Page 5 of Not This Night

The engine roared to life, a guttural affirmation. She gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. Confront Dawes. Unearth the truth. It was as vital as drawing breath.

She couldn’t run. Could she?

She couldn’t leave, either. But… but she didn’t want to know. At least, a small part of her didn’t want to find out how her mother had been involved in all of this. Didn’t want to—

Her phone rang now, an intrusive blare that sliced through the cab's stifling silence. Rachel jabbed the answer button, her voice curt. "Blackwood."

Work. Saved by the bell. Work was calling.

"Ranger, it's dispatch." The voice crackled, urgent. "Bad news on the reservation. Heather Sinclair—"

“The real estate agent from those ads?”

“The same one.” There was something to the tone on the other side. A gravity that accompanied more than one of the usual ranger dispatch calls… Another murder? She felt a slow shiver crawl up her spine.

"Dead?" Each syllable dropped like lead in the pit of her stomach.

"Affirmative. Body found half an hour ago. It’s… messy this time."

“Messy how?”

“They’re still photographing. You’ll see.”

"Coordinates?"

"Sending now."

"En route," she replied, severing the connection. Her gaze flickered to the rearview mirror—a fleeting glance at the woman reflected there: steel-eyed, determined, haunted.

The car lurched forward, tires biting into gravel.

It was a distraction, but a welcome one. She needed time to sort through her confusion still… to process the betrayal. For now, she’d welcome the simplicity of another hunt.

CHAPTER TWO

Gravel crunched under their boots. A hot wind kicked up dust, swirling around the black and white patrol cars that had formed a barricade along the rural stretch of road. The midday sun bore down unforgivingly on the array of forensic vehicles scattered haphazardly across the scene, casting harsh shadows that seemed to amplify the severity of their task.

Rachel’s eyes swept the area with the precision of a hawk, missing no detail. Her brow was furrowed, lips set in a hard line as she scanned each officer and technician working the perimeter. There was a weight to her presence, an unspoken gravity that spoke volumes about her mindset: all business, no nonsense.

"Quite the turnout, huh?" Ethan Morgan's voice cut through the drone of activity, light and almost conversational. He squinted against the glare, a half-smile playing on his lips despite the grim circumstances.

Rachel grunted in response, not breaking stride. She didn't bother to look at him; she knew what she'd see—Ethan's easygoing demeanor that somehow never compromised his effectiveness as a detective. It was a balance she had yet to understand. His sandy-hair was messy and he wore a dopey grin on his face, but none of that hid his attractive features. No, Ethan certainly wasn’t bad to look at.

"County's been quiet for weeks," Ethan continued, undeterred by her silence. "Guess everyone's itching for a piece of the action."

"Or they're doing their jobs," Rachel replied, not as a rebuke, but just as a matter-of-fact. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the paddock, taking in the flurry of activity beyond the fence.

Ethan chuckled, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans. "Fair enough. But you gotta admit, it beats paperwork." His hand trailed against her arm, his fingers brushing her skin.

She didn’t retract.

It was a welcome distraction—a case with her handsome partner at her side.

Dawes would wait.

The sun beat down mercilessly, casting stark shadows over the dusty crime scene. The dry air scratched at them, sand and dirt kicked up by the passage of boots and tires. Rachel adjusted her sunglasses, scanning the area, her eyes sharp, missing nothing.

Not that there was much to see yet. The crime scene itself was blocked by the flurry of forensic techs.

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