Page 44 of Forensics of a Fable

“She isn’t in there, but someone has been inside recently,” he reassured her. “Let’s hope it was the killer making preparations.”

“This cabin is in decent shape,” Bel said as the trio moved closer. “Unlike the others which were crumbling, this one looks maintained.”

“It’s just right,” Eamon repeated the line from the card, and Bel’s stomach clenched. It made sense that the killer’s perfect girl would die inside an unblemished shelter. “We’re far from my house, but still on a main trail. People must use this shed, assuming these woods belong to a state park and not private property.”

“How would someone know about these?”

“A hunter maybe? Or a hiker?”

Bel’s memory shifted to Orso. He was a self-professed avid hiker, and while she knew judging someone by their cover wasn’ta reliable science, Ewan Orso looked like a man who enjoyed hunting.

Eamon pushed the door open and shined the flashlight’s beam inside the single room. Equipped with a cot, a wood-burning stove, and some basic furniture, Bel agreed with his assumption. Hunters probably stayed here when they traversed these woods, not realizing a dangerous millionaire now owned the land.

“Looks like someone was squatting here.” She nodded toward the canned food lining the counter, the sleeping bag on the cot, and the odds and ends of human life littering the room. “It’s after midnight, though, so where are they? Shouldn’t they be asleep?”

“They’re dead,” Eamon said matter-of-factly.

“How can you tell?” Bel stared up at him in surprise.

“I recognize the smell on the dirty clothes. It was present at your first crime scene. These are that hiker’s belongings.”

“The one the bear killed?” she asked, and when he nodded, she released his hand to inspect the room. “So, this cabin can’t help us find Olivia. It’s just the hiker’s stuff. Which will help us identify the John Doe, but still.” She cursed softly and gazed at Eamon with bloodshot eyes. “If this was where the dead hiker was staying, the killer won’t bring her here. We’re running out of time. Do you scent anything else?”

“My property spans half of these surrounding mountains. My nature allows me to do what human men cannot, but it’ll still take time.” He brushed her sweaty hair off her face with a gentleness he reserved for only her. “You need to sleep. I’m taking you back, then I’ll continue the search alone.”

“I want to come with you.”

“You can barely stand.” He tugged her toward the door. “I can run faster on my own, anyway.”

“Fine, but let me look around first. Little remained of the hiker, so something here might help ID him.”

Eamon nodded, taking the dog’s leash from her before retreating into the doorway. Bel made quick work of the place, finding nothing useful until she spotted a long trunk tucked into the corner. There was a symbol carved into its lid, and with an odd tugging at her gut, she realized it was the same design as the bloody signet ring they found at Orso’s. A nagging urgency fell over her, and she scrambled to locate the trunk’s key when she heard a loud crack. She whirled around, pausing her search through the man’s luggage to find Eamon smirking, a broken lock in his hand. She rolled her eyes at his irreverence, but that didn’t stop her from throwing open the lid, choosing to ignore that he just snapped a heavy-duty lock in half with his bare fingers.

“Oh god,” she whispered when the trunk’s contents came into view. “What on earth do you hunt with that?”

“Probably deer,” he answered, spying the rifle over her shoulder.

“No, Eamon.” Bel stepped back to reveal the weapon that hid deep inside the trunk; its brutal shape and size like no gun on the market. “What do you hunt with THAT?”

Eamon’s pale skin went deathly white as he studied it, alarm swirling in his hell-black eyes as he answered her with one bone-chilling word.

“Me.”

Eamon caughtBel’s waist with a powerful arm and hauled her against his chest as he raced out of the cabin door and into the night.

“What are you doing?” Bel fought against his hold, but he was too strong, her feet flailing above the ground as he ran. “Put me down.”

“No.” His growled answer sounded more monster than man.

“Eamon, stop.” She grabbed his forearm and shoved to no avail. “He’s dead! The hunter’s dead. He can’t hurt you.” Eamon slowed as her words registered. “Put me down.”

He relented, dropping her to the forest floor, the moonlight bathing his pale skin, and Bel hated the fear in his eyes. Eamonwas never afraid, and seeing his terror shattered her fragile sense of security.

“The bear killed him.” She cupped his chiseled jaw as his chest heaved. “He can’t kill you.”

“I’m not worried about me,” he spat, as if that should be obvious. “I need to get you to safety since I can’t protect you as efficiently out in the open.”

The fact that his intense fear was for her left an acrid taste in her mouth. He was the hunted one, yet his thoughts revolved around her. His care left her raw and unsure in the face of such devotion. “I’m fine,” she argued with a weak voice. “A dead man can’t hurt me.”

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