Page 2 of Chasing the Fall

Shiloh’s hand goes to her throat. “No—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll keep you guys informed as I learn anything.”

We don’t speak for a full minute after Jack lets himself out. Cotton stands and moves over to Shiloh, sinking down and taking her hands in hers. “He’s dead, Shy. He can’t hurt youagain. This is just…it’s probably a hiker who got careless and fell.”

The Falls for which our town is named are dangerous this time of year. At a higher elevation, they’re colder and get snow earlier and harder. It’s possible. I nod, pushing away the memory of how tensely Jack listened. “Yes. Maybe there was some ice or something…”

Shiloh shakes her head, her long auburn curls swinging around her face. “Jason is dead, but Hank…Henry…is still out there.”

Shiloh’s brother, Sammy, presses his lips together. “We can’t jump to conclusions before we even know what happened.”

“I just…I have a bad feeling. I never thought he would just give up and go away. It didn’t make sense. Henry was the mastermind—careful and methodical. Jason was all impulse-driven.” Shiloh jerks her hands free from Cotton’s and rises to walk to the window and peer out.

Gunner and I look at each other, and I give him a small nod in answer to his unspoken question before standing up. Grabbing my ancient rainbow-striped beanie from the console by the door, I pull it down over my hair, brushing my hair out of my eyes. The beanie doesn’t work as well with my hair now that I’ve grown it out, but I’ll never give it up.

“Brodie. Can you take me home, please?” I’ll start working on figuring out Henry “Hank” Thurston’s whereabouts immediately.

Comprehension lights Brodie’s gaze. “Sure.”

We say our good-byes, everyone a little deflated by the turn our Friendsgiving celebration took, and within minutes, Brodie, Cotton, and I are on the way home. My mind is already racing ahead to how I’m going to locate Henry Thurston. State and then national crime databases are first, I think. I need to see if similar crimes have been committed. Actually, maybe Jack and I should work on that together—

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Brodie’s eyes, a rich amber brown, meet my blue ones in the rear-view mirror.

“I need to find something to dispel the idea that it’s Henry Thurston. Shiloh does not need to be upset and worried about that.”

“What if it is him, though?” Cotton asks.

“Then I’ll find that out, too.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.” Cotton stares out the window at the darkened scenery flying by, but I doubt she’s seeing anything.

Shiloh was terrorized by what we all assumed to be a single stalker last year, until she was abducted, and we discovered that there were, in fact, two men—brothers—responsible for the kidnappings and subsequent murders of several young women around town. Shiloh made it out alive, but it was a dark time.

Not something we want to repeat itself.

When we arrive home, I tell Brodie and Cotton goodnight and unlock the door of my little apartment attached to the garage. Brodie pushes past me, leaving Cotton to stand beside me on the small porch.

“Wait here.”

“What? This isn’t necessary—”

I stand at the door as he ignores me, flipping on the lights and walking through the single room and bathroom. In the bath, I hear him push back the shower curtain and open the door to the closet.

“All clear.”

“You think?”

Brodie steps back out and ruffles my hair. “Not taking chances. With any of you. Good night, kiddo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night.”

With Brodie and Cotton gone, I drop the beanie to the counter and pull off my coat. The computer pulls me, but I force myself to send Jack a text first.

Any word? Do I need to start looking for a certain someone?

His reply comes immediately in the form of the phone ringing.

I answer the call, putting it on speaker, and set the device down beside my computer station. “Jack. Do we need to be worried?”

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