Page 20 of Shared By the Mountain Men Triplets

In the few hours since I was last here, Rhett apparently spent the time thinking of every possible way a person can go missing between one tree and the next. He launches into more rules about radio contact, extraction points, and abort conditions.

“What do you do if there’s human activity in the corridor?” he asks.

“I’ll document it from my position. I won’t move closer.”

“Lights sweeping upslope?”

“I’ll withdraw.”

“What if someone moves toward you?”

“Withdraw.”

“Engine noise?”

I shake my head and turn away.

“You’re getting irritated because he’s right to ask,” Boone says.

I turn back to them. “I’m getting irritated because all of you are acting like I wandered in from a gift shop with new boots and a granola bar.”

Rhett ignores this completely. “Your observation window ends at one.”

“I’m planning to stay until two, depending on what I see.”

He grits his teeth and speaks through a clenched jaw. “You want to sit in the dark, alone, and watch for criminals. It’s a long way past what I consider unreasonable.”

He’s irritating me. They all are, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Beneath the irritation is something dangerously close to pleasure, because being looked after this ruthlessly feels better than I want it to.

I’ve spent most of my adult life proving I can handle things, but it turns out being believed and protected at the same time is its own kind of disorienting.

“I understand the plan,” I say.

Rhett holds my gaze for another second before he nods once. Boone walks me toward the treeline, while Cade stays behind, quiet as a shadow. Rhett stays on the porch with his arms folded and a hard expression on his face.

CHAPTER 10

WREN

I notice Cade following me before I’m half a mile out.

He doesn’t snap branches, scuff loose stones, or even breathe loud enough for me to hear, but everyone has a rhythm, and after spending a week on the trails with him, I know Cade’s.

At first, I’m irritated. Then, I’m amused. Then, despite myself, I’m pleased.

I don’t let on that I know, and at the next split, I head in a different direction and make a loop just to waste his time.

He keeps following.

My first night’s work gives me a fox, two elk, and several small nocturnal mammals whose eyes shine in my camera’s light, but no human movement.

The second night brings colder air and a black bear crossing high above the drainage with the slow confidence of an animal that has no interestin my problems. I capture it on video and note the time, location, and direction of movement.

Cade trails me again, but never comes close enough to speak, and I have to admit I find his presence reassuring.

As I approach my surveillance spot on the third night out, something feels wrong. At first, it’s just a feeling, but eventually I realize the air is too still. There are fewer of the usual sounds I’ve come to expect. Even the insects sound subdued.

I get into position a little before ten, angle my field scope through a break in the trees, and mount my camera beside it. The primary pass stretches out below me in shades of gray, some of it illuminated by moonlight, while other parts are in shadow.