Page 1 of Not This Night

PROLOGUE

The hour was late for a meeting.

Late… and this parcel was isolated.

But the commission? Heather Sinclair’s jaw tightened in determination—that was a big number, too big for her to ignore.

Dust billowed behind Heather’s cherry-red sedan as it carved a path through the Texas desert. Twilight clung to the horizon, the sun sinking into the earth like a dying ember. She checked the rearview mirror, her gaze locking onto the desolation stretching out behind her.

"Last chance to back out," she murmured to herself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. But Heather was never one to retreat from a challenge, especially not with a commission that could carry her through the dry spell of summer sales.

The car's headlights cut swaths through the approaching darkness as it rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated property.

A skeletal fence and a light, wooden gate interrupted the gravel walkway to the main building ahead, and a shiver traced its way up her spine—not from the cooling air, but from something uncanny about the place. She killed the engine and stepped out into the silence, pushing the wooden gate open wide enough to walk through.

This wasn’t the sort of job she normally took. Outside of office hours, a caller she had only spoken to over the phone…

Her husband hadn’t liked the idea. He’d suggested he ought to come with her, but it wouldn’t have been professional.

Now, though, as she stared across the desolate, arid Texan ground, she frowned.

Had she mistaken the time for seeing the property?

She scanned the wide, empty space.

No welcome committee. No sign of life. Just an old windmill groaning in protest against the breeze—a metallic whine that seemed almost sentient. The unseen client's request for this rendezvous ticked in her head like a warning. She scanned the area, the hairs on her arms standing at attention.

"Anyone here?" Her voice didn't carry; it died in the stillness that enshrouded the old, weather-worn property. Heather took a few tentative steps forward, her heels crunching on the gravel. This stillness wasn't right. It was as if the land itself held its breath, waiting, watching.

"Ridiculous," she chided herself and reached for the folder in her car. Deals waited for no one, not even in the creeping shadows of the desert.

Heather squinted into the twilight, her gaze tracing the rugged outline of the hill. A flicker of motion snagged her attention—a silhouette against the dimming sky. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Was that someone watching her? The shape vanished as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the encroaching night.

"Hello?" Her voice seemed frail and thin in the vastness.

No answer. She glanced back towards the wooden gate she’d swung open to enter the property, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment at the way her neck hair stood on end. She knew that a decision made in the morning—like agreeing to this meet—often took on a darker tenor at night. It was easy to be brave when the sun was up, but now, in the last moments of twilight…

Heather abruptly froze. She blinked, her eyes tensing as she spotted a dark shape laying on the ground in front of the old building, nearly invisible in the sunset shadows.

“H-hello?” she whispered, her voice straining as she approached slowly, her brow furrowing.

The only sound to greet her was her own heartbeat.

Another tentative step forward, and then she bit back a shout.

A bloody badger’s corpse lay on the ground.

She blinked, staring. When was the last time she’d seen a dead badger?

She studied the animal where it lay.

Heather's hand instinctively reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the emergency call button. The sight of the eviscerated badger sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the dark skyline.

Gulping down her rising fear, Heather scanned the area again. The windmill's eerie groans seemed to echo louder now, drowning out the silence of the desert. She thought of her husband back at home, probably worrying about her late meeting. Suddenly, the extra money didn’t feel so important.

Was that blood? Heather squinted, leaning closer as the light of her cellphone glimmered off the animal’s fur. The badger looked as if it had been… stabbed? Had a coyote got to it? No. Those were slash marks, cold and clean. Not claws. She’d worked with her father after his hunts, often being assigned to chop the shoulder meat for stew, but still… she knew a knife cut when she saw it.

Heather stumbled away from the dead badger. Her heart thudded, and she fumbled for her phone, the device slick in her suddenly clammy palm. She punched in her husband's number, the screen bathing her face in a cold glow.

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