Page 13 of Not This Night

Ethan gave a low grunt of affirmation and continued after her.

Sunlight glared off the jagged rocks as Rachel led the way, her boots sending small clouds of dust into the arid air with each step. The trail ahead twisted upwards, a serpentine path etched into the cliffside. She paused, her gaze dropping to the ground. A dark stain marred the earth. Dried blood. Old, but not ancient.

"Here," she said, her tone low and even as she pointed to the discolored patch.

Ethan knelt beside it, his fingers hovering inches above the soil. "Recent."

"Within a day, maybe two," Rachel assessed, scanning the surrounding area for more signs. Her mind raced, piecing together the timeline.

“Human?”

“No way to know without getting it analyzed.”

“Think this is out guy? Maybe he’s been this way before?”

“Could be. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. Our killer could be a she… or this blood could be another victim.”

Ethan sighed, looking troubled at this. She knew how protective he was of his mother, his sisters and the idea of some other woman out here in a shallow, unmarked grave, clearly disturbed him.

“What do you think those turquoise beads were about back at the crime scene? The posed corpse?” Ethan asked, his eyes turning away from the blood spatter.

“I don’t know… Yet.”

The path before them narrowed, the space between the cliff face and the drop-off shrinking until it was barely wide enough for one person to pass. Ethan's eyes measured the tight squeeze. “Should we come back with backup?"

"Stay sharp," she responded, her voice steady. "I've got this." Her eyes didn't leave the path; they couldn't afford hesitation.

"Rachel..." Ethan began, the protective edge of his upbringing threading through his words.

She silenced him with a look. Firm. Resolute. “Cover me.”

Reluctantly, Ethan nodded, his hand resting on his gun, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. He watched Rachel move forward, each step deliberate, her body swaying with the contour of the land.

"Careful," he muttered, though he knew she'd heard it a thousand times before.

The ledge constricted further, and Rachel pressed herself against the rock face, her movements fluid and silent. Ethan's gaze stayed locked on her, every sense alert.

Rachel hoisted herself up, fingers gripping the rough edges of the rock face. Dust and small pebbles skittered down as she found purchase for her boots. Each muscle in her arms bunched and released with animal grace.

"Careful up there," Ethan's voice barely rose above a whisper, the words laced with tension thick as desert heat.

"Copy that," came Rachel's terse reply, her attention never wavering from the climb. She ascended with purpose, movements calculated and precise. This was not just a physical endeavor but a mental one.

The danger of the climb focused her mind.

She reached a ledge, pulling herself up over the lip with a grunt of effort. On all fours, she crawled a few paces before rising to a crouch. Her eyes flicked across the terrain, keen as a hawk's. The sun beat down, unrelenting, casting stark shadows that played tricks on the eyes.

There. A disturbance in the dust. Shoe prints. She crouched lower, examining them. Men's boots, size eleven, perhaps. They led to an ATV. And the ATV disappeared off into the desert.

No way they were going to follow that on foot.

"Got something," she called down to Ethan, keeping her voice steady.

"Sign of our friend?" he asked, his tone betraying the urgency he felt.

"Looks like it. Stay alert," she warned, knowing full well he didn't need the reminder.

Rachel's fingers danced across her phone, the camera shutter clicking rapidly. Each angle captured, every detail preserved in digital clarity. The shoe prints would be examined. But a lot of men wore elevens. And the tread wasn’t that unique.

---