Page 45 of Not This Soon

Rachel shared a look with her partner but he gave a quick shake of his head.

She returned her attention to the house.

Silence greeted them. No shuffling feet, no creaking floorboards, no signs of life from within the house. Rachel knocked again, this time with more force, the sound echoing through the quiet property. Still nothing.

She glanced over at Ethan, who had circled back from his sweep of the perimeter. He shook his head, indicating no signs of movement or presence. Rachel's jaw clenched, a sense of unease settling in her gut.

"We need to check inside," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Ethan nodded, his hand tightening on his gun as he positioned himself on the other side of the door.

Rachel tried the handle. Locked. She stepped back, preparing to kick it in, when something caught Ethan's eye.

"Rae," he called out, his voice low and urgent. "Movement. By the barn."

Rachel's head snapped in the direction Ethan indicated. In the fading light, she could just make out the silhouette of an old, weathered barn at the back of the property. A flicker of movement, barely perceptible, through the gaps in the slats of the barn wood, had her instincts on high alert.

She motioned for Ethan to follow as she moved swiftly and silently towards the barn, her boots treading carefully on the overgrown grass. The closer they got, the more Rachel could feel the tension coiling in her muscles, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

As they approached the barn, Rachel's eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. The old wood, grey and splintering. The rusted padlock hanging from the door. The eerie stillness that seemed to permeate the air.

She glanced at Ethan, who had taken up a position on the other side of the barn door. With a silent nod, they moved as one, Rachel reaching for the padlock while Ethan kept his gun trained on the door.

The lock gave way with a sharp crack as Rachel's boot connected with the weathered wood. The door swung open, revealing a dark, musty interior. Rachel and Ethan moved in,guns drawn, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the gaps in the barn's walls.

"We need backup," Ethan whispered, his voice barely audible over the creaking of the old floorboards beneath their feet.

“Call it in,” Rachel replied, her gaze sweeping the empty space. Some of the view was blocked by a pile of old, green lumber resting on a worn pallet. A tractor sat off to one side, the green and yellow paint starting to fade from years of exposure. An old, rickety ladder led up to a loft, where she could see bales of hay stacked precariously.

Ethan took a few steps back, dialing the station for backup as Rachel continued to explore the barn. Her eyes fell on a hatch in the corner, half hidden beneath some loose straw. Carefully, she approached it, her senses on high alert.

Behind her, Ethan’s voice echoed, "Dispatch, this is Detective Morgan. We need backup at the Sanchez property. Possible suspects on site."

Whispers. Low, urgent. The sound of footsteps on wooden planks. She stared towards the hatch in the born floor.

Rachel signaled to Ethan, and they took up positions on either side of a large stack of hay bales. Peering around the edge, Rachel's eyes widened at the sight before her.

The hatch opened slowly with a soft groan.

Two men, ski masks pulled down over their faces, were hauling something out of a hatch in the floor. The rectangular shape and the way they handled it with care left little doubt in Rachel's mind. Drugs. Or weapons.

She remained tense with her back against the haybale. She shot a quick glance towards her partner, eyebrows climbing. The itchy hay poked at her neck, and her hat tipped low where she had to reach up, pushing the brim with the back of her finger.

Rachel strained her ears, trying to catch snippets of the men's conversation. The words were muffled, the language unfamiliar. Spanish, she realized with a sinking feeling in her gut.

She looked to Ethan, saw the question in his eyes. Do we move now?

Rachel shook her head almost imperceptibly. Not yet. They needed more information, a clearer picture of what they were up against.

The men continued their work, oblivious to the rangers' presence. They moved with a sense of urgency, a hint of nervousness in their actions.

She focused on their movements, committing every detail to memory. The way they carried themselves, the weapons they carried, any identifying marks or tattoos. Anything that could help them track these men down later. They had the same masks as the two men who’d tried to take Morris off the sinking yacht.

Members of the cartel?

Was one of them Sanchez?

Minutes ticked by, each second stretching. Rachel's heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins, trying to spot exactly what sort of weapons the men were carrying.

Beside her, Ethan shifted his weight, his body tense with anticipation.

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