Page 10 of Beckett's Fate

Her words hung in the air, a challenge she wasn’t sure she wanted him to accept. But as the forest remained silent, she wondered if the sheriff might be closer than she realized.

Kneeling, she traced the markings, her heart pounding. They were faded but deliberate, a language of symbols she recognized from her research. Her stomach churned as the faint musk of fur and metal reached her nose. Someone had been here recently, and it wasn’t a hiker.

Irene crouched beside a rocky outcrop, her fingers brushing against a faint indentation in the ground. Her heart leapt as she realized it wasn’t natural—it was man-made. As she began to clear away the dirt and debris, a deep voice rumbled behind her, sending a chill down her spine.

“Looking for something?”

She spun to find Beck standing a few feet away, his tall frame blending into the shadows. His eyes held hers, and her breath hitched.

“How do you do that?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

“Do what?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Appear out of nowhere,” she snapped. “It’s unsettling.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his tone calm but probing. “You just looked... concerned.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just scouting trails.”

Beck tilted his head, his gaze unrelenting. “Most hikers don’t walk around like they’re searching for something or stop to examine scratches on the rocks—unless they mean something to you.”

“Maybe I’m just thorough,” she deflected, her tone clipped.

Beck stepped closer, his presence impossibly large in a space that was starting to feel suffocating. “Or maybe you’re looking for something you don’t want anyone else to know about.”

She really wanted to punch him in his arrogant face but then wanted to kiss it to make it better. It was the most maddening feeling in the world. She tried to keep her expression neutral, forcing a smile, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I’m looking for good hiking spots. Isn’t that what everyone comes to Silver Falls for?”

“Most people, sure,” Beck said, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “But you’re not like most people, are you?”

The air between them seemed to hum with tension, his words laden with meaning. Irene forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

His lips quirked in a faint smile. “Or maybe you’re looking for something specific.”

Her body went stiff. “Thanks for the concern, Sheriff.”

His gaze lingered before he stepped back. “Just be careful,” he said, his voice low. “These mountains and this wilderness are ancient. There are things out here that don’t take kindly to strangers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, turning away before he could say more.

As Irene turned and walked away, her pulse raced, and her senses stayed on high alert. But it wasn’t just his words that lingered—it was the way he looked at her, as if he could see through every carefully constructed lie.

And the worst part? A small, reckless part of her wanted him to.

5

IRENE

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the forest as Irene crouched near a rocky outcrop, brushing dirt and leaves away from a faint indentation in the ground. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, but her focus was fraying, splintering into a hundred thoughts that had nothing to do with treasure.

She swore under her breath, forcing herself to refocus. She had to. Her pack back in the Superstitions was counting on her. The markings on the boulders had pointed her here, to this exact spot. If she could just...

Her mind betrayed her again, drifting back to the man with bulging biceps, and what she was sure was a pair of cut pecs and a six or eight-pack you could bounce a quarter off of—if you were so inclined. Despite her uneasiness around him, she was definitely inclined. He also had a face that looked as if it had been sculpted out of the granite that made up most of Colorado’s mountains, with piercing blue eyes and an infuriatingly commanding presence. Beckett Grey.

The sheriff had been maddeningly persistent, his questions digging just deep enough to unsettle her without giving her the satisfaction of knowing what he was really after. And that smile—that faint, knowing curve of his lips that seemed to promise he could see through her every carefully constructed façade and make her beg for mercy if he ever got them on her skin. Only she wasn’t sure it was mercy she would be begging for.

Her hand clenched around the small trowel she was using to dig. “Focus,” she muttered sharply.

But it was no use. Beck was everywhere—etched into her thoughts as surely as the symbols had been etched into the rocks, pulling her focus away from the task at hand. His voice, smooth and deep, still rang in her ears. The way his presence filled a space, commanding attention and leaving no room to breathe. And the way her body reacted to him, that maddening pull that felt as much like a challenge as it did an invitation.

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