Page 15 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

After a pause, he says, “Definesomething.”

“Possible cache. Narrow ravine northeast of your location. Tactical tread. Possible marker with residue.”

The radio is silent again for a second, then Rhett says, “Status?”

“Undisturbed by me. Photographed. Holding security.”

“Copy. Grid.”

I read off the coordinates, picturing Rhett turning as I speak, reading terrain in his head, deciding on the best route.

“Any movement?”

“Negative. But the site’s been maintained.”

“Hold. We’re coming to you.”

“Copy.” I lower the radio and shift deeper into cover.

When Rhett arrives, Wren’s behind him, exactly where he’d want her to be. Close enough to control and far enough back to keep clear. Boone comes in from a wider arc, likely because he’dswept our route in.

People have said they found our triplet communication strange. To us, everyone else takes too long to say things.

Rhett looks at me once, and I give him two fingers low and left, then point toward the deadfall. Boone catches it too, his expression more like it used to be before he learned to smile for our clients.

Wren watches us, her expression wary as she realizes the day has changed.

CHAPTER 8

CADE

She lowers herself into a crouch beside Rhett, staying where his hand signal told her to stay, and studies the ravine, then starts taking pictures with her own camera.

I make my way over to them. “I captured images from all angles. With scale markers, too.”

“I need my own documentation,” Wren says. “And if there’s residue similar to the first site, I need samples.”

“No.” The word comes out too fast, and she snaps her head toward me. “Not yet,” I say. “If that marker is part of their navigation system or a checkpoint, they’ll notice if it’s disturbed.”

“I can collect a sample without disturbing the stone.”

I’m prepared to argue, but her eyes are locked on mine, and I realize what she’s saying is true.

Rhett takes control because that’s what he does, and Boone and I never resent him for it. Boone watches the approacheswhile I stay near the cache and guide Wren on where to step and where not to.

The containers appear to be waterproof, and the lines I saw are the seams where the lids meet the bodies. Wren takes photos and detailed notes, then carefully pulls a small sample from the edge of the residue, labels it, seals it, and logs the collection point.

We move out in a staggered formation with Rhett leading, Boone ranging left, and me at the rear, watching Wren at the center and the trail behind us.

Once, on a steep cut, she slips half a step, catches herself, and keeps moving before I can close the distance. Of course, I notice. I notice everything about her.

By the time we reach the lower timber, the light begins to thin. The cabin’s still a few miles out, which is farther than I like with Wren tired and the day heavier than the previous ones had been.

Our route crosses a stream, which usually isn’t much trouble, but late-spring runoff makes it more unpredictable.

Rhett goes first, turning back with a hand held out to Wren. She steps onto the first slick boulder cleanly, then the next. On the third, her boot slides, and her body tips to the side.

I catch her by the waist and forearm, haul her backward and up, and pull her against my chest before she hits water or stone.