Page 97 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I’m fine.” I glance toward the clock. “You had another minute.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “You timed me.”

“You promised.”

Something moves through his eyes, there and gone before I can identify it. His hand touches the small of my back. The contact seems less about checking my location than assuring himself I am exactly where he left me.

“What did you find?” I ask.

“A prepared observation point overlooking the grounds.”

Grant straightens beside the entrance. “Prepared how?”

“Branches cleared to improve the view. Compressed ground where someone spent enough time to leave an impression.” Rocco looks past me toward the vendor displays. “And a trail camera mounted above the equipment road.”

The lodge seems to grow quieter around us.

“A hunting camera?” I ask.

“One capable of transmitting photographs through a cellular connection.”

The view I imagined earlier takes shape with chilling clarity. The festival spread beneath the trees. Security employees moving between booths. Deputies arriving after each disturbance. Rocco crossing the paths again and again, drawn toward me no matter where his responsibilities placed him.

Someone watching all of it from above.

“He knows how you respond,” I say.

“He may.”

“No. He does.” I press one hand against the ache forming beneath my ribs. “He has watched everyone scramble after each thing he’s done.”

Rocco’s jaw hardens. “The camera has been removed. The evidence technician is bringing it here to determine whether anything was stored locally.”

“If the photographs were transmitted, removing it doesn’t erase what he already received.”

“I know.”

“And now he knows you found it.”

“Yes.”

His answers are quiet, but the anger beneath them changes the air around him. This is no longer only a threat Rocco intends to stop. Someone has turned his own protective instincts into information, studying each response as though he and his employees are pieces moving across a board.

I touch his arm. “He wants you focused on me.”

“I am focused on you.”

“That’s the problem.”

His gaze drops to my hand. “Explain.”

“He broke into my booth and left a card chosen to frighten me. He knew you would come here. He may have expected you to search the northern road.”

“The clay gave us a legitimate trail.”

“I’m not saying it didn’t. I’m saying he chose what we would find and when we would find it.”