Bulletproof Christmas. Barb Han
Walking out five months ago had been his attempt to protect her. A relationship with Rory was the worst of bad ideas. He needed to be outside somewhere. Anywhere. And she needed a comfortable bed with soft sheets. Soft like her skin had been when he grazed his finger along the inside of her thigh.
Damn.
Thinking about Cadence brought on a surge of hormones and a wave of inappropriate desire. Hell, at least he wasn’t dead. Since walking away from her, not many women could stack up to the memory of her silky skin and sweet laugh. She was beautiful and sexy, but that wasn’t the best part. She was smart, and funny, and outgoing, and...
His heart clutched, squeezing a little harder this time, reminding him what a bad idea it was to think about Cadence Butler.
Being on her family’s land would bring back a certain amount of memories, he reasoned, but the onslaught of reasons why he missed her caught him off guard.
Chalk it up to weakness. Being with her had made him weak and almost forget about their differences—differences that would drive them to squabble and make each other miserable given enough time. He thought about his parents’ marriage and how toxic their love had been.
Rory checked his watch again. Twenty minutes had passed while he’d been distracted by his reverie. He couldn’t let that happen again.
Besides, there was no sign of Dex. He waited another full thirty minutes before making a decision on his next move. It was still too early to call the sheriff.
Patience won battles.
So, he’d hold off.
Rory waited a full hour before deciding to move closer. The dog was still secured. None of the obvious supplies had been taken. The guy’s expensive-looking backpack was still leaning against his compact fold-out chair. Every sign pointed to Dex coming back.
Was he out scouting so he could relay information to his boss?
Or had he abandoned the site?
Another ten minutes wired Rory’s nervous system for the unexpected. An adrenaline spike got his pulse racing and blood speeding through his veins. All his internal systems spiked to critical mass. And, like always in these situations, he felt his senses alighting, awakening. He felt alive.
He listened for any sounds that Dex was circling him, coming up from behind for a sneak attack or studying him in order to make a move. It was possible. Hell, anything was possible out here. But Dex wouldn’t get the best of Rory. Rory was damn good at his job, considered the best tracker in the country.
If Dex tried to pull something, Rory would be ready and waiting.
Reaching down to his ankle holster, he pulled his Walther 9 mm and palmed it. He rested his thumb on the safety mechanism, just in case he needed to fire.
Normally, all this action and adrenaline would have boosted his mood, made him happy. Instead, a sense of dread overwhelmed him along with the energy burst. What was that all about, Scott?
Cadence, an irritating little voice said. Being here on her father’s land. It would belong to her and her siblings now. Plus, the two surprise family members who’d shown up after Maverick Mike’s death. Rory wasn’t sure how either of them played into the equation but all looked to have been smoothed out based on media reports.
It’s none of your business, that same little voice reminded, even though a little piece of his heart protested that everything about Cadence was.
Again, it proved nothing more than the fact that he was alive. And it was good to know that he still had a beating heart in his chest. He knew because it fisted every time he thought about her. Having a working heart might come in handy someday, he mused.
Although, all it had done so far was make him feel weak and angry. He thought about his family and about leaving them to run away from home at fifteen years old because he couldn’t watch his parents participate in their mutual misery anymore. He’d begged his mother to leave the abuse behind, to go with him, and still couldn’t understand why she’d told him to mind his own business before willingly staying with his father. The man’s bouts of jealousy and anger became almost daily shows by Rory’s teenage years. She’d scream and cry in the moment, threaten to leave him. Everything always escalated from there.
By the next day, always, she’d defend the man, saying that he got angry because he loved her.
A sudden burst of cold air brought his focus back to the camp twenty-five yards in front of him.
There were other possibilities for why Dex was in this part of the county, possibilities that heeded consideration. Thinking of his parents always reminded him of domestic violence. Dex could be a hothead or a common criminal in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He might’ve brought a girlfriend here, killed her and dug her grave. She might’ve already been dead and he dragged her limp body into a shallow grave.
Icy tendrils wrapped around Rory’s spine at the same time that anger spiked through him.
Facing the unexpected usually kept him on his toes, reminded him he was alive. This time was surprisingly different. It lacked the excitement that normally accompanied an adrenaline rush of this scale.
Since there hadn’t been activity at Dex’s camp, Rory decided to go in and see if he could gather more intel. Boots was asleep and there was a chance he wouldn’t bark since he’d already met Rory. The winds had picked up and the howling would mask any noise the little dog made.
What else could he use to distract the dog? Considering he didn’t own a pet, nor had he ever, he didn’t exactly carry around dog biscuits. Rory would have to have been willing to commit to one spot for a while in order to have his own dog. But he did have something. He could break off a small piece of a peanut-butter power bar and give it to Boots.
Dex not returning was starting to weigh on Rory. Why would the man leave the camp without taking his backpack and his pet?
Investigating could be tricky and could compromise Rory’s position. What if Dex returned? What if the animal barked? Rory could be caught or shot.
Did he have another cover story? There was no good sell for being out there alone and checking out the campsite for the second time.
What if the dog didn’t bark? Could Rory slip in and out without leaving a trace while Boots slept? All he’d need would be a few minutes and he was confident he could get answers.
He had to consider all possibilities.
Rory crouched low and eased across ten yards of terrain without making a sound. The howling wind played to his benefit because he could come in at an angle so the dog wouldn’t easily pick up his scent. Of course, the wind chill was cutting right through his hunting jacket, which he wore in order to give off the impression he was passing through on a hunting trip. It was prime deer hunting season and that would play to his advantage. Of course, most recreational deer hunters were already locked down in a bunk on their deer lease.
Stealthily, he moved along the perimeter of the campsite.
This time, he looked for any signs that a heavy object, such as a body, had been dragged out. But then, if Dex was a murderer—and that was a big if—he might’ve already done away with the remains. The campsite could be part of his cover—girlfriend stormed off just before midnight after an intense fight. She doesn’t return. Body is never found. With all the animals out searching for a meal, her remains could be scattered across the land.
It wouldn’t be the first time such a tragedy had occurred. Rory had come up against similar situations and worse in his ten years as a tracker. And even though his work brought him face-to-face with everything from hardened criminals looking to hide—and willing to kill whomever stood in the way of freedom—to profiteers seeking to make a quick buck on the black market, a trade that was unfortunately thriving, to traffickers—human and animal—he’d always brought them to justice.
In his life, no two days were the same and the variety