Born to Die

by Winter Austin

  A weak smile played with the corners of Cassy’s mouth. “You fainted.”

  “Women faint. Men pass out.” He tossed her a bottle of water. “Keep hydrated, or you’ll sweat it out and get dehydrated.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You gonna be good when we get out there in the timber?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were acting funny the last time we had to go tromping into the woods.”

  Ah, shit, she’d done a poor job of hiding it. “I’m good. Besides, I’ve got you, why should I be worried?” Cassy said it with more bravado than she felt.

  By the expression on Nash’s face, he didn’t believe her any more than she believed herself. Loaded with his own water and his shotgun slung across his back, Nash made a circular motion with his hand. “Let’s head out.”

  They headed for the pasture. Off in the distance, Cassy made out the roof of Mark Campbell’s home, a coil of smoke coming from the metal chimney top. Why, oh why, couldn’t she be curled up by a warm fire with a steaming cup of something? It would beat being out here in the frigid temps, slogging through snow. Since leaving bed, and Boyce, she hadn’t been able to stay warm longer than a few minutes at a time. At least her toes were dry and warm, covered in moisture-wicking wool socks and waterproof boots; her fingers were a different story.

  “What’s that calculating brain of yours thinking?” Nash asked.

  They reached the damaged section of the fence, the place where Campbell said his horses had broken through and escaped. Cassy squatted down to eye the tangled mess of electrical ribbon.

  “That our blood trail has been trampled by all those hooves. And that the shooter is sweating off their mistake in some camp or home, hoping nothing bad happened or anyone gets suspicious.” She rose to her full height. “Somewhere in those woods is a little nest and footprints to lead us where we need to go.”

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to point this out, you being the master detective and all, but Campbell’s property isn’t that far from the border of the Clydes’ property.”

  Cassy averted her gaze from Nash and stared into the beast’s belly just over a hundred yards away. The bare trees loomed over the landscape, their limbs stark against the gloomy midmorning sky. From the plot map she knew there was just shy of two acres of ground between here and the edge of the Clyde property, all of it covered by timber and pasture ground. That was too much area to cover on foot with only two people.

  But Nic and Con had done it. Trekked through thick forest to find her and Pop. To save them from The Priest—Cassy touched the scar on her cheek—to save her from doing a horrible, life-altering thing.

  They had stopped a twisted bastard. All she was doing was locating a wayward hunter. Nothing more. It wasn’t like she was going after the Clyde family’s killer.

  “Cassy?”

  Worry lines wrinkled the corners of Nash’s eyes, and he frowned. “You okay?”

  She forced a shrug. “I can’t stop thinking about the Clydes.”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to stop thinking about them. For a long, long time.”

  “Let’s get this thing started.” She didn’t want Nash to hash out things best left undisclosed at this point.

  Crossing the pasture to the side closest to the timber, they ducked under the electrical ribbon and came to a stop at the forest’s edge. Cassy gnawed on her lip, wishing she had the unfettered jump-in-feet-first attitude she’d had before that fateful day two years ago. This task would have been a lot easier to undertake.

  “Which way?” Nash asked.

  “You take left; I’ll go right. Squawk the radio if you find something.”

  Nash nodded then hiked off. Cassy watched him until he entered the tree line. Swallowing hard, she faced her path and, with a quake in her legs, pushed forward, entering to the place of her darkest fears.

  • • •

  Boyce, Liza, Detective O’Hanlon, and Sheriff Hamilton decided to use the sheriff’s department as their command center. Boyce was shocked to discover Nic was there instead of her sister.

  “Where’s Deputy Rivers?” He glanced around. “And for that matter, where is Deputy Nash?”

  Nic gave him a withering glare. “Doing their jobs, Agent … Hunt.” She had clearly wanted to call him “asshole” but not in front of her former boss and the new kid, Dispatcher Murdoch. Being nice and holding her tongue—that was a new one for Nic.

  “She isn’t supposed to be out there,” Boyce ground out.

  “And I was short deputies for some important duties, Agent Hunt,” Hamilton said as he clapped the coffee pot on the burner. “They were available. Despite what has happened here today, accidents still happen, and my department has to respond to them.” The sheriff’s stare turned cold.

  Boyce had had about enough of this maltreatment. So he’d overstepped his bounds with them the last time he was here, not giving them all of the information they’d sought. Up theirs. It was his damn job. But this desire to treat him like an incompetent bastard, a loser who’d used Cassy in his ultimate goal, only to turn tail and run—it was crap, and they knew it. They’d begged him to take over this murder investigation, and like hell was he going to stand here and let them screw him in the ass. For all he knew, these people were the reason Cassy had done a complete 180 this morning and tried to rip his head off after she’d spent the better part of the night proving how much she’d missed him.

  “Sheriff Hamilton, I don’t think I appreciate your tone of voice.”

  “And I don’t like you.”

  Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. “Whether you like me or not should have no bearing on these investigations.”

  “It does when you’ve been whoring after one of my best deputies and messing with her head.”

  That all-encompassing blackness took over. Boyce moved to grab Hamilton by the throat, uttering something akin to a growl, only to feel himself yanked back. His body slammed into something hard, rattling his teeth. Blinking rapidly, his vision cleared to see Liza in front of him, her body braced against his, hands locked on his arms, keeping him immobile against a wall. Across the room, Con had Hamilton in like manner.

  Nic stood in the center of the room, her frame stiff and at attention, her chin tilted up a notch as she stared at him. A knowing gleam passed through her eyes.

  “Boyce?” Liza’s voice penetrated the cotton clogging his ears.

  Nic’s gaze narrowed. “So you can feel, Agent Hunt.”

  He swallowed, not liking where she was about to take this.

  “Would someone please fill me in here?” Jolie Murdoch piped up.

  Nic waved Murdoch off then made her way across the bullpen to Boyce. Liza’s grip tightened as he tensed. Stopping in front of him, Nic cocked her head to the side like an inquisitive scientist.

  “What’s it to you, marine?”

  A coy smile played with her mouth. “Plenty, Boyce, because you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.” She turned her back to him and returned to her station next to Murdoch. “Shane, we haven’t heard from either Cassy or Nash in a while. You might want to go check on them.”

  “Let go of me, Liza.”

  “Not until you calm down.”

  “I am calm.” He shrugged out of her grasp, adjusted his clothing, and stepped away from her.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, partner,” she said under her breath.

  He wasn’t explaining a damn thing to her.

  “Radio them, Murdoch,” Hamilton was saying.

  While she was trying to hail them, Boyce met Hamilton’s stony gaze. The sheriff had pushed him to his limit, but for what gain?

  “Still nothing, sir.”

  “O’Hanlon, would you and Agent Hunt be so kind as to go out and look for our wayward deputies?”

  Right now, braving the damn cold and snow would be a sight better than having to deal with this country-boy prick.

  Chapter Twenty-One

&n
bsp; Cassy fiddled with her radio, changing frequencies, but got only static. Her trepidation at being deep inside the timber was completely replaced with frustration bordering on sheer anger. She glanced at her cell, again, and resisted the urge to scream and cry at the continued sight of No Service. Marooned in the middle of hell, she had no way of contacting anyone, nor did they have a way of contacting her.

  “Damn it!”

  This was ridiculous. How had she lost radio contact out here? The department’s system was supposed to handle anything and never leave the deputies stranded. But here she was, no service and no connection with Jolie or Nash. What now? Smoke signal?

  Cassy shoved her useless phone into her coat pocket and hefted the shotgun strap higher on her shoulder. As of yet, she hadn’t spotted any sign that someone had been this way. Sighing, her breath billowing in a thick cloud in front of her face, she turned back toward her tracks and where they had parked. The smart thing to do would be to go back and hope Nash had run into the same problem and gone back to the vehicles, too. Rotating to face the direction she had been heading, she debated. Maybe another one hundred yards or so, to prove to herself she wasn’t giving up too soon.

  With no wind, the silence of the snow-blanketed timber was unnerving. Burying her hands in her coat pockets, she wiggled her fingers, trying to get some warmth going. Eyes narrowed, she hunched her shoulders and trod forward. Why not go a little farther? It wasn’t like that last hundred yards would make that big of a difference.

  Gaze trained on the ground in front of her, she studied every inch, looking for any sign she hadn’t been the only human to walk around out here. Dead stalks and dormant foliage stuck out of the snow at odd angles; in some places they’d created a dome with the snow, deceptively hiding the empty space beneath. One of which Cassy accidentally stepped in and was rewarded with a crust of snow ringing the tops of her boots and pant legs. Slender limbs of multiflora rose snagged at her pants; the razor-sharp thorns pierced the thick denim and bit into her skin.

  “I hate nature,” she snarled.

  The bang of a vehicle door echoed through the trees, bringing Cassy to a sudden halt. Instinctively, she swung the shotgun around into her hands. She scanned her surroundings, noticing dark masses far off to her right. An engine started with a roar, settling into a rumble. Cassy hunkered down, uncertain what she wanted to do. The intelligent thing was to radio dispatch and Nash to let them know what she saw and to get backup—fine and dandy if the damn radio or her cell would work out here. What she could do was creep up, do some reconnaissance, and hike back to her truck, where she could report in.

  The clap of a door—sounding a lot like a building door—echoed around her, followed closely by a second vehicle door creaking open and then banging shut. The engine revved, and soon one of the dark masses was moving away. Cassy listened as the noise faded, waiting until stillness reclaimed the forest.

  Quickly, she closed the distance between her position and where the vehicle had been, crouching lower as she approached the edge of the clearing. Hunkering down behind a fat tree trunk, she peered at the empty lot. From the current state of appearances, there had only been one vehicle—and that had left. The building was in decent condition; someone cared about this place—unlike the last hunting cabin she’d been in.

  Cassy shivered at the wayward thoughts of her mental torture in that run-down place. Shaking free of the unwanted memories, she forced her focus back onto the task at hand. Yeah, it sucked, but she refused to be strapped down by her past. She wasn’t Nic.

  The cabin was dark, and there was a well-worn path between the door and the place where the vehicle must have been parked. Right about now Cassy wished she had her binoculars, which she’d stupidly forgotten in her truck.

  Cut yourself some slack, Cass. It’s been one blow after another this morning.

  Like the optimist she used to be, she checked her radio—still out—then checked her cell phone—no freaking bars. Tapping a finger against the shotgun stock, she stared at the door. Make a run for it and check to see if anyone was inside? Or haul ass back to the truck and bring in backup?

  Pivoting to put her back to the tree, she let her head fall against the trunk. How far had she walked to get here? She checked her watch. Over an hour, give or take some minutes since she and Nash parted in different directions. On a good day, with no deep snowdrifts, and clothes snagging underbrush, she could walk three miles in an hour. Was she still even on Mark Campbell’s property? She glanced back at the cabin. Who owned it? Her gaze swung back to her line of retreat. Damn it, she didn’t have the time to run back and bring in help before whoever left came back or anyone left inside the cabin took off. Her colleagues were probably all still busy with the Clyde crime scene. And God only knew if she’d find Nash in time.

  “Just do it.”

  Cassy sucked in an icy breath, gripped the shotgun, and turned. With a grunt, she hurried across the open space, making sure to tread through the tire tracks and up the path already made so as to hide her presence. She slipped up to the wall, plastered her body against it, and checked for any lurkers who might have been lingering and happened to spot her. Nothing. No movements, no one hailing her for trespassing. She inched along the wall to the only window she’d spotted on this side of the building. Once beside it, she peeked inside.

  Empty.

  Cassy leaned back. Odd. If those were hunters who’d just left, why wouldn’t they have things lying around?

  She moved toward the door, passed it, and checked around the corner. Nothing. No signs anyone had gone around there. Huffing, she went back to the door, tried the handle, and discovered it unlocked. The door swung free of her hand. Cassy cautiously peered inside.

  The gray light from outside fell on a lumpy bundle perched against the wall opposite the doorway. The scent of a recent fire in the fireplace mingled with a subtle odor of … was that chlorine bleach? Cassy eyed the bundle. Damn it, her hands were tied. Unless she had a reason to be inside the cabin, anything she might find in here could never be used in prosecuting for anything.

  She looked down the way the vehicle had gone, the tracks disappearing into the white background. The way hadn’t been well-traveled, because the tracks looked like they’d only recently been made through the snow. She frowned and looked at the bundle again.

  This time a glint at the bottom of the pack caught her eye. Digging out her little LED flashlight, she pointed it at the spot. She nearly dropped the flashlight. Sticking out from under the bundle was a Reese’s wrapper. Her hand shook.

  The shrill ring of her phone made her shriek. She dropped her flashlight and stumbled out of the doorway. Fumbling with her coat pocket, she jerked out the offending machine and glared at it. Three freaking bars! It would just figure.

  “Rivers.”

  “Where are you, and why aren’t you answering your radio?”

  “Hello to you too, Boyce. Both my radio and cell weren’t working where I was”—she glared at the cabin—“until now, apparently.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question of where you are. Deputy Nash and Detective O’Hanlon were about to call in the National Guard to track you down.”

  “I’m fine.” For now. “Boyce, listen, I might have found something the robbers are using as a hideout.”

  “How do you know?”

  “In the gas station robbery, what was the one thing they stole a lot of, other than beer and money?”

  “Candy. Reese’s cups, to be precise.”

  “I found a cabin that has a wrapper in it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The cabin belonged to the Clydes. They rented it to out-of-state hunters, but for some reason, this year, no one came. According to the distraught Mark Campbell, at least.

  Boyce cautiously navigated the open floor, taking notes and trying to drown out the mindless babbling coming from the man. The sheriff had given a brief statement about the murders to the public, and the word had spread like an oil spill on the o
cean. Cassy and O’Hanlon were doing their best to console Mr. Campbell—who had been asked to come identify the cabin’s owners for them—but they weren’t doing a good job of keeping their own emotions out of it.

  Boyce paused next to the bundle Cassy had found. Too many people were too close to this family in some capacity or another. In a small community like Eider and a close-knit county like McIntire, this would prove problematic to the investigation. Boyce crouched and, with the tip of his pen, lifted the edge of what looked to be a towel to get a better look at the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup wrapper. It was possible to lift something from the cellophane—a fingerprint or DNA—but if the clean state of the cabin was any indication, the chances were low. Whoever had stayed here didn’t want anyone to catch them.

  He stood as Cassy joined him. Despite the emotional blows and her excursion through the woods—all of which had taken a toll on her by the weary drag on her features—there was a spark in her eyes.

  “Will Hamilton mind if we look?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Deputy Rivers, I’m flabbergasted. You want to circumvent chain of command and evidence processing for a quick look?”

  “Nash has a camera.” Her fellow deputy was parked in the lane about thirty yards from the cabin to prevent any unwanted attention and to watch for the return of the previous occupants Cassy had seen leaving.

  “A camera, huh?” That would have been nice to know about ten minutes ago. He’d been waiting for someone with proper equipment from DCI to get out here. Frankly, Boyce was dying to see what was hiding under and in this pack. He wagged his fingers. “Get it, and gloves, too.”

  She nodded and hurried out. Her prior, and unexplainable, lashing out at him seemed to have evaporated into the cold winter air during her hike. If they got a moment of privacy, maybe he could get an explanation.

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he glanced at the caller ID. “What do you need, Liza?”

  “It’s not for me. I’m on my way back to the murder scene as you asked. HQ is trying to get ahold of you. Seems your phone keeps going to voicemail and you’re not returning their calls.”