Page 121 of When the Smoke Clears

I drag a breath into my chest. “I appreciate that more than you know. Gabe’s on his way. Along with some Cedar Hollow guys.”

Dalton pushes up his sleeves, the muscles in his forearms flexing like he’s already preparing for a fight.

“We need every set of eyes, every pair of boots on this ridge. Nathaniel’s out here somewhere.”

Eden’s voice is barely a whisper. “Do you think he has Isla?” She sits curled on the sofa, knees tucked under her chin, eyes huge and wet.

I kneel beside her, brushing back a strand of hair from her temple. My throat is tight, but I force calm into my tone. “It’s possible,” I admit. “If Isla could, she would’ve found a way to call me by now.”

The low growl of engines cuts off anything else I might say. Windows rattle in their frames. Tires crunch hard on gravel. My pulse spikes.

Two black SUVs slide to a stop. Doors pop open in quick succession; men spill out, rifles slung low at their sides, their dark jackets snapping in the wind.

Behind them, Cedar Hollow cruisers careen into the drive, lights strobing blue and red against the pines. Deputies pile out in tactical gear, radios crackling.

My stomach lurches, my head spins from the sudden flood of motion, but I push it down. Force the room into focus. I stride to the door and throw it open, mountain air rushing in, sharp with the tang of pine and gasoline.

Gabe is the first up the steps, broad-shouldered under his leather jacket, face grim. In his hand, crumpled and heartbreakingly familiar, is Isla’s orange Giants T-shirt.

For a moment, my vision blurs. My fingers close around it, clutching the worn cotton to my chest, and it takes every shred of willpower not to bury my face in it and breathe her in.

“Luke, I’m sorry,” Gabe says, voice low, rough with regret.

I swallow hard, pushing emotion down into my gut. “It’s not on you. She’s stubborn as hell. I should’ve known she’d come looking for me. I just pray we’re not too late.”

His jaw flexes. Then he nods toward the men behind him. “They’re here to help. Tell us where to start.”

I tuck the T-shirt into my waistband, like armor. “My watch—it’s still pinging?”

Gabe checks the handheld, the screen glowing pale in the dark. “Within a two-mile radius. That’s all I can narrow it down.”

I map the terrain in my head, every incline and logging trail etched into memory. “Meet me below the hairpin turn on the east road. Two old trails split there. One vanishes into alder, the other hits a cliff face. If your men can’t handle switchbacks, don’t waste time. We move fast. Tim’s bringing dogs; they’ll follow her scent if she left a trail.”

Gabe scans his men. They all nod, rifles firm in their hands. “If you find Nathaniel, bring him in alive. We need answers.”

I sweep the room, every eye on me. “Lives are only taken if there’s no other choice.”

Savannah pulls Eden closer on the sofa, arms tight around her. I point to one of Gabe’s men, tall and broad-shouldered, jaw sharp as granite. “You. Guard this house. Don’t let anyone near them.”

The man nods once.

I shrug on my pack, straps biting into my shoulders, adrenaline humming through my blood. “Everyone else—move. Dalton, you drive lead.”

Focus.

Dalton grips the wheel, knuckles bone white as we descend the winding road. I sit rigid in the passenger seat, eyes locked on the blur of trees rushing past. Chase shifts restlessly in the back, his movements taut, his silence heavy.

I anchor myself in the rhythm of breathing, in the soft fabric of Isla’s shirt clenched in my hand. The cotton is worn smooth from countless washes, and the thought of her slipping it on, laughing in the kitchen, is almost enough to crack me open.

Dalton pulls onto the shoulder, blocking the narrow road. No one should be coming this way except us. I step out, boots crunching on gravel, and approach the handler from Cedar Hollow.

My grip tightens on the shirt, fingers flexing against the fabric like it’s the last tether I have to her. His eyes drop to my hand before finding mine.

“Does that have her scent?” he asks, voice level but urgent.

I nod, my throat too thick to form words, and press the shirt into his hands. A hollow ache blooms in my chest as it leaves my grip, as if giving it away steals a piece of her from me.

If we fail, this shirt, her scent, her laughter, the memory of her touch will be all that remains. The thought tries to hollow me out, but I clamp down, jaw tight. No. She’s alive.