Page 46 of Protector of Talon Mountain

I park a safe distance away and make my way to Caleb, who stands near the perimeter, his face illuminated by the fire's eerie light.

"Any updates?" I ask, scanning the chaotic scene.

Caleb shakes his head, frustration clear. "Joe's still missing. We found his truck out back, but no sign of him."

I clench my jaw; the implications chilling. "And Adam?"

"The guy in the picture?” I nod. “Gone. No one's seen him since yesterday."

Damn it. The pieces are falling into a pattern I don't like.

"This fire..." I begin, but Caleb finishes my thought.

"Arson. No doubt about it. There are found traces of accelerant near the rear entrance."

I exhale sharply, anger simmering beneath the surface. "We need to find Joe and Adam. Now."

Caleb nods. "I noticed ATV tracks leading from the back of the shop into the woods. They might give us a lead."

"Let's follow them," I say without hesitation. "Grab what you need."

Minutes later, we're on the trail, flashlights cutting through the dense forest darkness. The tracks are fresh, the churned earth betraying a hurried departure.

"They were in a rush," Caleb observes, crouching to examine the disturbed soil.

"Desperate men make mistakes," I reply, eyes scanning the path ahead. "Let's hope they left us something to go on."

We press on, the forest closing in around us, each step heightening my sense of urgency. After what feels like an eternity, we emerge onto a remote ridge. The acrid scent of smoke hangs heavy in the air.

"Another burn site," Caleb mutters, pointing to a charred clearing ahead.

We approach cautiously, the ground beneath our boots transitioning from soft earth to scorched remains. In the center of the devastation lies a chilling sight: a dark stain marring the blackened soil.

"Blood," I state grimly, kneeling to inspect it.

Caleb exhales slowly. "Someone was injured here. Recently."

I rise, resolve hardening. "We need to find out whose blood this was and where they were taken."

Caleb nods, determination mirrored in his eyes. "Agreed. But Zeke, this is escalating. Whoever's behind this isn't afraid to spill blood."

"Neither am I," I reply coldly. "Especially when it comes to protecting what's mine."

We share a brief, understanding glance before turning back toward the trail. The night is far from over, and the hunt has just begun.

* * *

I guide the SUV off the main road, tires biting into the packed snow as we follow the trail Caleb marked. The radio crackles with static and clipped updates from the fire crew. Joe’s garage is under control—for now. The pumps were inches from going up. Would’ve taken half the block with them. Too close for comfort.

The guy in charge of the fire response? Travis Holt. It’s a name I know, if not the face. At least not until now. Last I heard, he was supposed to be dead. But that rumor, like most in Glacier Hollow, doesn’t hold up under daylight.

Travis Holt—former SEAL turned bestselling author—decided this town needed a fire station more than another book. So he bought one of the old buildings, gutted it, rebuilt it, and formed a volunteer crew from scratch. Trained them himself. No frills. Just function.

When I get him on the radio, his voice is cool. Steady. All edges sanded down by experience. He’s not the hand-shaking, back-slapping type—but I don’t need charm. I need competence. And he’s got it.

“Is the town safe?” I ask him.

“From the fire? Yeah. We’ve got it contained. Pumps are fine. From whoever lit it? Not even close. You know who you’re chasing?”

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