Page 55 of Death Valley

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 onlysound 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 forme,” 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.