first thought was that maybe a hunter was here, that the shot was a mistake.

“Bayern County Sheriff’s Office!” I shouted. “Stand down!”

A second shot rang out, and splintered a nearby tree.

That was no mistake. That was almost murder.

I dragged Gibby away, behind a stand of cattails. Gibby’s chest vibrated lowly, without a sound. My fingers wound in his collar.

I scanned for the shooter. The forest was silent, birds stilled by the gunshots. Even the creaking cedars seemed to be holding their breath.

The river was at our backs, and wasn’t a good spot to retreat to. As near as I could determine, the source of those shots was between us and the dirt track leading to the car.

Our best chance would be to melt into the forest, to try to circle back and lose our pursuer. Get to the car, then call for help.

I tugged at Gibby’s collar, and he followed me into a stand of trees. I walked soundlessly, glancing over my shoulder, trying to detect the shooter in the trees over the sight of my gun. Our pursuer might be wearing camo, which would make him harder to spot but not impossible.

A shot echoed from across the river.

My gaze narrowed. Two shooters. Alone, I knew I wouldn’t have any issues locating and picking off one shooter in the woods. Maybe two, if they were separated. Part of me relished the idea of hunting these asshats, of tracking each one of them down and shooting them. It had been a long time since I had been responsible for a death, and part of me was horrified to contemplate it again. The other part, buried deep in my chest, woke and seethed and demanded blood…

But I had Gibby with me, and he was not a dog built for stealth. With two shooters, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk him.

I made eye contact with my dog, desperately hoping to communicate that he needed to follow me quietly. I placed my finger to my lips and released the collar.

He remained still, ears flattened and tail tucked between his legs. He didn’t like the gunfire. Didn’t blame him.

I tapped my leg.

He trotted forward, following me. Not in perfect silence, but I’d take it. I picked my path through the forest through as little leaf debris as possible, sticking to the undergrowth of black raspberries. Thorns clawed at my shirt and pants, staining the fabric black where berries burst. Gibby tried to bite the thorns, and I pushed the brambles out of his way with my shoe.

I heard rustling far behind us, at the river. Thecrash-crashof a two-legged animal.

I crept deeper into the woods, heading north, circling back around to the place where the dirt track led up. I broke into a light run parallel to it as the crashing neared. Behind us, disturbed mourning doves warbled as they took flight from the ground.

I exhaled when we reached the trailhead, but was startled to find no other cars there. That was for the best—if we were parked in, we’d have to jog to the road.

I opened the car door, shoveled Gibby in, and jumped in behind him. I cranked the ignition and reversed down the one-lane road.

I didn’t see another car the whole way down, and there was no one on the main road.

I sighed when we made it out onto the pavement.

I called in the cavalry to look for those assholes, like a good girl. But part of me wanted to make sure Gibby was safe…andthen plunge back into the forest and bring them to ground myself, in the bloodiest way possible. They had crossed me, and they could have killed my dog.

I closed my eyes.No.I would follow the rules.

Without the rules, I feared what I might become.

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