Page 18 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

I nod.

“They saw us last night,” she adds, voice low.

I don’t flinch. But it lands hard.

“I’ll find them,” I say.

“I know,” she says, like it’s a fact. Then she turns to me, eyes clear. “We’re doing this together, right? Not you disappearinginto the woods on some solo hunter mission while I ‘stay safe’ in town?”

My mouth twitches. “Would you actually stay?”

“Not a chance.”

We watch a truck roll by, windows down, someone’s golden retriever hanging out the side like he owns the place.

“You know,” she says after a minute, “riding behind you on that four-wheeler, I kept thinking…”

“What?”

“That if we weren’t being low-key hunted, it would’ve been hot.”

I glance at her. “You were thinking about that?”

“Shut up.”

“Arms tight around me. Legs gripping—”

“Sawyer.” I laugh, the sound surprising even me.

She smiles widely. God, she’s trouble, and I want every second of it.

Back inside, Sadie looks up from her laptop, triumphant. “Gotcha, you little creeper.”

Tessa and I rush to the table.

“Who is it?” I ask.

She taps the screen. “Can’t trace it fully yet, but the account is posting through a third-party app. Someone’s either hacked in remotely or set up a timed post system. But the location data on the most recent photo?” She spins the screen. “It was taken from somewhere behind your cabin. Close. Less than fifty feet.”

I stare at the dot on the map. The ridge. The trees. The old hunting blind. “I know where they were.”

Tessa straightens. “Let’s go.”

I look at her. “You’re sure?”

She grabs my keys and grins. “Let’s ride.”

The four-wheeler ride back is faster this time. Tessa’s arms are tight around my waist, but she doesn’t bury her face in my back. She’s alert. Watching.

At the ridge, I park near the trailhead and dismount. We hike the last stretch on foot. The brush is thicker here. Wilder.

I find the hunting blind just where I thought it would be, tucked between two trees—half-collapsed, overgrown, but still standing. I push the door open and step inside. There it is, a camera.

It looks like it’s rigged to a motion sensor with a battery pack and a transmitter beside it.

Tessa swears behind me.

I lift the camera gently, unplug the transmitter. Someone set this up to monitor the cabin. To trigger with movement. To upload without needing to be nearby. And they’ve been watching, probably longer than we know.

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