Page 43 of Not This Place

She scanned for errant footprints.

Had Jake stumbled onto this garden?

Rachel's eyes moved over the operation, calculating. Hundreds of plants. Thousands of dollars. Her heart beat a steady rhythm in her chest, the gravity of the discovery anchoring her to the moment. This was big.

She reached for her radio but then paused, pulling her phone free.

The camera clicked. Rachel moved methodically, her hands steady as she captured the illicit garden from every angle. Moon glinted off the lens, fractured by the dense canopy above. She documented the expanse of green, the precision of the operation.

Another click. The memory card filled. Her breaths came measured, her focus narrow. She tucked the phone back into her pocket, the weight of the evidence palpable against her hip.

A crunch of gravel sounded in the distance. Leaves rustled. Rachel froze, her ears straining. Heart thumping. Seconds stretched long and thin like the shadows that crept across the ground. She turned her head toward the cabin.

She advanced, footsteps light on the forest floor. Each movement deliberate. The cabin loomed closer, its wooden walls weathered by time and secrecy. A sliver of a window offered a glimpse inside. Rachel approached, her movements silent.

Her gaze fixed on the glass, peering through the grime.

And she stiffened.

A slow breath released, and her heart thundered.

Inside, two figures moved with haste. Bodies cloaked in darkness, faces obscured by masks. Their hands worked quickly, wrapping lifeless forms in plastic. Black bags enveloped the corpses, sealing them away from the world.

Corpses.

Corpses. Two of them.

Her mind tried to catch up with what she was seeing.

Rachel's hand moved to her sidearm, the metal cool under her touch. Eyes locked on the scene unfolding before her. No words escaped her lips, but her mind roared with the implications of what she witnessed. Death. Deception. Corruption is rooted deep within the soil.

The men continued, unaware of the ranger's watchful eyes. One corpse secured, then another. Rachel's jaw set firm. She memorized their movements, the cadence of their silent partnership. Each detail etched into her memory like the lines on a map.

She pushed at the window, carefully. Their backs were to her.

The windowsill opened slightly.

The acrid scent of blood hit Rachel before her eyes fully registered the carnage. Splatters painted the walls, droplets forming a morbid mosaic on the threadbare carpet. The bed, once white, now screamed silent stories of struggle in hues of red.

Rachel's heart hammered against her ribcage, each beat a countdown to action or death. This was the underbelly, the dark side of her Texas, where lawlessness bred in quiet corners. A place where life was currency, and death, a transaction.

She crouched low, inching away from the window. Her voice, a whisper, broke the stillness as she keyed her radio. "Blackwood to base. Request immediate backup." She rattled off coordinates, each digit sharp, precise.

"Situation?"

"Double homicide. Suspects on site. Armed and dangerous," Rachel responded. Silence swallowed her words, punctuated by the distant chirp of crickets outside. Her hand gripped the radio like a lifeline, the plastic cool and slick with sweat.

"Copy that, Blackwood. Units en route."

"Roger." She released the talk button, her breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Time was now a predator, stalking them all. She retreated into shadow, watching. Waiting.

She would wait for backup, then apprehend the masked men.

Killers. Clearly killers.

But were they the killers she was looking for?

A twig snapped behind her.

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