Page 104 of Trust No One

As I backed out of the driveway, I saw the flash of police lights through the thinning tree leaves. What were the cops doing on the fire road? Gabe. Was he back here already?

I drove toward the lights, bumping along the rutted road until I saw a sheriff’s car that blocked access. A deputy approached my driver’s-side door.

I rolled down the window. “I’m Raine Hale. This is my land. What’s happening?”

The officer studied my face. “There’s a crime scene up ahead.”

Chest muscles squeezed the air from my lungs. “What happened?”

“I can’t say for now.”

“This is my land.”

“Understood. But I can’t let you pass until Agent Blackwood releases the crime scene.”

“I have a call in to Judson Blackwood.”

“Then I’m sure he’ll call you back.”

“Can you tell him I’m here?”

“I can text him. But he’s busy now.”

Short of ramming his car with mine, I wasn’t getting down this road. There were other ways to access the fire road. I could wait for Judson, or I could park at Hale House and hike into the woods and find him.

Chapter Forty

Raine

Wednesday, October 21, 2026, 2:30 p.m.

The box waited for me by Hale House’s front door.

A standard eight-by-ten brown cardboard box. Ordinary. Forgettable. Except I hadn’t ordered anything.

Suspicion coiled, tightening like barbed wire.

Normally, I’d assume it was a birthday surprise. But not after the last delivery. This time I approached slowly, edging up the stairs.

The label was typical. Generic. Neat. I scanned the lawn and woods, half expecting someone to be watching. Nothing moved but the trees whispering in the afternoon breeze.

I unlocked the front door, dropped my purse and keys inside, then picked up the package. Light—too light. I carried it in, closing and locking the door behind me.

In the kitchen, I set the box on the counter. My hand hovered over the knife block before I drew one. The blade sliced through the tape with a soft hiss.

Slowly, I pulled back the flaps.

White tissue paper balled up into crinkled clumps. The brittle sound made my pulse jump.

A glimpse of brown fur.

My stomach seized. My fingers curled into tight fists.

When I forced myself to look again, the truth snapped into focus. Not an animal. But a stuffed dog.

I recognized the toy. I’d carried it everywhere when I was a kid. Then in middle school it had vanished. I’d torn the house apart. I’d begged my mother for help.

Finally, I’d stopped asking. Stopped remembering. And now here it was.