Page 21 of Not This Place

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rachel navigated the dark Texas highway, the hum of the engine a steady thrum in her ears. Each mile brought them closer to the motel, a nondescript sanctuary where they could regroup, refocus. Today had been a marathon of dead ends and long shots, but Rachel's mind buzzed with the kind of fatigue that only comes when rest feels like a betrayal to the task at hand.

She needed to speak with Alice Danvers, but she didn't want to spook the predator.

"Rae," Ethan said, his voice low, an attempt to slice through the silence that had settled between them like frost. She didn't glance his way, eyes fixed on the twin beams of headlights cutting through the night.

Her phone vibrated. A shrill ringtone pierced the cabin of the car, a demanding electronic chirp. Rachel ignored it, her thoughts locked onto the case — images of the crime scene, snippets of witness statements.

Ethan shifted in his seat, his body language uneasy. He pulled out his own phone as it began to sing its own insistent tune. He answered, "Morgan." His voice was a quiet rumble, his words clipped. Rachel felt his gaze on her for a moment before he turned away, his profile etched with concern in the passing glow of a lone streetlight.

"Understood," he said after a pause that stretched too long, too taut. He ended the call, the click of the disconnect sounding final, ominous.

“What?” she asked, noting the way he was now staring at her, his gaze intense.

“They were trying to reach you.”

“Who was?”

“Reservation cops.”

She glanced at him now, frowning. “What’s wrong? Why do you sound like that?”

Ethan extended the phone towards her, his fingers rigid around the edges. The screen blared a message in stark black letters against the white glow: Sarah Blackwood shot at. Still alive.

Rachel blinked, wondering if she was dreaming.

She hesitated, opened her mouth and closed it again.

Suddenly, a screech of tires. “Watch out!” Ethan shouted, tugging on the steering wheel as they’d veered into oncoming traffic.

Rachel reacted with instinct, regaining control of the wheel, her heart in her throat as the oncoming car sped past them, blaring its horn. Back in their lane, she realized her hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel. Swallowing hard, she looked at Ethan, his face was pale in the dim glow of the dashboard light.

His phone buzzed again, startling them both. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. "Your aunt has disappeared," he said, his voice strained. "They've sent units to track her down, but she's gone."

“Shot at?” Rachel demanded.

“Not shot. But shot at?”

“Yeah. Looks like. Someone drove by her house,” Ethan said quickly. “They’re investigating.”

Rachel hissed through clenched teeth but didn’t answer. The road before them became a blur as her gaze hardened.

“Dawes may be hiding her," Ethan continued, watching Rachel closely.

She clenched her jaw and hit the gas harder, shooting a glance at him.

"Is she—?" Rachel couldn't finish the question, her throat constricting around the words.

"Fine. No injuries," Ethan filled in, his eyes steady on hers, relaying the severity and the relief in one word.

"They need to keep an eye on her," Rachel commanded, her voice a low growl as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under her hands. "I need to know every update."

“You want to go see her?”

“If she disappeared, she’s disappeared,” Rachel muttered. “If I try to track her down, it’ll just lead someone to her.” She shook her head, wondering if this was just justification, or if she really meant it.

Either way, exhaustion hung heavy.

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