Page 70 of Web of Lies
"If I say no, will we go back?" I ask, half-joking, half-hoping that we would.
"No," he replies with a tired sigh. "Let's go."
The first rays of sunlight filter through the treetops as I fall in step behind him. My gaze lands first on the pistol holstered at his hip and then on the hunting knife secured just below it. He sets a steady pace and leads the way. An awkward silence hangs between us, as if neither of us knows what to say. The forest is silent, broken only by the sound of our footsteps crunching on leaves and splashing through patches of mud. Meanwhile,Whiskey is trotting ahead, his tail wagging and the white tip swinging from left to right as he dives into the bushes to explore the area. At least one of us is having the time of their life.
"How much farther from the car do we have to go?" I groan in annoyance. My feet ache from walking across uneven ground. Each rock and patch of mud pulls at my nerves. Evelyn's boots help, sure, but they're not magic. The thick mud clings to the leather as if trying to swallow my steps, and every movement feels heavier than it should. With each squelch, my patience wears a little thinner. I'm used to pavement, not this muddy mess that won't let me move at my pace.
"Be quiet or you'll spook the animals," Noah says in a low voice as he continues leading the way through the woods.
Eventually, we reach a small wooden blind surrounded by branches. Noah takes off his backpack and rifle and lays a tarp on the ground behind the blind. "Sit down." He nods toward the tarp, then squats down.
"Here? Why?" I ask, watching him while he sets everything up.
Without taking his eyes off the rifle, he points in front of him. Following his gesture, my gaze lands on a spacious clearing. "The deer move through here in the morning. The grass is covered in dew, so they'll stop to graze. You'll pick one out and take the shot."
"Hold on," I say, glancing between Noah and the clearing. "I thought I was just going to watch you hunt, and then try it another time."
Noah looks up at me, raising one brow. "No, you're going to shoot a deer. Today." He lets out a low sigh and sits down on the tarp.
I drop to my knees in front of him, my eyes fixed on his. "But—"
"I get it," he interrupts. "I'd prefer to shoot first, then let you take a turn," he says, shifting his position just as Whiskey runsup to him, panting softly. He sits down beside him with a light thud. "But the deer have been acting a bit off this season. They don't linger like they used to. It depends on the day."
"Okay," I sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "But what if I can't do it?" My gaze drops to Whiskey, who has lain down and is now crawling toward me. I cup his head in my hands and ruffle his ears, finding comfort in the warmth of his fur.
"Then I'll take the shot, field-dress the deer, and we'll head home. We can always try again another day," Noah says calmly as he rummages through his backpack. "Did Kyle show you how to shoot a rifle?"
"Yes, but he made me shoot at cans in your backyard. Not moving targets."
"That's okay. What matters is that you know how to use it and overcome the idea of pulling the trigger on a living being." He says. "Coffee?"
At the mere mention of coffee, my gaze snaps up to him. My eyes widen and a broad smile spreads across my face when I see the thermos and two stainless steel cups in his hands. My saving grace. Despite knowing I had to get up at the crack of dawn, I had planned no time for it.
"Yes, please," I say as I take one cup before he pours the steaming black coffee into it. Without hesitation, I lift it to my lips, savoring the rich aroma as I take a slow sip. The warm, bitter brew slides down my throat, melting the pressure in my chest and washing away the tension in my muscles.
Noah pours himself a cup, leans back against a tree trunk, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He taps it until a cigarette pops out, then puts it between his lips and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter before taking a long drag.
The silence between us no longer feels awkward. It's quiet, but not as uncomfortable. At work, people painted him as cold, ruthless, and dangerous. Maybe that's all true. Maybe he's doneawful things—the same kind of awful things Kyle has done. But being out here in the woods with him alone isn't as scary as I expected. I'm starting to understand what Evelyn meant when she said he isn't scary. He's not cold or cruel; he's just reserved. Controlled. And oddly enough, his quiet presence is calming.
"Ah, the deer are coming," Noah says. My head whips toward the clearing where a small herd of deer steps out of the tree line and moves through the tall grass, searching for the perfect patch to graze.
"Which one should I choose?" I whisper and look back at Noah while he prepares the rifle with a few clicks. Then, he puts his hands on my shoulders and gently guides me toward it.
"Pick one and I'll tell you if it's a good choice and explain why." He then reaches for his binoculars.
"Okay." I nod, press my cheek to the cold stock, and peer through the scope. My focus shifts from one deer to another, observing how they move and interact. Last night I spent two hours glued to my phone, diving down rabbit holes of hunting forums and videos, hoping they would prepare me. But this is nothing like staring at videos or scrolling through stories.
"I'm skipping the ones with fawns nearby and the young ones," I murmur, forcing myself to sound confident. My heart hammers in my chest, and my palms are slick with nervous sweat as I grip the cold steel of the rifle.
"Good," Noah says. "Those are off limits. We don't kill nursing does or yearlings."
"What about the bucks?"
"Skip them. Go for a mature doe without a fawn."
"Okay." My breathing slows as I scan the herd again, more carefully, focusing on finding the right one. Near a rotten, moss-covered tree trunk, I spot one grazing peacefully. It is standing apart from the others, looking mature with no fawn in sight. "What about the one near the rotten tree trunk?"
Noah hums thoughtfully and takes a moment to study it. "That one looks good. Go for it."
