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They didn’t even seem surprised that the other knew, both of them instead focused on putting together any potential missing pieces. Nate’s piercing gaze burned a hole in my face, and I dropped my eyes.

When they were done, Nate was quiet.

Deacon, however, wasn’t done. “I found fresh footprints out past the property line yesterday. Heavy-duty boots.” That was a piece of information I wasn’t privy to. “I completely wiped her GPS data, but I think we were too late. They’d already zeroed in on her coordinates before I could scrub it.”

“And we found a drone, too. The day we collected the materials from Gus, right down the millstone path," Ethan interjected, face grave. “Someone was literally flying surveillance. They’re tracking her.”

I watched as the muscle in Nate’s jaw twitched.

“Hey, it’s probably just a coincidence,” I said, trying to play down the fear-mongering even though my heartbeat was already out of control. “There’s no point in jumping to conclusions.”

But I didn’t think Ethan or Deacon could even hear me over their own trailing conversation. They were both talking at once, simultaneously listening and affirming the other’s doom spiraling.

I stepped forward, waving my hands to slow them down. “Guys, stop, you’re making it sound worse than it is. These things could be anyone. Let’s just calm down—”

“It’s not just anyone, Ava, and you know it!” Ethan cut me off, his voice rising. “It’s those corporate fixers from your firm. We need to do something about that immediately.”

“What if they tracked the tail numbers on the skiff—?” Deacon mused at the same time.

That started yet another conversation between them, their voices overlapping.

“Shut up! Both of you, shut up!” Nate bellowed, his voice echoing off the timberline like a gunshot. Both men went dead silent. Nate looked at the three of us, his face twisting in absolute disgust as he took a step back toward his truck. He shook his head. “I’ve heard enough of this.”

Nate didn’t look back. He spun on his heel and marched toward his truck, his boots kicking up clods of damp gravel with every furious stride. His shoulders were rigid, the muscles in his back bunching under his denim jacket as if he were physically holding himself together.

I didn’t even think. The second his hand wrapped around his driver-side door handle, my feet were already moving.

“Ava, wait!” Ethan yelled, his voice cutting through the sudden roar of Nate’s engine as it fired to life. He lunged forward, his fingers catching the edge of my wet flannel sleeve, trying to anchor me in place. “It’s not a good idea to expose yourself out there. Let him cool down and come back on his own.”

I yanked my arm back with a fierce twist of my shoulder, tearing the fabric from his grip. “Get off me, Ethan!”

“Barden, stop!” Deacon’s deeper voice boomed from the porch steps. He was still half-dressed, his unlaced boots slapping against the wood as he ran down to intercept me. “He’s driving blind-mad on a cliffside dirt track. You take a vehicle out there right now and you’re going to get yourself killed. Just let us handle him!”

I ignored them both. I didn’t look at Ethan’s pleading expression, and I didn’t stop for Deacon as he reached out to block my path. I bolted right past his shoulder, sprinting through the wet grass straight toward Deacon’s heavy black pickup.

In my periphery, Nate’s truck was already a blur of movement. He threw the vehicle into reverse, the tires screaming as they tore out of the driveway, spitting a hail of rocks against the cabin’s foundation. He slammed it into drive, the chassis rocking as he floored the gas pedal, peeling off into the dense shadows of the winding mountain road.

My heart was hammering against my ribs as I yanked Deacon’s driver-side door open and threw myself onto the high bench seat. The keys were already dangling in the ignition. I grabbed them, my wet fingers twisting the metal hard until the engine roared to life beneath me, drowning out the shouting of the two men left standing in the mud.

I slammed the shifter into gear and threw my foot onto the accelerator, gunning the heavy truck directly into the treeline after Nate’s fading red taillights.

30

Ava

The steering wheel of Deacon’s truck vibrated under my palms as the tires hit the deep ruts in the road. My knuckles were white, the blood pounding in my ears almost louder than the truck’s engine.

Up ahead, through the dense canopy of trees, the red glow of Nate’s taillights cut through the twilight like two angry embers. The road was a mess—deep potholes filled with murky water, loose gravel that threatened to throw the rear end of the truck into a ditch with every sharp turn, and slick mud that made the heavy vehicle fishtail whenever I pressed the accelerator too hard.

Ethan and Deacon’s warnings echoed in the back of my mind, but I drowned them out.

“Come on, Nate,” I muttered under my breath, leaning forward over the dashboard as the truck bounced violently over a deep washboard section of the track. “Just pull over. Don’t do this.”

Every instinct told me to slow down, that driving a massive, unfamiliar vehicle at high speed on a cliffside logging road was insane, but the sheer panic of losing him pushed my foot lower on the pedal. The truck groaned as I took a sharp, blind curve, the passenger-side tires clipping a thick patch of wild ferns and spraying mud against the side panels.

In front of me, the red brake lights of Nate’s truck flared.

He wasn’t stopping because he was calm; he was stopping because he was smart. Nate was a professional, a man who calculated structural integrity and risks for a living, and he knew that if he kept running this race, one or both of us would end up wrapped around an old-growth Douglas fir.