Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
He looks at the sun, then at me. "Figures."
"Don't start with my merch."
He nods at the camera. "You take pictures of the ranger station this morning?"
My stomach drops. "I take pictures of everything. That's the job."
"Show me."
"You could say please."
"Please show me the pictures before someone uses them to put a hole in you."
I power the camera on. The screen glows. Fog. Water. A rusted gate. The old station with its collapsed porch. A man in the doorway, half turned, too far for a clean face. I didn't even mean to catch him. Didn’t even know he was there. He was part of the frame.
Colt zooms with a thumb that's surprisingly careful on my gear. He goes still.
"You know him?" I ask.
"I might."
"That's a loaded might."
He sets the camera down like it might bite. "My father disappeared. We got a lead that put a man who looks like him near that station two weeks back. Then the lead went cold. This morning I came to see if maybe something might have been left behind. Some small clue."
I stare at him. "Your missing father. Is that him?"
"Might be. But I’m wondering if the teams were there for him or for me."
"I didn't know there were teams."
"Now you do."
I drop into a chair. The wood creaks. "Okay. New plan. You tell me who Vanguard Helix is, and I tell you why their logo made my hands go cold."
That gets his full attention. He braces both palms on the table. "Say that again."
"The patch on the shooter's jacket. Twisted silver helix through a V. I shot a private lab campus last spring for a glossy magazine spread that never ran. They paid kill fees and made me sign a stack of papers taller than my tripod. The security office had that same mark on the glass."
"You kept copies."
"I'm a photographer, Colt. I keep raw files the way you keep knives."
He swears under his breath. One of the phones on the table buzzes. He grabs the middle one, checks the screen, and answers without greeting.
"I'm here."
A man's voice leaks through, low and annoyed. I catch pieces. Ridge. Heat. Civilian.
Colt's eyes stay on me while he talks. "She's with me. Photographer. She tagged the station and she knows the Helix mark." A pause. "No, Banks. I'm not dumping her on the side of the road." Another pause. "Because they already saw her face."
He hangs up.
"Brother?" I ask.
"One of six. Don't get excited. They're worse than I am."
"Impossible. You're the gold standard of grumpy."
He ignores that and crosses to a cabinet, pulls a folded map, and slaps it on the table next to my camera. Woodbridge Falls. Handwritten notes in the margins. Dates. A circled X at the ranger station. Another X farther north, labeled VH-2 in block letters.
"You're in this now," he says. "You stay in the cabin. You don't post. You don't call friends to say you're fine. You don't wander off for the light."
“What about my car?”
“Leave it. I’m sure they’ve found it by now.”
Chills skate over my skin.
“Job?”
I blink. “What?”
He looks annoyed. “Do you have one?”
“No, I’m a freelancer. Nobody will come looking for me if that’s what you mean. My parents retired to Florida last year. I came up here for the fog.”
“Phone.” He holds out his hand like he expects me to hand over my most precious commodity.
I blink again. “What?”
“Give me your phone.”
I could fight, but right now I’m worried. If the men with guns find my car, then they’ll find my registration and probably already have my name. I grab my phone from my pocket and place it in his open hand. “Here.”
He deposits my phone into a bag without a word.
“You’re welcome,” I say with a little flair. “Seriously someone needs to teach you manners.”
“This is me being nice.”
I laugh, and it comes out shaky. "You're terrible at nice."
"I'm excellent at keeping people breathing."
I stand, because sitting still makes my knee bounce. I wander the small kitchen, open a cupboard, find instant coffee and a bag of trail mix that looks older than my car. "Do you live here, or do you haunt it between missions?"
"I use it when I don't want to be found."
"How's that working?"
He looks at the door. "Ask me at dark."
I pick up my camera again and scroll past the ranger station frames. There's one I almost deleted. A black SUV parked behind the station, plate half hidden by brush. I pinch zoom. The helix mark sits small on the rear window decal.
"Colt."
He's beside me in two steps. He sees it. His whole body goes quieter. "They weren't hunting fog," I say. "They were parked there before I even hiked in."
"Which means they were waiting for him," he says. "Or for me."
"Or they followed me."
His gaze snaps to mine. "Why would they follow you?"