ECHOES IN THE NIGHT

JESSIE NIGHT THRILLER BOOK SIX

EMBER SCOTT

Copyright © 2025 by Ember Scott

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For B - As Always

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

About the Author

1

The woman's hands trembled as she fled up the stairs. The boy clung tight to her, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other cradling the stuffed tiger he carried everywhere. Below them, male voices filled the house—harsh, demanding tones that drove her faster up the darkened staircase.

The woman took the corner leading to the landing too sharply and the tiger tumbled out of the boy’s grip. It fell several steps before rolling to a stop face up. Its unseeing eyes stared up at the boy, calling out not to be left. The boy made a small sound of distress, reaching back for his constant companion, but his mother didn't slow her pace.

She couldn't.

The voices were getting louder, boots heavy on the floorboards downstairs.

"We have to be quiet now," she whispered, her lips pressed to his temple as she carried him into the master bedroom. The argument downstairs grew louder, her husband's voice rising in a way she had never heard before.

Desperate. Pleading. Angry.

Her quick, shallow breaths were warm against the boy's skin as she moved toward the cedar chest beneath the window.

The chest had always been for storing sweaters, family photos, the soft wool blankets that brought comfort on winter nights. Now it would serve a different purpose. She shifted aside the carefully folded sweaters with trembling fingers, her movements quick but gentle, every motion calculated not to frighten him more than he already was.

"Remember our special game?" She kept her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her. "The quiet mouse game? If you stay absolutely quiet, no matter what, you'll win the biggest prize. You stay here until I come and get you. No matter what you hear." Her voice caught on the last word. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "I love you more than all the stars in the sky."

The lid closed with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet room. Through the thin slats of the chest, strips of light fell across the boy's face as his mother's footsteps hurried away. The house creaked beneath the weight of foreign footfalls—heavy boots moving with purpose through rooms that had only ever known the soft steps of the family.

His mother's voice joined his father's downstairs, the words indistinct but the tone clear—she was begging. The argument rose and fell, punctuated by crashes and breaking glass that made the floor vibrate.

Then came two sharp bangs.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut. It sounded like thunder trapped inside the house. The sound of two heavy thuds of something hitting the floor hard would stay with the boy his entire life.

More sounds of arguing voices before smoke began to thread its way through the house. At first, it was the barest hint of burning, but it quickly began to grow steadily thicker. The acrid scent filled the bedroom and started to creep into the chest, stinging the boy's eyes and scratching at his throat. Without his tiger to bury his face in, he pressed his hands over his mouth.

He intended to keep his promise even as the smoke made him want to cough. He refused to cry out. He would be the quietest mouse, even though he didn’t care about the prize. He just wanted to make his mommy proud and happy.

No matter how badly he wanted to, he wouldn’t scream for his parents to come get him.

The house groaned around him, timber protesting as flames took hold. Orange light danced through the slats now, casting strange shadows in his hiding place. His head grew heavy, thoughts turning sluggish as the smoke thickened.

He heard the far-off wail of sirens that seemed to get louder with every breath he tried to take. There was another, louder crash soon after. Followed by another man’s voice calling out, asking if anyone was in the house.

He didn’t answer.

Quiet as a mouse.

Downstairs, a firefighter moved through the burning house, checking rooms methodically. The beam of his flashlight caught something on the landing—a stuffed tiger, one ear slightly singed. He moved to pick it up, turning it over in his hand before looking up the stairs.

Instincts whispered in his ear.

"Chief!" he called through his mask. "We might have a kid up here!"

The boy couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He couldn't blink away the stinging and all he wanted to do was sleep. He wanted to nestle deeper into the softness and forget all the terrible sounds he had heard.

The lid suddenly flew open. Through watering eyes, the boy saw a masked figure silhouetted against the smoke-filled room. Strange hands lifted him out, wrapping him in something thick and protective. The firefighter's voice was muffled but gentle. "I've got you, kid. You're going to be okay."

They moved through the burning house, everything he had ever known now engulfed in flames. The family photos on the walls. His mother's collection of mountain paintings. The beautiful, stained-glass windows his father had installed last spring. Everything the boy knew was disappearing behind them in a wall of smoke.

The night air hit him like a physical shock as they emerged. The firefighter settled him on a gurney, and only then did the boy see what was in the man's other hand—his tiger, fur darkened with smoke, one ear more worse for wear than the other. He reached for it with trembling fingers, and the firefighter carefully placed it in his arms.

The boy clutched his scorched tiger closer, burying his face in the singed toy. The sounds of the fire devouring what remained of his home grew louder. All he could do was hold onto the tiger and look up. It was a perfectly clear evening.

And as he took in the night sky, one voice filled his mind.

I love you more than all the stars in the sky.

2

Jessie Night waited patiently outside of the small, two-bedroom shotgun-style house as an intruder moved clumsily within.

The beam of the intruder’s flashlight bounced erratically from room to room. The movement cast weird shadows through thin curtains, creating a jerky dance of light across well-tended flower beds.

From her position in the shadow of an ancient maple tree, Jessie had a clear view of both the back door and the worn wooden steps leading down to a patch of scraggly grass. Mrs. Henderson had planted marigolds along the path last spring. Their wilted remains provided additional cover in the darkness.

The intruder was taking his time. An amateur. A professional would be in and out in under two minutes. This one had been inside for nearly fifteen, his movements betraying a familiarity with the layout that suggested previous visits. It tracked with what Mrs. Henderson had told her—money missing like clockwork, always on social security day, always the same amount.

The elderly woman lived alone, and had been convinced her grandson was stealing from her. Jessie had spoken with her grandson at large and believed the man when he said he had no reason to steal from his grandmother. While he wasn’t rich, he was well off and on more than one occasion had offered to pay the grandmother back the money she lost. Plus, he was far too worried about the danger a thief presented. Mrs. Henderson had refused to move out of her home, even though the thought of a stranger prowling around while she slept unnerved her.

Getting her to stay with her grandson on the night Jessie planned to do the stakeout had proven taxing. But the birth of a new great-granddaughter had been enough to lure her away for the evening, and Jessie was thankful. While she had no plans to confront the thief in the woman’s house, she still didn’t want Mrs. Henderson there just in case things went sideways.

Plus, having her with her grandson could immediately rule him out as the person currently rummaging through the house.

Blizzard lay silent and invisible in the deeper shadows near the gate, just where Jessie had positioned him. The German Shepherd's training showed in his perfect stillness. Only his eyes moved, tracking the light inside the house.

A floorboard creaked. The flashlight beam swung toward the back of the house. Jessie pressed herself closer to the tree trunk, letting the shadows swallow her completely. The back door would be the likely exit. It faced an alley rather than the street, and the rickety wooden steps would mask the sound of descent better than the concrete ones out front.

She checked her watch. 11:47 PM. Right on schedule, if the pattern held. Mrs. Henderson had been precise in her description of the previous thefts. The social security check always cashed by noon, two-hundred dollars always gone by morning, and always on the third Thursday of the month.

The flashlight beam disappeared. Jessie held her breath, counting the seconds of darkness. One. Two. Three.

The back door's hinges whispered in the night air.

A figure emerged. Male. Young, based on the fluid movements down the steps. Jessie watched as his hand kept drifting to the right pocket of his jeans. It was an unconscious tell related to the anxiety of losing something he found valuable.

That was where he had shoved the money.

Jessie remained motionless, letting him clear the last step. His sneakers made a soft scuffing sound against worn wood, then crunched quietly in the dried flower leaves in the grass. He turned toward the alley, exactly as she'd predicted.

She stepped out from behind the tree. "Going somewhere?"

The figure froze. For a heartbeat, nothing moved except the slight night breeze stirring dead leaves across the yard. Then he bolted—or tried to. Three steps toward the alley and he pulled up short. Blizzard's low growl might as well have been a brick wall. The sight of the white shepherd caused the intruder's back to stiffen and he slowly took a step back.

When he spun around, Jessie caught her first clear look at his face in the weak security light. Young. Maybe seventeen. Terror widened his eyes as he processed his situation. He was trapped between a hundred pounds of tooth and claw, and a lone woman. In his mind, the decision was easy.

He charged Jessie.

His shoulder dropped as he ran at her, telegraphing his desperate attack. Jessie stepped slightly to the side, using his own momentum and a carefully placed foot to send him flying. He hit the ground hard, but sprang up quickly as fear and adrenaline fueled him.

This time, he reached for Jessie, intending to shove her out of his way. She grabbed one of his wrists and twisted, dropping her weight down as she pulled the man up and over her shoulder. This time, he crashed onto the ground much harder, all the air driven from his lungs.

Jessie was on him, turning him onto his stomach and placing a knee between his shoulder blades as she secured his arm. "Stay down. Blizzard doesn't like it when people try to run twice."

As if to emphasize her point, the German Shepherd padded closer, his continued growl carrying clear warning. The boy went completely still beneath her knee, all fight draining out of him as the sound of approaching sirens grew louder.

Red and blue lights painted the back of the house in alternating sweeps as Alex's patrol car came to a stop. Jessie maintained pressure on the intruder's back, but his fight was gone. Now he just trembled beneath her grip. Whatever bravado he had was replaced by quiet, hitching breaths that sounded suspiciously like suppressed sobs.

"I know you," Jessie said quietly, turning the man over. "You're Tommy Kline. You do yard work for Mrs. Henderson." He was one of the people on the list she had compiled after her initial interview with Mrs. Henderson.

He didn't respond, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders confirmed it. Jessie had seen him mowing the old woman's lawn just last week. Mrs. Henderson stated she always paid him with a home-cooked meal for the boy and his mother. They lived alone in the ranch a couple of houses down from her, and she felt sorry for them. Apparently, the boy's father had left them some years ago and the mother wasn't in the best of health.

Jessie didn't need to turn around to know Alex's measured steps as he approached. His handcuffs glinted in the light when she saw him. "This our guy?" he asked.

"Yeah." Jessie eased back, letting Alex take control of the situation. As he secured the cuffs, she reached into Tommy's front pocket and retrieved a folded stack of bills. Two hundred dollars, exactly as Mrs. Henderson had reported missing each month.

"I wasn't going to hurt her," Tommy burst out, his voice cracking. "I swear it. I made sure she was always asleep. I didn't even want to disturb her. She just keeps moving the money and hiding it in different places, so it takes a bit of time for me to find it. I needed—" He cut himself off, but Jessie caught the flash of desperation in his eyes.

"Needed what? " Alex said. "They increase the price of video games along with everything else?"

"Mom's insulin." The words came out in a rush. "Insurance stopped covering it. I tried getting extra hours at the garage, but it wasn't enough. I just thought…" he stole a glance at Mrs. Henderson's house.

Jessie exchanged a glance with Alex. His face remained professional, but she caught a slight softening around his eyes. He'd been on the force long enough to know that sometimes the line between right and wrong got tangled up in desperation and love.

Alex hauled the boy to his feet. "Come on, kid, we can discuss this down at the station."

Tommy looked up at him. "Are you going to tell my mom?"

"Afraid so. You're still underage in the eyes of the law."

Jessie walked them to Alex's car and waited as he got the boy situated in the backseat and closed the door.

Alex turned to her. "Well, looks like you solved another one. The case of the disappearing social security check."

Jessie wasn't sure if he was serious or chiding her. "I don't get it, Alex. That wasn't a hard case. Why didn't Mrs. Henderson just come to the police? It was pretty standard."

Alex breathed deeply. "Probably because a lot of Pine Haven's residents still trust the police about as much as they do the government-controlled banks." The last part of the sentence was in air-quotes. "Look around. This isn't the lake. People here work hard for their money and still think cash will always be king."

Jessie sighed in agreement as she looked around.

The Row—as the locals called it—was a housing development built in the 1950s, comprised of three short streets with modest houses built along each side. Neat wooden houses stood shoulder to shoulder, their small front yards divided by chain link fences and dotted with comfortable lawns where elderly residents would still gather to pass the time.

Behind these houses ran a wide gravel path, what residents called the strip. It wasn't a proper alley but more a shared backyard that connected all three streets. Years ago, when the homes were new, it had served as a delivery route for coal and heating oil. Now it functioned as an unofficial neighborhood thoroughfare for kids and their bikes in summer, and pickup trucks to make careful passes during winter snowstorms as they helped clear paths to neighbors' garages.

Mrs. Henderson's house sat midway down Oak Street, the middle arm of The Row. It had seen better days, but she maintained it with stubborn pride as best she could. Like most, she relied on the kindness of neighbors, and Jessie hated how much that reliance had cost her.

"Hey," Alex said, "see you in the morning for coffee?"

She smiled. "I’ll be there."

She watched him pull away, reaching down to scratch Blizzard's head. "Well, boy, tomorrow should be fun."

Tomorrow, she'd have to tell a kind old woman that her trusted neighbor had betrayed her. She'd have to explain how sometimes good people made bad choices for good reasons. And a few houses away, a mother was about to get a phone call that would break her heart.

3

The liquid poured like silk in the darkness.

Its distinctive, sweet smell filled his lungs with each careful breath. He'd learned years ago to control his breathing. To take in just enough to savor without letting it cloud his judgment or render him unconscious. Amateurs got caught up in their own excitement, leading to their undoing.

But he was no amateur.

The lodge's great room stretched before him, rustic beams overhead catching faint moonlight through tall windows. His flashlight remained off. Light would draw attention. Besides, he knew every step of this dance by heart.

The accelerant made soft splashing sounds as he moved, each pour precisely measured, creating a pattern only he could see in the darkness.

Old wood creaked beneath his boots. There was so much of it. Everywhere he looked there was wood. This was going to be glorious.

The lodge had been empty for months as it underwent a renovation meant to expand and update the structure.

His free hand traced the rough surface of a support beam. He used his fingertips to admire the craftsmanship. The man luxuriated the deep grooves of the saw marks. So much history.

All built on lies.

As he moved, his mind calculated spread patterns and burn times. The perimeter first, then working inward in a spiral that would give him the exact timing he needed. Heat rises. Always start low, let physics do the work. Fire was fire, and the fundamentals never changed, whether you were trying to snuff it out or grow it into a glorious, insatiable beast.

The floorboards beneath his feet had been laid by careful hands decades ago. Pine, from the smell. Good. Pine burned hot and fast, perfect for his needs. His boots left no prints—he'd learned that lesson early.

He looked at the special bundle in the center of the room. Leave nothing but what you choose to leave.

Finally, the last of the liquid splashed across the floor, completing the pattern. He secured the empty container in his pack. No evidence, no traces. No matter how different the gear he wore might be, years of similar movements had become engrained in his muscle memory.

Nothing but what he chose to leave behind.

In the darkness, his smile was a sharp thing. He was filled with the anticipation of what would come next. His nerves came alive, his heart raced. The knot that grew in his stomach was what he imagined it must be like when others first fell in love.

Only for others, that feeling faded over time. For him, each time was like the first. He looked down, taking in the special package he’d left in the central great room.

Then he struck the match.

His eyes grew wide as the sulfur flared to life. One chance to get it right. One moment to make it perfect. The flame trembled between his fingers, casting just enough light to illuminate the path he'd created.

Thirty seconds to full ignition. Twenty to clear the building. He'd timed it dozens of times in his head.

The match fell.

Fire bloomed across the floor, following his careful trail of accelerant. The heat pushed at his back as he moved, each step measured, counted. No running. Running led to mistakes. He'd seen too many bodies, trapped by panic, to give in to that instinct.

Casually, he descended the main staircase. The fire chased him, hungry and eager, spreading exactly as he'd planned. Already the upper landing was wreathed in smoke. A perfect draw pattern. The lodge's architecture worked with him, creating the vertical flow he needed.

He reached the French doors at the rear of the building. Behind him, flames licked up the wall, consuming decades of varnish. The old wood caught beautifully. Through the growing roar, he heard the first support beam crack.

Cool mountain air greeted him as he stepped outside. Light from the fire painted the surrounding pines in orange and gold. He moved twenty yards back, finding the spot he'd chosen earlier. Close enough to feel the heat, far enough to stay hidden if anyone responded quickly.

He knew no one would respond quickly. But he had to be prepared just in case.

Before him, the lodge began to transform. Flames danced behind each window, finding the oxygen they craved. In the growing light, he could make out the building's name carved above the entrance. Eagle's Rest Lodge. Soon it would be nothing but ash and memory.

He glanced at his watch. Fifty-seven seconds from match to full involvement. His best time yet. He strained his ears, listening for any sirens headed in his direction. There were none. Not that it mattered now. The fire had what it needed. What he'd given it.

Nothing could stop it.

He allowed himself one more moment to watch his work. To memorize how the flames painted the night sky. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving only destruction in his wake.

4

Even though it was mid-morning, there were only a handful of regulars occupying their usual scattered tables at Angela's Bakery. The typically loud buzz of conversation barely rose above the hiss of the espresso machine. Dust motes danced above the worn wooden floors as Jessie made her way into the coffee shop. Blizzard's nails clicked softly against the hardwood as he followed Jesse through the front door. Alex already occupied their usual corner table, two steaming cups of coffee sitting before him. The German Shepherd immediately took up his standard position beneath the table, dark eyes scanning the quiet space before he settled down.

"I see you ordered for me,” Jessie said, sliding into the chair opposite Alex. The familiar aroma of vanilla and hazelnut rose from her cup, contrasting the bitter black coffee that Alex preferred.

He pushed her cup closer. “Two years of morning coffee. I should hope I know your order by now.” His mouth quirked in that familiar half-smile. "Though I still don't understand how you drink that sugary concoction and call it coffee."

"Some of us prefer not to drink motor oil." Jessie wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic. "How did things go with Tommy Kline last night?"

Alex's expression sobered. "About as well as you'd expect. His mother was devastated. More embarrassed about her health issues being the cause than angry at what he'd done." He ran a hand through his hair. "She kept apologizing, if you can believe it. Said she should have known something was wrong when he kept saying he was taking care of her meds and not to worry.”

"I spoke with Mrs. Henderson this morning," Jessie said, watching Alex's reaction carefully. "Let her know the case was closed. I told her what had happened and where things stand. Her grandson wants to press full charges."

Alex puffed both cheeks out. “And was she onboard with that?”

“She said she will not press charges and ultimately it’s her call.”

Alex shook his head. “I’m not surprised. Bottom line, the kid was in the wrong. But his heart was in the right place. The new Chief won’t be happy. She’s a stickler for treating crime—all crime—by the book.”

“Maybe there is some middle ground to be found here. I’m not for throwing the book at the kid. But he still needs to understand the consequences of what he did. Maybe he could be released with some kind of community service as punishment.”

Alex thought for a moment. “That might work. First time offender. Juvenile. I’ll see what I can work out.” He picked his cup back up and blew into it before bringing it to his lips.

“So, tell me about this new Chief. Anything I should be worried about?”

Alex's expression tightened slightly. "Chief Daniels is... different. Yesterday she called an all-hands meeting to outline her expectations. Three hours of PowerPoint presentations on proper procedure and departmental standards."

"Sounds thrilling. I heard she was handpicked by Maggie herself.”

"Oh, it gets better. She's implementing a complete review of every open case file going back eighteen months. Wants to ensure everything was handled according to DC protocols." He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m not sure Mayor Beaumont knows what she’s unleashed on the town.”

Jessie smiled. “I’ve a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing. After the mess that was Trent Walker, I’m betting she knew the next police chief had to be a polar opposite of that man.”

Alex chose his words carefully. "She's certainly qualified. Impressive record in DC. It's just... Pine Haven isn't Washington. We don't have endless resources. But it’s hard explaining things to someone that isn’t from here. I get the feeling she thinks small-town policing is just big-city policing on a smaller scale."

“Well then, I’m betting she’s probably not too keen on private investigators that work as consultants with the department.”

“And, you would be correct,” he said, meeting her eyes., “However, that’s where the mayor is firmly on your side. She’s seen the value you’ve added to the department and has made it clear that your services are to be retained. Even when Chief Daniels kept saying things like, ‘liability’ and ‘chain of custody’.”

Jessie gave a small sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good to know.”

Alex smiled. “You know, if you charged what you should be charging…”

Jessie shook her head. “I take what my clients can afford. I made a good bit of money off the Wilson case, so I’m fine for a while.”

“Just curious…but what did Mrs. Henderson pay? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Jessie felt the slightest blush creep up her cheeks. “Um…it was homemade chicken and dumplings. But they are really good chicken and dumplings.” Jessie was quiet for a second before fixing Alex with a stare. “I did want to ask you about something.”

“Uh-oh. Am I going to need a second cup of coffee for this?”

Jessie smiled and shook her head. “It’s about Dr. Lindquist.”

Alex's expression shifted from casual interest to focused concern. "What's going on with the doc?"

"He reached out yesterday, wants me to meet him at the gun range. Says he's interested in learning about firearms, getting some basic training in gun safety."

"The gun range." Alex’s cup made a soft click as he set it on the wooden table. "Our Dr. Lindquist. The man who has stated many times he doesn’t believe in guns?”

“The one and the same. I asked him why now and he just said it was something he’s been thinking about,” Jessie said.

“Well, we both know what changed his mind. Being kidnapped and held hostage by a bunch of inbred mountainfolk will probably make anyone rethink their stance on peace.” His jaw tightened as he leaned in. “Do you know if he’s been seeing anyone? Talking this through with a professional?”

She sighed. “I don’t think so. And I’m going to bring that up when I see him.”

“So, you’re going to do it then?”

Jessie thought about the question. “It's his way of avoiding dealing with what happened. Learning to shoot isn't going to erase his memories. Trust me, I've seen too many people try to patch over trauma with false security. They end up carrying two burdens instead of one. But maybe it will lead to him opening up a little more.” She watched her friend's face tighten as he studied his cup. “You don’t agree?”

Alex lifted his shoulders and let them drop heavily. “Hey. What do I know? This is more your area than mine. I just know that if you bottle something up long enough, cracks start to form, and leaks happen.”

Alex’s phone buzzed and he fished it out, his eyes darkening as he read the message.

Blizzard's head lifted from its resting position near Jessie's feet, his attention fixed on Alex even before the detective spoke.

"We've got a situation," Alex said, his expression grim as he studied his phone. "Fire reported at Eagle's Rest Lodge, just outside town limits. They're requesting police presence."

“Eagle's Rest? I’m not familiar with that one,” Jessie said.

“It’s one of the landmark lodges up in the mountains. Big with the ski folks in the winter. It’s been undergoing renovation for a while now, getting ready for the grand re-opening at the start of the winter season.” He downed the rest of his coffee in a gulp and stood up. “Feel like taking a ride?”

Jessie glanced down at Blizzard, who was already alert and waiting. "You know me. I live for cryptic morning invitations." She rose, leaving her half-finished coffee on the table. "Though I'm betting this isn't going to be as simple as our Tommy Kline situation."

Alex gave her a tight-lipped smile. “With our luck? Don’t count on it.”

5

The remnants of Eagle's Rest Lodge squatted before them like a blackened skeleton. Water from the fire crew's final efforts turning the ash-covered ground into a treacherous mess of mud and debris. Smoke still curled from isolated hotspots, adding to the haze that clung to the mountain slopes.

Blizzard's nose worked overtime as they approached. His head was hanging out the open backseat window and he huffed loudly as he took in the new aromas. Jessie frowned looking over her shoulder at him. While he was typically calm and measured, something about the rush of activity, and the noise combined with the smell of burning timber had him on edge.

“He okay?” Alex asked, glancing at the dog in the rear-view mirror.

“I’m sure he’s fine. Probably his first time at a fire scene. Just in case, I think I’ll leave him in the car though.”

"Welcome to the jurisdictional nightmare," Alex said beside her, his voice low as they approached the incident command center—a collection of vehicles arranged in a rough semicircle at what had once been the lodge's main entrance. "Forest Service is already claiming primary, but since we've got a structure involved, I’m betting Fire Chief Silvers isn't backing down." He eased the car to a stop just behind the fire rigs and paramedics.

They exited the car, and Alex surveyed the team before nodding to a taller man in a white command helmet standing with a cluster of firefighters. He strode towards them, hand outstretched. Everything about the man broadcast authority.

“Detective Thomas. Good to see you again.” The two men clasped hands before the fire chief turned his attention to Jessie. "And you must be the PI I've heard so much about. Though I wasn't aware consultants were cleared for active fire scenes."

“Chief Silvers, this is Jessie Night. And as an official consultant under the Pine Haven Police Department, I can vouch for her credentials,” Alex said.

The fire chief arched an eyebrow in appreciation before extending a hand to Jessie. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Night.”

Jessie returned the greeting. “And you as well, Chief. But please, call me Jessie.”

The man nodded and gave her a stiff smile. “I understand you were the one responsible for finding the killer of my predecessor. Thank you for bringing that man some peace.”

Jessie held his gaze for a second, uncomfortable with the praise. “Well, that was a terrible situation. And I had a lot of help on that case.”

Alex cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, Chief Silvers, care to let us know why you requested a detective on site? Isn’t it a bit early to have determined cause?”

The chief nodded his head in the house’s direction. “Follow me.” They walked over to the group of firefighters, and he borrowed two helmets and offered them to Jessie and Alex before heading to the burned-out main entrance into the lodge.

Jessie took in the demeanor of the firemen as they passed. They weren’t filled with the usual camaraderie at having defeated a house fire. Their body language, the way they were grouped, some with a hand or arm on their fellow fighters…it all suggested they were comforting one another. Whatever the chief was taking them to was not good.

Silvers' expression tightened. “Two things. Under normal circumstances, I would say yes, it’s too soon to state cause. But there's nothing normal about this fire. The burn pattern is too precise. Someone knew exactly what they were doing, how the building would burn, where to place accelerants for maximum effect. This wasn't some amateur with a match and gasoline. I’m one-hundred percent certain this was arson.”

“You said there were two things,” Jessie said.

Silvers nodded once, his face grim. "Follow me. And watch your step. Structure's still unstable in places."

He led them through what remained of the lodge's entrance. The great room opened before them, its vaulted ceiling now open to the sky. Through gaps in the lingering smoke, Jessie could see the deliberate nature of the destruction. Every beam, every support, had been calculated into the fire's path.

"The accelerant pattern is like nothing I've seen before," Silvers said as they picked their way carefully through the debris. "Whoever did this understood fire behavior, air flow, structural weak points. This wasn't just arson. This was⁠—"

He stopped abruptly at a specific point near the room's center.

Jessie followed his gaze, her breath catching as she processed what she was seeing. Beside her, she heard Alex’s breath catch in his throat.

"Now you see why I needed a detective," Silvers said quietly.

Because there, in the heart of the destruction, was evidence of something far more disturbing than simple arson. The fire might have been the weapon, but Jessie was now certain it had served a very different purpose.

It had been meant to hide something. Or perhaps, more chillingly, to reveal it.

There, in the center of the great room, stood a charred body, its posture unnaturally animate for something so dead.

Jessie circled the scene, taking in the details that seemed deliberately arranged. The body stood upright, one arm extended outward and slightly curved, as if frozen in the act of embracing an invisible companion. Even Silvers, who must have been looking at it for hours, seemed unable to pull his gaze away.

"Jesus," Alex finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Has anyone touched the body?"

"No," Silvers answered quickly. "Once we confirmed it wasn't a mannequin, I had everyone pull back. Scene's been secured since then, though with the fire suppression efforts..." He trailed off, gesturing at the water-logged debris surrounding them.

Alex circled the figure slowly. "Standing corpses. That's a new one." He stopped, studying the way the body was positioned. "The arm position seems too specific to be random. Like it's reaching for something." He turned to Jessie. “You ever see anything like this?”

"Never. But look at this." She pointed toward the victim's torso. Something glinted under the layer of soot and ruined flesh. She turned to the chief. “Do you have a brush or something I could use to sweep away a bit of the ash?”

The chief thought for a moment and excused himself before returning with what looked like a large, delicate paint brush. “Use this. It’s made for brushing away layers of grime during a fire investigation.”

Jessie took the brush and used it to carefully remove an area of black ash to reveal metal.

“What the hell?” Alex said, leaning forward.

“Well, at least we know how the body is still standing,” Jessie said.

There was a band of metal that hugged the body of the victim, and attached to it was a thin, metal strip that flowed down the back of the legs before being secured to a metallic stand. The stand itself had been covered by water and fallen debris from the fire suppression.

“Christ Almighty,” Silvers breathed. “Who would do something like this?”

Jessie didn’t answer as she used the brush to remove more soot to reveal as much of the bracing system holding the body as was possible. Whoever had constructed it understood both engineering and anatomy. A central pole ran up through what remained of the torso, with carefully designed joints at key points—shoulders, elbows, hips. The framework didn't just support the body; it positioned it with scientific precision.

"Custom made," she said, glancing at Alex.

Silvers cleared his throat. "When my team first breached the room, we thought it was some kind of modern art installation. Until we got close enough to realize what we were actually looking at."

The fire had done its work thoroughly. No facial features remained recognizable, no obvious identifying characteristics. Just a macabre puppet, staged in death to tell a very disturbing story.

"Has anyone contacted the coroner?" Alex asked, his voice tight.

Silvers shook his head. "Wasn't sure about jurisdiction. Forest Service is already sniffing around. There have been some wildfires further up in the highlands that they’ve deemed suspicious. And with this one being so close to state land…I figured I'd leave that call to you."

"The minute we confirmed this was a body, this became a homicide scene," Alex said. He pulled out his phone but paused before dialing. "We need to clear non-essential personnel. Set up a proper perimeter.”

“On it,” Chief Silvers replied before hurrying away.

Jessie watched him go. The man couldn’t get away from the scene fast enough. She continued to study the macabre statue as she heard Alex speaking. He hung up and turned to her. “Dispatch is sending up some more officers and the crime tech guys to start going over the place. Doc Lindquist is on the way as well. I guess all we can do is wait at this point.”

“Uh-huh,” Jessie said, absentmindedly as she took out her phone and began photographing the body. “Alex, this took time to orchestrate. I’m sure Lindquist will be able to tell us fairly quickly that, whoever this is, they were dead before this was done to them.” She gestured to the precise arrangement of the metal supports. "Look at the attention to detail. The exact angle of the arm, the tilt of the head. They wanted this body displayed in a very specific way. The fire wasn't meant to destroy evidence. It was just the backdrop.”

Alex looked around at the burnt-out husk surrounding them. “Well, if there was evidence, the water to extinguish the blaze would have destroyed whatever the fire didn’t.”

The implications hung in the smoke-filled air. Someone had orchestrated this entire scene, from the framework that posed their victim, to the fire that revealed it.

Loud voices intruded on their examination of the scene, and both turned to see Chief Silvers blocking the entrance to the lodge from a very determined-looking, middle-aged woman. Jessie and Alex made their way to them, catching the tail end of the argument.

“And I’m telling you that no one can come inside,” Chief Silvers was saying. “This structure is unstable and parts of it are still hot. So no, you may not enter.” His voice went up just a bit for emphasis.

“And I told you I demand to speak to the officer in charge. And don’t you tell me there isn’t one because I saw the car parked at the end of the lot. I have important news that⁠—“

“Hey, what is going on?” said Alex.

The woman’s eyes swept over him and then Jessie. She adjusted her glasses and straightened her spine, making all five-feet-nothing of her as intimidating as possible. “My name is Eleanor Whitfield. I’m the president of the Historical Preservation Society. Are you the policeman in charge?” She gave Jessie a hard stare. “Or is she the one I need to speak with?”

“I am Detective Alex Thomas and this is Jessie Night. She’s a consultant with the Pine Haven Police Department.” He kept his tone low and cordial. “How can we help you?”

The woman seemed to digest his words before narrowing her eyes at the both of them. “I need to know when you’re going to arrest the man responsible for this…this…travesty!”

Alex measured his reply carefully. “Ms. Whitfield, this is an active crime scene. I can assure you that a thorough investigation will be performed and as soon as we know who the responsible party—or parties—may be, we will act accordingly. But for now, I need you to step back to the safety line that Chief Silver⁠—“

The mention of the fire chief’s name drew a snort from the woman. “I’ll tell you the same thing I just told this big imbecile—“ She gestured at Chief Silvers. “I told him who did it. Marcus Ray. That’s who you need to go arrest.”

“Marcus Ray?” Jessie asked.

“The owner of the property,” Eleanor replied. "We were three days away from a historical designation hearing. Three days! This lodge represented one of the last examples of original mountain resort architecture in the region. The craftsmanship, the historical significance—" She gestured at the ruins around them. "And now look. Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ms. Whitfield, I understand you're upset⁠—"

"Upset? He's been trying to gut this place since he bought it. The original details, the hand-carved supports—all of it was going to be replaced with modern materials. When we moved to block the renovation through historical preservation, suddenly there were all these 'accidents' on site. Building inspectors finding code violations that would require complete rebuilds..."

"Eleanor," Alex's voice took on an edge of authority. "We will look into every angle. But right now, I need you to leave the scene. There are officers on their way, and I will assign one to personally take a complete statement from you.” He looked at Chief Silvers and gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

“Eleanor, why don’t we step back a bit and give the detective room to work.” He raised a hand to place on her shoulder.

“Touch me, Evan, and I’ll sue you.” None of the woman’s initial fury had left her voice as she squared back around in Alex’s direction. “And why should I make more statements? It’s not like you guys did anything with the previous ones.”

Alex pursed his lips as the Preservation Society president once again took offense at something the fire chief said and turned her ire on him. The detective leaned close to Jessie and whispered. “Remind me to have a chat with the chief about what a secure perimeter means…” His voice trailed off as his eyes fixed on something in the distance. "And speaking of things going straight to hell in a handbasket..."

Jessie turned to follow his gaze. A tall, muscular figure headed toward them. A head of shaggy black hair framed a stern face that was locked on the foursome. His purposeful stride said he wasn’t about to wait for an invitation as he made his way to the lodge landing where they stood.

“Who’s that?” Jessie asked.

Alex let out a sharp breath. “Trouble. Looks like the smoke jumpers are crashing the party.”

6

The man approaching them moved with the easy confidence of someone used to commanding attention. He was dressed in a simple white tee shirt, dark denim jeans, and a pair of heavy-duty construction boots that stood out against the ash-covered gear of the firefighters as they continued to work on hotspots around the lodge's perimeter. Even the radio chatter crackling through the haze, mixed with the sounds of equipment being moved, seemed to die down at his approach.

Dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that suggested careful styling rather than neglect, and his sharp green eyes were already assessing the situation before he reached them. Jessie noticed how other personnel seemed to unconsciously shift out of his path, seeming to sense the authority he carried.

"Detective Thomas," he said, extending his hand. Jessie noticed a distinctive burn scar across his wrist. “It’s been a while.” His handshake appeared firm but not aggressive, though Jessie caught the fraction-of-a-second delay before Alex accepted it. "And you must be Jessie Night. Your reputation precedes you."

“Thank you. I guess,” she replied. “And you would be?”

“Korr Green. Smoke jumper team lead.” The way he said it told Jessie she needed to be impressed. Alex intervened before she could say more.

“What brings you to the scene, Korr?” Alex said.

Jessie caught the slight tightening around Alex's eyes during the exchange. His jaw clenched briefly before smoothing into professional neutrality. She got the feeling they knew each other, and not in a good way. There was history there, and judging from both of their body posturing, she was pretty sure it was personal.

Behind them, the burnt lodge creaked and settled, punctuating the tense silence with occasional groans of stressed timber. A light breeze carried the acrid smell of wet ash and something else—something chemical that shouldn't have been present in a natural fire. Jessie watched Alex register the same odor, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"This is an active crime scene," Alex said, his tone deliberately measured. "One that falls squarely under Pine Haven jurisdiction." He shifted his stance, almost imperceptibly positioning himself between Korr and the lodge entrance. "So, I'll ask again, what brings a smoke jumper to a structural fire investigation?"

Before Korr could answer, Eleanor Whitfield maneuvered between them with the determination of someone used to being overlooked. Her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose, and she pushed them up with one finger as she planted herself firmly in Korr's line of sight. "Oh, thank goodness. Someone with actual authority. I am the president of the Historical Preservation Society, and you need to listen to what I have to say about Marcus Ray⁠—"

"Rick Carson sent me," Korr said, speaking over Eleanor while maintaining that unnervingly direct eye contact with Alex. His posture remained relaxed, but Jessie noted how his weight was perfectly balanced, ready to move in any direction. "Given the proximity to state land and the recent string of suspicious fires in the highlands⁠—"

"Suspicious fires?" Chief Silvers stepped forward, boots crunching through debris. Water from the lodge's saturated timbers dripped steadily, creating a percussion track for the growing tension. "This is the first I'm hearing about them being suspicious.” His hand unconsciously went to the radio at his belt, as if already planning to make some calls.

"Mr. Green, you have to understand," Eleanor persisted, reaching for his sleeve. "This property was about to receive historical designation. The hearing was scheduled for⁠—"

Alex was biting the inside of his cheek when he caught sight of Officer Martinez pulling into the parking area. He motioned for her to join them. "Officer Martinez," he called out, his voice cutting through the growing tension. "Would you please take Ms. Whitfield's full statement? She has some important information about the property owner. Information that we are going to take very seriously.”

Martinez, an energetic woman with kind eyes and no-nonsense bearing, moved through the organized chaos. "Of course. Ms. Whitfield, why don’t you step over here with me? We want to make sure we get every detail, and you know it’s impossible to concentrate around all these…voices.” Eleanor nodded, confused, but cooperative with the young officer. Martinez smiled and nodded when Alex mouthed a thank you in her direction.

As Martinez guided Eleanor away, Jessie watched the subtle repositioning of the three men. Korr had angled himself to maintain sight lines to both the lodge entrance and Alex. Jessie watched as his eyes danced between the detective and the crime scene, taking in details about the fire pattern even as he engaged in conversation. Chief Silvers had moved to stand slightly in front of the doorway, his body language clearly stating, 'my crime scene.' The way his boots were planted suggested he wasn't planning to move anytime soon.

Alex stood with deceptive casualness between them, his weight balanced on the balls of his toes. Jessie recognized the unconscious stance. Part of Alex perceived the smoke jumper as a threat of some kind. It was an ages old dance he was witnessing as men jockeyed for control. She had seen it more times than she could count in the military.

Behind him, the crime scene unit was beginning to arrive, lugging their equipment cases with them as they navigated the treacherous footing around the lodge.

Alex spoke up, his tone remaining professional and neutral. “Even if your boss thinks there might be a connection between this and your wildfires, you still have no jurisdiction here. This is structural.”

“We’ve had three wildfires in the last two months that show similar characteristics to this one. Professional accelerant used that we still haven’t identified, and a very precise burn pattern.” He gestured to the lodge’s remains. “Look at the char patterns on those support beams. The way the fire tracked through the structure. I’ve seen the same thing on patches of trees up in the high country.”

Evan Silvers snorted. “And? We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here. Nobody is making any connections as of yet. That’s my job to figure out. And given that you only just arrived on the scene, how can you tell anything about the burn patterns?”

“I have eyes, Chief.” Korr held up his hands. “Hey, but I’m just here to help figure it all out. Provide any assistance I can.” He glanced past the fire chief into the lodge. “So, what’s in there? I can tell it’s something more than just debris from this place burning down.” He cast a steely glance Alex’s way. “And for that matter, what are you doing here, detective?”

A deep red crept up Alex’s neck, but Jessie couldn’t decipher what emotion caused it. He bit at the inside of his lip before answering. “We have a victim that was found inside.”

Instantly, Korr’s demeanor changed. “Oh, man. I am so sorry. I really had no idea. I definitely don’t want to step on any toes. I’m just offering another set of eyes, that’s all.” He turned to the fire chief. “Luckily, the wildfires haven’t claimed any victims, and they haven’t been large. But someone—and I’m betting it’s the same person—is starting them. I’m sorry someone got hurt, but if there is any connection, we can share information and hopefully end this before another person is accidentally killed.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Alex said. “This is a murder investigation.”

Korr’s eyes danced as he digested Alex’s words. “I see. Then you’ve got a problem. A firebug that starts fires for the fun of it is one thing. But someone who does it to kill is another kind of monster all together. Maybe—” He stopped talking, his eyes wandering around the lodge. Somewhere, behind them, the soft pop of a photographer's flash equipment cut through the smokey gloom.

“Maybe, what?” asked Chief Silvers.

“Maybe, whoever set those fires in the woods was practicing. Doing a dry run so to speak,” Jessie said. “Gentlemen, in my experience, fires and the people that start them deliberately are not something to be taken lightly. In my opinion, if someone with any knowledge of this at all is offering to help, we should take it. But what do I know?” She turned her back on the three men and headed back into the ruins. There was a low murmur between them, and she heard two sets of footsteps following behind.

She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Alex and Korr.

"Nice to see Chief Silvers is as territorial as ever,” Korr said, sliding up beside her. “I met him when he was just a senior firefighter, and he hasn’t changed a bit.”

Alex came to a complete stop. “Okay, Korr, cut the crap. If Rick Carson sent you, then there’s more to this than you’re telling us. What’s going on?”

Jessie held up a hand. “Okay, wait. Can someone tell me who this Carson person is?”

“He’s the head of the U.S. Forest Service,” Alex said. “As big a big wig as you’ll find in this area. And I hear he aspires to run for Senate next year. So, if this has his attention, he must smell something that he thinks can be spun in his favor with the public.”

Korr eyed the detective, and Jessie could tell by the tension in his jaw that he was debating just what he could say. “Fine. Carson thinks this might be the work of a serial arsonist. And that it’s a firefighter.”

Alex could only stare in silence at the man, and Jessie’s mind had begun to spin with the ramifications of Korr’s words.

Finally, Alex found his voice. “Is he sure? That just doesn’t seem like something that could ever happen.”

“Don’t be naive Alex,” Korr said. “That’s like saying a doctor can’t be a serial killer.” He fixed a hard gaze on the detective. “Or a cop can’t be a bad guy.” He turned to Jessie before Alex could respond. “Okay, I’ve shown you mine, so to speak…do I get to see yours?”

Jessie nodded her head for him to follow and they walked deeper into the main room. The crime scene guys had already cordoned off the area around the victim and Jessie watched as Korr stepped closer, his eye wide.

"Jesus,” Korr breathed. The professional detachment in his voice cracked slightly. "Is that what I think it is?" He slowly began to circle the horror standing casually before them. “How is it…I mean, what’s keeping it upright like that?”

“A very intricate bracing system,” Jessie responded. “But we can’t really get a good look at it just yet. not until⁠—“

“Not until I do my thing?”

They turned to see Dr. Lindquist approaching. He gave them a nervous smile until his eyes landed on the burned victim they were studying.

“Dr. Lindquist, this is Korr Green,” Alex began. “Korr, this is our resident coroner. He’s going to tell us what happened here.”

Dr. Lindquist arched an eyebrow. “What happened is that there was a fire here that may or may not have killed someone.” He brushed past the trio and set his bag on the ground near the body. He bent down and began retrieving gloves before looking up at their questioning faces. “There isn’t anything I can tell you right away. You know this. Go do…whatever it is you need to do, and I’ll let you know my initial findings as soon as I know them.”

Jessie and Alex exchanged looks before stepping away to give the coroner space. Korr followed, thumbing over his shoulder in the doctor’s direction. “What’s his deal? It’s not that early in the morning.”

Alex sighed. “He’s been through a lot lately. But don’t worry. He’s the best there is at what he does.”

“In the meantime,” Jessie said, “tell us what you’re seeing here. What seems to match with your wildfire findings?”

Korr walked over to some burned out beams that jutted upward from the floor. “Well, the area was a controlled burn. Look at the way these support beams are burned out, but others are still standing. If this was just an out-of-control fire, then the whole place would have come down. And if that had happened…”

“We never would have found that body until final cleanup began,” Jessie finished. “And going by the elaborate staging of the body, the arsonist wanted it found.”

Korr pointed along the floor as he walked from support to support. "The fire followed the structural supports perfectly—almost like someone mapped out the load-bearing points beforehand. Notice how clean the burn patterns are around the main beams? That’s not random spread. I found the same pattern in the wild, but the fire moved from tree to tree. Like it was guided.”

“Gives credence to someone doing a trial run,” Jessie said. “Maybe they were using the tree trunks as stand-ins for the support beams?” The twinkle in Korr’s eyes told her he had already considered that possibility.”

“Where do we go from here?” Alex asked.

“Well, I know you two will be waiting for the coroner’s findings, but I am interested in a breakdown of the chemical components of the accelerant used. We weren’t able to determine what was actually used in the mountains because of conditions and degradation of the site. But I’m hoping that there could be enough samples here to make a determination.”

“And that will help how?” Alex asked.

“Firebugs are enamored with their accelerator of choice. And I suspect this one will be doubly so because it appears to have been custom made. It could be like a fingerprint. One that could ultimately lead us to who did this.”

Korr looked around, taking in more of the scene. “Yeah, this shows incredible control over the fire. To have completely burned out the center of this structure, and do considerable damage as a whole, but still leave it standing.” They followed him deeper into the lodge, where hallways began to diverge. He stopped at one. “The fire here did considerably less damage here than the front. Some of the pictures nearly survived—“ His voice dropped, and a frown crossed his face.

“What is it?” asked Alex.

Korr spun to face them, eyes wide. His mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ before he took off at a jog, heading back towards where Dr. Lindquist was taking samples from the body with cotton swabs and depositing them into labeled test tubes.

“Hey, Doc,” Korr said, his voice trembling. “I know you are just getting started and probably have a process you follow, but can you check one thing? Can you tell if the victim has a break in their right forearm?”

The coroner gave him a questioning look but moved over to the victim's right side. The arm was hanging down with a metal band attached that caused it to be turned in such a way that the palm was rotated outward. He carefully took the forearm in his gloved hand, trying not to disturb it too much as he felt along its length. His hands froze midway down, and he looked up, surprised. “Yes, the arm is fractured. It feels like a spiral fracture, but of course I won’t be able to tell until I get it back to the lab for X-rays. How did you know?”

Korr turned to Alex and Jessie. “What is it that the lady out front said she does…? The one your officer led away?”

“President of the Historical Society,” Alex said cautiously. “Why?”

Korr gave him a weary look. “Because she might have the best chance at getting us some insight as to what is going on here.” He turned and looked at the charred statue. “And maybe help you figure out who our murder victim is.”

7

Korr moved swiftly through the wet ashes as he made his way towards the outside, leaving a bewildered Jessie and Alex to exchange glances with the coroner.

“Go,” said Dr. Lindquist. “I’ll get you what I can shortly.”

They hurried to catch up with the smoke jumper just as he exited the lodge, his elongated pace carrying him towards the collection of squad cars in the parking area. The smoke jumper's revelation had transformed his earlier cockiness into something sharper, more focused. Gone was the casual swagger that had so irritated Alex.

The transition from the lodges smoke-filtered light to the full, crystal clear mid-day sun was disorienting as Jessie and Alex rushed to keep pace. They caught up with him just as he reached the police cruiser where Officer Martinez was sitting.

“Excuse me, Officer…?” Korr began.

“Martinez,” came the reply.

“Yes, Martinez. Can you tell me where the woman whose statement you were taking is?”

Martinez gave Alex a questioning look, but he only nodded. “I took her statement, and she left. She was kind of short with me. Said she had real work to get back to and when we decided we were ready to take her seriously, come find her.” Her eyes flicked to Alex again. “Is there a problem?”

Korr ran a hand through his hair. “No. Of course not.” He turned to Alex and Jessie his jaw working. “Can we get her contact information?”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “After you tell us why.”

Korr exhaled sharply and stepped back, drawing the two of them closer. “Out there, in the wildfires, we found something at each of the sites. It was a burned sapling, or long pieces of wood arranged on the ground. It never occurred to any of us that it meant anything. We just figured they were leftover kindling pieces used to start the fire. But they were always at or near a central location inside the fire ring. Here—” He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers left smudges as he swiped through some photos before handing it to Jessie and Alex. “Take a look at this. What do you see?”

Jessie studied the image. Through the burned-out clearing, she could make out what appeared to be an arrangement of charred wood—branches and what might have been a tree stump at the fire's epicenter. She looked closer, her mind filling in unpleasant gaps. A massive fallen trunk serving as a torso, with thick branches extending outward like arms. One branch curved upward at an odd angle, mimicking the pose of their victim inside the lodge.

Korr reached over and swiped to the next photo. Another clearing, another arrangement—different, but equally purposeful. "And the third." He swiped again. “All different in configuration and size, all at the epicenter of the burn radius.”

The latter pictures both featured more burned arrangements. This time using a hollowed tree stump as the base, with smaller limbs arranged to suggest a figure kneeling, one arm reaching skyward. The pose was different, but the deliberate placement was unmistakable.

The third photograph made Jessie’s breath catch. This arrangement was smaller, drastically so. Thin branches and what looked like a sapling's trunk had been carefully positioned to create the impression of a child-sized figure. The wood had been arranged to suggest a sitting position, legs crossed, small arms held out as if reaching for something.

"They're getting smaller," Jessie whispered, fighting back a wave of nausea. "That last one... those proportions..."

"And all exactly in the center of their respective burn radius," Korr added, his voice tight with controlled anger. “At first, I thought maybe it was some kind of signature if it wasn’t burned wood. But now..." He glanced back toward the lodge, where Dr. Lindquist was still working. "Now I'm thinking they weren't signatures. They were rehearsals."

Alex’s jaw tightened. “But you still haven’t explained what any of this has to do with Eleanor or how she can help.”

Korr tucked his phone away as he glanced back towards the lodge. “That pose, especially the arm, reminded me of a well-known photograph in this region. I mean, well known to locals at least. Used to hang in pretty much every lodge in these mountains. Sort of a local legend—taken during some groundbreaking ceremony back in 1932." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Showed a man standing in front of what was going to be Timber Creek Lodge. What made it stand out was the way he held himself."

Alex crossed his arms. "Stand out how?"

"His right arm." Korr demonstrated, holding his own arm at an awkward angle. "The story goes he'd been caught in a rockslide during the initial survey work. Shattered the bones in his forearm. Back then, medicine being what it was, it never healed right. Left him with this distinct twist to his arm—palm always turned slightly outward."

Jessie's eyes widened as the connection formed. "Like our victim in there."

"Exactly like our victim," Korr confirmed. "The photograph became famous because the photographer, Gerald Hayes, went on to be this huge name in Western photography. The image got reproduced and sold all over, but somewhere along the way, the man's name got lost. Just became known as 'The Timber Creek Pioneer' in all the reprints."

"And you think the Historical Preservation Society might know who he actually was,” Jessie concluded.

"The Historical Society maintains the largest collection of Hayes' early work," Korr said. "If anyone has the original print—and the story of who that man really was—it would be them."

“Looks like someone needs to pay a visit to Eleanor Whitfield,” Jessie said.

“Well, judging from how talkative she was, I’m sure she’ll love that,” Alex added. “I can drive.”

Jessie turned to Alex. "You should probably stay here. You’re the ranking officer on site and you’re the only detective in Pine Haven. Coordinate with Dr. Lindquist and the crime scene unit. Make sure nothing gets missed." She glanced at the lodge. “I’ll go speak with Eleanor. Besides, she wasn’t too pleased with the police department earlier.”

Alex's jaw tightened slightly. She could read the protest forming, but his professional instincts won out. "You're right. I should be here when the chief shows up too. She'll want a full briefing."

"I can drive," Korr offered, already fishing keys from his pocket. "My truck's just down the access road."

Jessie caught the subtle shift in Alex's posture. It was barely perceptible, the tension that flowed into his shoulders. But before he could speak, Martinez called out from her patrol car.

"Detective? The forensics team is asking for you."

Alex hesitated, clearly torn between duty and instinct. Finally, he fixed Korr with a hard stare even though he addressed Jessie. "You’re right. I’ll coordinate from this end. As soon as I know something, I’ll shoot you a message.” He turned his face to the smoke jumper. “I’ll have the crime tech make identifying the accelerant a priority. They should be able to break the chemical components down and have something by tomorrow.”

Korr noted appreciatively. “And I’ll have all the reports the Forest Service gathered sent to your office.”

Jessie watched the interplay approvingly. Whatever dynamic may have been at play was at least set aside for the time being. “Um, does your truck have room for one more?” She gestured to the white shepherd whose head was sticking out the back window of Alex's cruiser watching them.

Korr’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Now that is one magnificent beast. And to answer your question, it’s a king cab. Always room for one more.” He turned and headed towards the road.

Jessie whistled for Blizzard, who bounded out of the window and followed Jessie at an easy lope until they reached Korr’s dark green pickup. The smoke jumper stopped at the door and held out his hand for Blizzard to sniff. He waited patiently until the shepherd pushed his nose in against his palm and gave his hand a playful lick.

“Good boy,” Jessie said, ushering him into the back seat.

She climbed into the passenger side and clicked the seatbelt home.

Korr fired the engine up, giving her a sideways glance. “So. I’m betting you have questions for me.”

Jessie smiled as he eased the truck onto the main highway. “Oh, I have questions alright.”

8

The truck's engine hummed steadily as they headed down the mountain to Pine Haven proper. Blizzard's rhythmic panting from the backseat filled the silence that had settled between them. Jessie studied Korr's profile as he drove, noting how he tried to hide the tension in his jaw.

"So," she began, adjusting in her seat to face him better. "Smoke jumping. That's not exactly a common career choice."

Korr's mouth quirked up slightly. "You could say that. Though in my family, fighting fires is practically genetic. My grandfather was a firefighter, my father too." He paused, hands flexing on the steering wheel. “I grew up with it. But in my case, the fever struck a little differently.”

"Different how?"

"The rest of my family stayed local, working city departments. But I’ve always been drawn to the mountains..." He gestured toward the ridgeline visible through the windshield. "Up there, when a fire starts, there's no truck access, no hydrants. Just you, your team, and whatever you can carry in. The isolation demands a different kind of focus. It spoke to me.”

Jessie nodded. “You were called.”

"Exactly." His voice carried a note of surprise at her understanding. "It combines everything I care about; protecting people and preserving these forests.” A grin broke out on his face. “Plus, I get to jump out of airplanes. Though I'm guessing most people think we're just adrenaline junkies with a death wish."

"And are you?" Jessie asked, watching his reaction carefully.

Korr's laugh carried no humor. "No. The rush isn't why we do it. It's about being the only thing standing between a lightning strike and ten thousand acres of destruction." He glanced her way. "What about you? Private investigation isn't exactly a common path either."

“Not quite a calling like yours, and it’s not where I saw myself ending up.” Jessie absently scratched behind Blizzard's ear as he leaned forward between the seats. "But it fits. Helping people find answers, making things right when the system fails them. And sometimes, you just have to take the only road left ahead of you.”

Korr risked a quick glance her way. “Sounds like a heck of a backstory in there.”

She shrugged in response. “Nothing special. Age old story of girl enters the military, finds out her father is guilty of treason, hides evidence from Uncle Sam, gets caught, dishonorably discharged, and has to start life over again in a small mountain town of North Carolina. All while dodging all the dark bullets that come along with all that.” She turned her head out the window. “But I’m betting you already knew a lot of that.”

He gripped the wheel harder. “Like I said. Your reputation precedes you. But no…I didn’t know details.”

“And you still don’t,” she turned back to face him.

Korr shifted his weight, making the seat creak just a little. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, it would take more than that to make me uncomfortable.” The truck slowed for a red light and Jessie cleared her throat. “But speaking of uncomfortable, what’s going on with you and Alex?”

The light turned green, but Korr took an extra beat before accelerating. “I don’t know what you mean. Nothing there.”

Jessie chewed at her lip slightly as she turned to take the scenery in out her window. “That’s fine. But I study people for a living. I notice all the small details. And the details that stood out the most to me back there at the lodge was the tension and the constant shifting and jockeying for space. The reason that Alex and I work so well together is because we have gotten to know one another. And to trust one another.”

“Are you saying you aren’t sure you can trust me?” He didn’t turn to look at her.

“I don’t know you. We’ve only just met. But, if you’re going to be involved in one of our murder investigations, then I need to know that there aren’t any surprises on the horizon. No petty squabbles that might rear up at the worst time.”

Korr drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The gesture betrayed a discomfort that his steady voice didn't show. "It's not exactly a secret around here. Seven years ago, Alex applied to the Fire Academy. I was already there, finishing up my first year."

"And?" Jessie prompted, noting how Korr's jaw tightened.

"The director asked me about him. It was standard procedure—they always consulted current trainees who knew the applicants." He paused, signaling for a turn. “At the time, Alex and I were friends. I mean, we didn’t run in the same circles of course, but we knew each other. When they asked if I thought he was ready, I couldn't lie. Alex was... he had things he needed to work through back then. Raw edges that made him unpredictable. In our line of work, that gets people killed." He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “There were…things that he was having a hard time dealing with.”

“The death of his parents,” Jessie said.

Korr glanced over. His gaze told her he was glad that wasn’t something he had to go into with her.

“And I understand. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But at that point in his life, it left a scar on him that he was still rebelling against.”

"Did you tell him?" Jessie asked.

"Didn't have to. Small town, word gets around." Korr's knuckles whitened on the wheel. "He eventually made his way into the police academy, where he excelled. But I guess some breaches of trust just don’t heal all that clean.” His gaze hardened. “But I’ll tell you, if I had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing for him at the time. I’m sure by now he understands that.”

Korr's laugh held no humor. "It's easier to forgive someone who screwed you over for selfish reasons. Being denied something because someone else thought they knew what was best for you? That cuts deeper."

It was a statement Jessie couldn’t argue with, so she opted to change the subject. “So, you grew up here in Pine Haven? Do you still live here?”

“Sort of. Meaning, I live over on Snake River. It’s in the valley just behind The Narrows. Close enough to Pine Haven that we all went to the same school system growing up, but otherwise…night and day difference.”

Though Pine Haven as a whole was a scenic little tourist trap in the warm weather months, the town was divided by the wealthy citizens that lived in the various lakeside communities, and the working-class neighborhoods that existed outside of main street. The Narrows was a community of mobile homes and tiny ramblers situated across the railroad tracks that acted as an unofficial divide within the city. These were the areas that tourists rarely visited.

Unless they had business that they didn’t want to see carried out in the light of day.

Couple of silent minutes later and Korr nodded forward. “Looks like we’re here.”

The Historical Preservation Society occupied a converted Victorian mansion on Pine Haven's east side. Dark wood trim and deep green shutters greeted them as Korr eased into the small parking lot. He placed the truck in park and nodded at the fresh landscaping. “Accuracy down to the period appropriate plants, I see.”

Jessie was impressed by his eye and knowledge. To her, they just looked like a bunch of green leaves in front of an equally green building.

"Should we leave him in the truck?" Korr asked, nodding toward Blizzard.

"No, he stays with me." Jessie opened her door. “Plus, I never know when his ability to read body language will come in handy.” She gave Korr a wry grin. “Again.”

The smoke jumper bit his tongue as they made their way to the house. The front doors opened into a hushed foyer where dark wooden floors gleamed beneath antique light fixtures. A reception desk sat empty, but voices drifted from somewhere deeper in the building.

"Hello?" Korr called out.

"We're closed for cataloging!" Eleanor's sharp response echoed from down a hallway. "Come back next week!"

"Ms. Whitfield?" Jessie projected her voice. "It's Jessie Night. I was part of the fire investigation at the lodge.”

A moment of silence followed, then quick footsteps. Eleanor appeared from around a corner, her small frame bristled with irritation. She wore rubber gloves and carried what appeared to be a very old leather-bound book.

"If you're here about Marcus Ray, I’m tired of repeating—“ She stopped, registering the look on Jessie’s face. “What is it?”

“Ms. Whitfield, we’d like to ask you some questions about Gerald Hayes,” Jessie said.

That got her attention. “Gerald Hayes? What’s that got to do with the fire?”

"We're interested in one of his photographs," Korr said. "The Timber Creek Pioneer."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed, darting between them. "That's not why you were at the lodge this morning."

"No," Jessie admitted. "But it might be connected. We need to know who the man in that photograph was."

Eleanor gave them a hard stare before pulling off her gloves and tucking them into a pocket of her cardigan. “Follow me. And mind the dog doesn’t touch anything.” She gave Blizzard a hard glance before turning her back and heading down the corridor.

She led them through a maze of corridors, past rooms filled with filing cabinets and climate-controlled storage units. The air grew noticeably cooler as they descended a short flight of stairs.

"The Hayes collection is one of our prized possessions," Eleanor explained, punching a code into a keypad. "Over three hundred original prints, all documented between 1940 and 1973.” The heavy door swung open with a soft hiss of regulated air. "Though I'm curious why a smoke jumper and a private investigator suddenly care about early twentieth-century photography."

"Let's just say we're interested in local history," Jessie offered carefully.

Eleanor snorted. "Please. I've been cataloging Pine Haven's secrets for thirty years. Nothing's ever 'just' anything in this town." She moved to a large flat-file cabinet, fingers dancing over drawer labels.

Jessie considered the woman’s words. “You’re right. Things around here have a habit of being more than they first appear. But that’s why we are investigating every angle of this fire.” She glanced briefly at Korr. “As you’ve said, it wasn’t an accident. We just need to look at every possible clue as to who did this under a microscope.”

Eleanor gave her a cautious look. “Well, I hope that microscope extends to Marcus Ray. I’m telling you, that man is the only person that benefited from burning that beautiful place to the ground.”

Jessie cleared her throat. “I can see how strongly you believe in your convictions. And I promise that the department will go through your reports thoroughly and be in touch with you. But right now, we are interested in what you can tell us about the original photography by Gerald Hayes and the person he photographed.”

Eleanor grunted and turned her back. She removed a large, archival folder from the drawer and moved it to a table in the center of the room. She reached into one of the table drawers and removed three sets of cloth gloves. She handed a pair to Jessie and Korr before donning her own. “Don’t touch any of these with your bare hands.”

She opened the folder slowly. Inside, protected by acid-free tissue, lay a collection of black and white photographs. Eleanor sifted through the photos carefully until she found the one she was looking for. She picked it up carefully and presented it to Jessie and Korr. “This is the man from that photograph.”

Jessie carefully took the picture in hand. It was a grainy shot of a man in overalls, a white cotton shirt and large black boots. He was standing in front of a small mound of dirt, a shovel in one hand and what looked like a canteen in the other.

“This was taken some time before the accident that broke his arm. He was one of the original homesteaders on the mountain. Not much is known about his identify. Many think he may or may not have been one of the workers on the original lodge site and suffered an accident. Some have said he owned that land he’s standing on. At least until it was stolen from him. But we will probably never know the whole truth.”

Korr looked up from the photograph. “Stolen by who? And why?”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “White gold.”

Korr arched an eyebrow, his jaw tightened. He saw the question forming on Jessie’s face but took the picture from her before she could ask. He turned it over carefully in his hands. “There’s no name written on the back of it, so I’m not sure how this helps.”

Jessie could sense the smoke jumper becoming more tense.

“All we know is his last name might have been Snyder. And I know this because we were able to cross reference it with a few other records. That and there may have been a distant relationship between the Snyders and the Whitfields. Of course, if you go back far enough on this mountain, you can probably find everyone is related to everyone else in some fashion or another.”

Jessie stared at the woman, searching for words. “This will sound odd, but can you provide us with any information about mister Snyder’s life? I don’t mean to invade your privacy… but it might be important.”

Eleanor lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I’ll see what I can dig up. But there isn’t much there, even in my family archives. So much was lost from that time. Land swindlers didn’t want a paper trail you know.”

Jessie nodded slowly. “Anything you can provide us could be helpful. Also, is there any record of who the land passed onto?”

Eleanor snorted. “Passed onto…that’s one way to put it. But no. Everyone was very quiet about business back then. My husband passed away years ago. He knew most everyone on this mountain but even he stayed out of land deals. But I’ll see what I can find.”

They thanked the woman, and Jessie made sure Eleanor had her contact information before following Korr out of the building. Outside, she stopped, swinging to face him. “Korr, what’s wrong? Everything about you changed in there. What happened?”

He gave her a grave look and started to walk away before stopping. “What she said back there. It struck a chord.”

Jessie stepped closer to him. “Why?”

His jaw tightened as he stared at her. “She mentioned a land grab. And I’ve always thought my parents were killed in a land grab as well.”

9

Pine Haven's central green space stretched before them like an island amid the bustle of Main Street. The carefully maintained swath of grass and trees provided a buffer between the traffic lanes, creating an oasis where tourists and locals alike could enjoy a beautiful day. Jessie sat beside Korr on one of the wooden benches, watching as Blizzard sprawled in a patch of shade at their feet.

“Are you okay?” Jessie’s voice was calm and low.

Korr nodded, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, I’m fine. I will be.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Jessie understood that whatever was going on inside the firefighter’s mind, it was important not to overwhelm him with questions he might not be ready to answer.

“It’s alright, really,” he finally said, giving her a weary look.

Jessie saw that he had cracked the door open just a bit and she was careful how much more she pushed it open. “So, what’s the whole white gold reference?”

“It refers to timber. Specifically white pine.”

"My father used to tell me stories about how the mountain made men rich—or got them killed. It all came down to the trees, specifically white pine." He gestured toward the distant peaks. "Not the scrub pine you see nowadays. We're talking about old growth forests with trees four, five feet across at the base. Some of them stretched two hundred feet into the sky."

"And that was valuable?"

"Valuable doesn't begin to cover it. These weren't just any trees—they were perfectly straight, lightweight but strong. The British Navy would pay a fortune for a single trunk to use as a ship's mast. One good stand of white pine could set a family up for generations." Jessie watched the intensity in his eyes as he spoke. “And the secret to making those fortunes came down to who owned the timber rights. And the families that owned those rights controlled everything—the logging camps, the sawmills, the transport routes. But the real money came from knowing which parcels held the best stands." His voice dropped. "And being willing to do whatever it took to get those parcels."

“The kind of stuff Eleanor was hinting at.”

He nodded. “Some of the more aggressive families would deliberately set fires to drive people off their land. They knew exactly how to make it look like an accident. A lightning strike here, a campfire there." He turned to face her. "The thing about white pine—it burns hot and fast. By the time the ashes cooled, deeds would disappear. Ownership records would get 'lost' in courthouses, and new papers would appear, showing the land had been legally sold weeks before.”

Jessie frowned. “It makes sense, and it doesn’t. Burning the thing you covet just to make more money in the long run.” Jessie saw Korr frown, his fingers beginning to fidget with a twig he had plucked off the ground. “What is it?”

“Jessie, this thing with the fire has me thinking about something. At first, I didn’t believe the boss’ idea that a firefighter could be involved in this. But now, after seeing the lodge, and talking to Eleanor. Well…there are individuals that specialized in controlled burns. They had the nickname Firestarters. And were especially good when it came to lighting timber farms. When families would get burned out and forced off their land, it was only small patches of property that would be burned. The longer the families would take to make up their minds, the bigger the fires would get, and the closer they would move to the important trees on the property. The message was get out or stay and watch your land become useless.”

Jessie let out a slow, deep breath. “Nasty stuff. And now you’re starting to see that your boss might be right.”

“Not sure. Firefighting is a brotherhood. It might not be someone in one of the departments directly but could definitely be someone they know.”

“Or trained,” Jessie added. “Which is tantamount to it being the same thing.”

Korr nodded, tossing the stick he had been playing with aside. He knotted his hands together and sat staring ahead. Jessie waited patiently for the man to speak.

Blizzard's head lifted as a group of children raced past on bikes, their laughter carrying across the green space before fading into the afternoon bustle. Korr watched them until they disappeared around the corner.

"I was four when the fire happened," he said quietly. "Dad—my adoptive father—he was first on scene. He found me hiding in a chest in my parents’ bedroom. My mother had tucked me away. Told me to be quiet as a mouse. I knew her voice sounded different this time—different from the other times we had played hide and seek. Fear was a foreign concept to me then, one I didn’t recognize in my parents.” His voice caught. “There was arguing. And a terrible booming sound that came from downstairs. Then, I remember the smoke, the sound of wood cracking, the buildup of heat in the room.” He took a deep breath, struggling to continue. “But through it all…I kept quiet. Like I was supposed to. And I knew…somehow, I knew…that my mom wasn’t going to come find me. But then I remember his voice, telling me I was going to be okay."

Jessie stayed silent, giving him space to continue.

"He and Mom couldn't have children of their own. They'd been trying to adopt for years." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Dad says it was meant to be. That sometimes the worst thing that happens to you leads you to where you're supposed to be."

"They sound like remarkable people."

"They are. Which is why I've never pushed about certain things." Korr shifted on the bench, his shoulders tightening. "Dad would tell me stories about that night, about how brave I was and how much my parents loved me. Other things, however, he would never discuss. Like if I asked for too many details about the night, he'd shut down. Just say it didn't matter anymore, that dwelling on the past wouldn't change anything."

"But you think it does matter," Jessie said softly.

"The land my birth parents owned went to developers within months. New houses, new roads—all traces of my family's history just... erased." He met her eyes. "Dad knows something about it. I can see it in his face whenever the subject comes up. But he's spent thirty years protecting me, loving me. If he thinks I'm better off not knowing, I have to trust that." Korr's jaw clenched. “What’s killing me now is that everything about this feels connected. The fires, the staging of that body. The terrible things people would do to their neighbors for land rights. My own memories of the night my parents died. There’s something else there that I just can’t quite place…” He shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs. “But going down that road means questioning things Dad clearly doesn't want questioned."

Jessie let the weight of Korr's story settle between them. "Thank you," she said finally. "For telling me this."

Korr didn’t meet her eyes but nodded thoughtfully. “Something tells me you know what it’s like to carry pieces of the past you can’t quite put together.”

Thoughts of her own father, redacted files, and hidden truths flashed through her mind. "More than you know." She straightened on the bench.

Korr cleared his throat. “So, what’s next? I figure with you being a professional private eye, you’d have already come up with a game plan.”

"Until we get the lab work back and Dr. Lindquist's report, we follow the obvious thread." A wry smile touched her lips. "Time to look into Eleanor's claims about the lodge owner. Sometimes the simplest answer really is the right one. However…”

He shot an eyebrow up. “What is it?”

“Alex and I will do that. I’m on the books with the Pine Haven PD as a consultant, so I can question a lead in an active investigation. But you…not so much.”

His response was a groan. “But what if I have a personal connection to someone that you find yourself needing to speak with?”

Jessie stared at him out the corner of her eye. “We’ll cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it.”

“So, in the meantime, I just what—go home and sit around? Tell my boss I’m on hold?”

The mention of his boss gave Jessie an idea. “You know, if he has the pull you say, then I’m sure he could make a call to Mayor Beaumont’s office here in Pine Haven and get you special clearance as a liaison. Seems like there would be reasoning, considering you’re investigating an arsonist on state land that may have ties to what’s happening in the private sector here. And until then, I’m pretty sure we can get you in to help the lab techs work on the analysis of the chemical samples found at the fire. No problem with you guiding them in what to look for.”

Korr considered her words, a pleased look spreading across his features. “That could work. And in the meantime, you and Alex can work the Marcus Ray angle.”

“Sounds like a—“ Jessie stopped as Blizzard suddenly rose to his feet, hackles rising as he stared past the courthouse toward the mountains.

"What is it?" she asked, but Korr was already standing, his body tensed like a coiled spring.

"There." He pointed toward the horizon where a dark column of smoke rose against the afternoon sky. "That's fresh. And it's..." His voice trailed off.

Jessie swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “It’s coming from the direction we just left. The lodge.”

The smoke continued to rise, twisting and thickening against the blue sky, as they raced for Korr’s truck.

10

The lodge was engulfed in a sea of white-hot flame as Jessie and Korr made the final turn. What had been smoldering ruins hours before now blazed with an intensity that turned the afternoon sky a sickly orange. The heat hit them through the truck's windshield like a physical blow, forcing Korr to pull up short of the emergency vehicles that crowded the access road.

Jessie was out before the truck fully stopped, Blizzard close on her heels. The scene before her defied logic. Areas of the lodge that had been barely touched by the original fire were now sending flames into the sky.

Emergency vehicles formed a desperate half-circle around the inferno, their lights cutting through the thickening smoke in bursts of red and blue. The flashes showed just how quickly the situation must have turned catastrophic. A dropped fire axe here, an abandoned medical kit there—all scattered about the grounds.

It wasn’t just the discarded equipment that scared her. There were human casualties as well. Two paramedics worked frantically over a firefighter laid out on a yellow tarp, his protective gear still charred and smoking in places. Another first responder sat propped against a truck's wheel, oxygen mask pressed to his face, while blood seeped through the bandage on his arm. He stared forward, eyes vacant.

Dr. Lindquist moved between the injured, fielded by an intensity Jessie had never seen in him before. His quiet, focused resolve had dissolved as he worked over the injured first responders, barking orders at those who were still on their feet offering assistance.

“Doc!” Jessie’s voice cracked as she ran towards him, Korr close behind. “What happened here?” She looked around, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Where’s Alex?”

Lindquist looked up, his face streaked with soot and something wetter and darker. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed immediately by concern. “We were all inside when a couple of the firefighters came running from one of the halls yelling for everyone to get out. We ran, and behind me I heard…this roaring sound, followed by a blast of heat.” He shook his head, trying to banish what was in his mind’s eye. “We heard the ceiling coming down somewhere, and next thing I know we are out here. Alex and Chief Silvers ran back in to find Officer Martinez.”

Jessie swallowed hard, staring at the flames shooting up from the building. In a heartbeat, Korr was past her, running for the entrance. Jessie didn’t think twice as she followed him, turning briefly to the white shepherd. “Stay!”

They were greeted by dense white smoke rolling through the lodge entrance. It reminded Jessie of cotton balls unfurling in water. Korr grabbed her arm and pulled her low. "Stay under it!" His voice was muffled by the sleeve pressed across his mouth. "The smoke's chemical—don't breathe it!"

In a deep crouch, they moved forward through the unnatural whiteness. Heat pressing against them like a living thing. Through gaps in the chemical fog, Jessie caught glimpses of aggressive, bright flames. The wood it consumed didn't just burn—it melted beneath the fire.

"Alex!" Jessie's shout was swallowed by the inferno's roar.

Ahead of them, figures materialized through the haze. Alex was on his knees, shirt pulled over his nose, alongside Chief Silvers. They were struggling with something massive, and as the smoke shifted, Jessie saw Officer Martinez pinned beneath a fallen support beam. The young officer's face was streaked with soot, her eyes wide with pain and fear.

"The beam's too heavy!" Silvers shouted over the building's death groans. Above them, something cracked with the sound of a gunshot.

Korr was already moving. "Everyone on three!" He positioned himself at one end while Jessie took up position beside Alex. The heat from the beam seared through their clothes.

"One!" The smoke writhed around them, caustic and hungry.

"Two!" Martinez’s desperate gaze burrowed into them.

"Three!"

They heaved upward as one. For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Then the beam shifted, just enough for Silvers to drag Martinez clear. Her cry of pain cut through even the fire's roar.

"Move!" Korr's voice cracked like a whip. "The whole place is going!"

They half-carried, half-dragged Martinez toward the entrance as the lodge's framework began to give way. The white smoke pursued them, pushed by the backdraft of the collapsing structure. They burst into the open just as the building's remaining supports failed.

Wood and stone and history surrendered to gravity and flame. They pushed forward, heading for Dr. Lindquist as Eagle’s Rest Lodge gave a final shudder before collapsing completely on itself.

They lowered Martinez onto one of the yellow triage tarps, her uniform wet with sweat. The young officer's face had gone gray beneath the soot streaks, her breathing shallow and rapid. Alex knelt beside her, one hand gripping hers while Jessie called for Doctor Lindquist.

The coroner appeared through the chaos; his eyes fixed on the police officer laid out before him. The transformation in his expression when he saw Martinez sent a chill through Jessie's spine. The doctor dropped to his knees, one hand pressing against the officer’s abdomen, the other feeling for her pulse.

"Something's wrong," Martinez whispered, her voice barely audible above the continued chaos of the fire scene. "I can't... everything feels heavy."

Lindquist's fingers probed gently along her sides, his frown deepening. "Where was she? What happened to her?”

“Pinned under a support beam." Alex's voice cracked. "Across her pelvis. We got it off as fast as we could, but⁠—"

"She's bleeding internally." Lindquist cut him off, already reaching for the nearly empty kit at his side. His movements were the frantic motions of someone racing against time. “Damnit!” He cast the bag aside, scattering the collection tubes, post-mortem thermometers and toe tags. “She needs a surgeon, not a coroner.” He looked around panicked, his eyes growing wide as more ambulances finally began arriving on the scene. “About damn time.” He waved over the first of them, rushing up to the driver as he climbed out. "This officer is priority one! I need a line started now, and someone get me a pressure reading!"

Paramedics materialized with a stretcher, their movements in step with Lindquist's commands. The doctor never took his eyes off Martinez as they transferred her. "I'm riding with her. The rest of these injuries are stable enough for transport to county." He left his medical kit and swung into the ambulance behind the stretcher. "Pine Haven Regional's closer, and right now, minutes matter more than facilities."

Jessie watched as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance pulled away, lights flashing as the sound of the sirens filled the air. She turned, taking in the terrified look on Alex’s face. “She’s strong. And she’s in good hands.”

They turned as Chief Silvers approached, an oxygen mask pressed to his face, the tank tucked under one arm. He inhaled deeply before taking the mask away from his face and offering it to Alex. The officer waved him off shaking his head.

“Breathe it in,” Korr interjected. “You were in there longer than you should have been. That smoke was toxic.”

Silvers nodded and again offered the mask to Alex. This time, the detective took it from him and breathed deeply through it.

“What happened?” Jessie asked Chief Silvers, watching another ambulance pull away. “I thought it was under control.”

The chief's face was a mask of barely contained fury. "We were doing our final sweep, checking for hotspots. Standard procedure." He ran a hand through his soot-streaked hair. "Found something odd in one of the back hallways. Debris wasn't... right. Looked deliberate, like someone had arranged it or something.”

“Had that area been damaged by the initial fire?” Alex asked, his voice still rough from the smoke.

The fire chief shook his head. “That's just it. The area was almost spotless. Two of my guys started clearing it, and I caught this smell. Something chemical, sharp." His hands clenched into fists. "I yelled for them to stop, but they'd already lifted the last piece. There was this hole underneath, and then..." He shook his head. "The flash was like nothing I've ever seen. White-hot, instant. We barely got the evacuation call out."

"White phosphorus," Korr said quietly. All eyes turned to him as he addressed the chief. “You were lucky. That white smoke, the way the water seemed to make it worse in places—it's a signature. The chemical ignites the moment it hits air, burns so hot it can melt flesh from bone. And once it starts..." His voice trailed off.

"There's no stopping it," Silvers finished. "But who would even know how to⁠—"

"Someone who wanted to make sure nothing was left to find," Jessie cut in. Korr nodded, but Jessie could tell from the look on his face that darker thoughts were crossing his mind. Before she could question him, her eye was drawn to a figure at the edge of the emergency vehicles. Even from this distance, his expensive suit seemed out of place among the turnout gear and medical scrubs.

The man must have felt her stare. He turned, revealing sharp features and calculating eyes that swept across the scene. His gaze met Jessie’s, and he held it for a split-second before heading for a dark Mercedes sedan. Jessie elbowed Alex lightly and pointed her chin in the man’s direction. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Marcus Ray." Alex's jaw tightened. "Owner of what's left of Eagle's Rest Lodge."

"Interesting," Jessie said, watching the luxury car disappear around the bend. She turned to Chief Silvers. “Don’t most owners stay around to speak with you? Find out what happened?”

The chief cleared his throat. “Typically. But looking at this chaos, he may have just thought any questions he had could wait.”

Jessie gave the man a curious look and could see Korr fixing him with the same expression.

Alex coughed, his voice raw when he spoke. “Wouldn’t it be a kick if old Ms. Whitfield was right? That Marcus Ray was the perp all along.”

“Well,” said Jessie. “I guess we won’t know that until we question him. Ready?”

Alex gritted his teeth. “I can pull up his address on the way.”

Jessie turned to Korr and Chief Silvers. “Chief, can you oversee the cleanup here, along with making sure anyone wounded gets taken in and checked. Korr, start writing up everything you know about this white phosphorous. And have your boss check into any reports of it being used for arson country wide.” She gave him a knowing look. “And ask him to make that call we discussed earlier.”

She turned, leaving the men to their tasks and hurried to catch up to Alex. The detective gave her a questioning look. “What was that about?”

She paused, thinking how to word her response. “I asked Korr to get his boss to give Maggie a call. Get him clearance to work with us as a consultant on this case.”

Alex stopped, his nose briefly wrinkling as if smelling more of the chemical that had attacked his lungs inside the lodge.

“Alex, we need his help and his field notes. Whoever is responsible for this just tried to kill first responders. That was a trap lying in wait for them to activate it. And if, God forbid, anything happens to Martinez…”

Alex didn’t respond but headed for the cruiser. Jessie followed, Blizzard at her side. She could tell by his demeanor that he understood her unspoken words. This had become personal for him.

And that meant she was ready to do whatever was necessary to bring an arsonist to justice.

11

The Ray house loomed ahead of them, all sharp angles and gleaming glass. Like the surrounding homes, it commanded a dramatic view of the lake and the mountains beyond. It broadcast wealth through understatement. There were no gaudy fountains or ornate statuary, just clean modernist architecture that probably cost more than Jessie would make in ten lifetimes.

Alex killed the engine, and they sat there taking in the property. The driveway curved past a three-car garage fashioned from brushed steel and smoky glass. One of the bay doors was up revealing the black Mercedes she had seen at the lodge. Parked in front of another bay door was a two-seater sports car of Italian design. Jessie stared at it, unable to imagine just how much money it must take just in maintenance on vehicles alone.

Unlike the rest of Pine Haven, The Glades was an enclave for the ultra-rich who came to the sleepy mountain town to vacation and play on the water, while trying not to rub their wealth in the townsfolks noses.

Well, at least most tried not to.

"I hate this place," Jessie muttered, climbing out of the car. Her boots crunched on perfectly maintained gravel. She leaned over the seat to pet Blizzard. “You stay here, boy. But I’ll whistle if I need you.” She made sure the window to the front passenger door was down, allowing for plenty of airflow for the shepherd and a way for him to get out and be at her side if needed.

She looked around, glancing at Alex. She could see the tension in his frame. Neither of them had particularly fond memories of the wealthy neighborhood.

They made their way up the curved path toward the front entrance, past beds of carefully cultivated native plants arranged to look artfully wild. The front door was solid oak, likely imported, with a brushed nickel handle. There wasn’t a knocker, just a discrete touchscreen panel beside the frame.

Before Alex could press the bell, the door swung open. A woman in her early thirties stood in the entrance, her tailored dress and perfect makeup contrasted sharply with their smoke-stained clothing. Her eyes widened slightly at their appearance before settling into a bored stare.

"Can I help you?" Her voice carried that particular Glades inflection—carefully modulated to suggest both authority and disinterest.

Alex held up his badge. "Detective Thomas, Pine Haven PD. This is Jessie Night, a department consultant. We need to speak with Marcus Ray."

Jessie watched, amused as her perfectly shaped eyebrows tried to fight through the Botox to come together in concern. "I'm afraid Marcus isn't available at the moment. I'm Claire, his wife. Can I ask what this is in reference to?”

Jessie studied the woman carefully. Claire Ray was exactly what you'd expect of a Glades wife—polished, poised, and projecting an air of control. “Is that your husband’s Mercedes parked in the garage?” She thumbed at the gleaming black sedan. “The one he was in at the scene of a fire that just destroyed his property?”

Claire Ray's polished demeanor wavered for just a moment before she caught herself. "Yes, that's his car." She stepped back, gesturing inside with a sweep of her arm. "Perhaps you'd like to come in? We can discuss this somewhere more comfortable than the doorway."

The interior of the house matched its exterior, all clean lines and expensive minimalism. The Italian marble floors echoed their footfall as Claire led them through a foyer large enough to park a small car. Abstract paintings hung on stark white walls, their bold colors creating focal points that drew the eye away from the security cameras discretely mounted in the corners.

"The living room is through here," Claire said, leading them into a space dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. "Please, have a seat."

Jessie remained standing, noting how Claire positioned herself in one of two matching leather chairs. That left Alex and her to choose between sharing the oversized sofa or standing. A power play, subtle but deliberate. Alex chose to lean against a console table near the entrance.

"Mrs. Ray," Alex began, "your husband was at the scene of a fire that not only destroyed his property but also endangered the lives of several first responders. Yet he left without speaking to anyone. We just need a few moments of his time to answer a few questions.”

Claire's hand went to her throat, fingers playing with a delicate diamond pendant. "Marcus was devastated when he heard about the fire. He went to see the damage himself, but..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The situation was clearly still dangerous. He thought it best to stay out of the way."

Something about the way she spoke struck Jessie as odd. The woman was far too calm in the situation.

"There were actually two fires,” Alex corrected, his voice carrying an edge. "The second one nearly killed several people and severely injured one of my officers."

The pendant slipped from Claire's fingers. "Two fires? I don't understand. Marcus didn't mention..." Her composure cracked slightly. "He just said he needed to make some calls about the insurance." She stood, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. "He's in his office. I'll get him for you."

Jessie waited until she was out of the room before whispering to Alex. “Was it just me or did that seem…rehearsed?”

“Definitely felt that way,” the detective responded.

The sound of footsteps on marble preceded their return. Marcus Ray moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to controlling every room he entered. He wore charcoal trousers and a green tee shirt, forgoing the suit Jessie had glimpsed him wearing at the fire scene. Even his silver-streaked hair looked freshly styled.

"Detective Thomas," he said, extending his hand to Alex before turning to Jessie. "And Ms. Night. I've heard quite a bit about you." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though I must say, I'm surprised to see the police department employing private investigators."

"Consultant," Jessie corrected. “What I do for the police department is separate from my own business.”

“Mr. Ray, we have a few questions about the fires at Eagle’s Rest Lodge,” Alex said. “A property that you own, correct?”

"Fires?" Ray's expression remained neutral, but his right hand twitched slightly. "I was aware of the incident this morning, of course. Terrible business." He settled into one of the leather chairs, gesturing for them to sit. Neither did.

Alex pulled out his notebook. "You were at the scene of the fire, Mr. Ray. Yet you left without speaking to any of the first responders or fire investigators. Why is that? Weren’t you curious to know what happened? Or if anyone may have been hurt?”

When he spoke, Ray's tone suggested the conversation was already boring him. “The scene did not appear safe or under control. I figured I would just be in the way. Plus, there were insurance calls to make, preliminary damage assessments to file. I'm sure you understand."

Alex scribbled in his notebook before looking up. “Mr. Ray, when was the last time you were at your property?”

Marcus seemed to think for a moment. “Today. When it was in flames. But before that…I’m not sure I recall.”

“Can you put us in touch with who was in charge of renovating the property for you? Specifically, do you know who was doing the electrical work?” Alex continued.

“I don’t recall. I have many contractors across many properties.”

Alex gave him a brief look. “Mr. Ray, do you have insurance on the property? When was it last updated?”

Jessie watched the man closely. Alex’s question had come out of left field and in response she saw the slightest twitch in Marcus’ eye.

“It would be irresponsible to not have insurance,” he said. “But as for the specifics of the policy…I don’t recall.”

“Weren’t you just on the phone with your insurance company?” Alex asked. “Or did you call someone else, maybe?”

“Mr. Ray, have you ever heard of the photographer Gerald Hayes?” Jessie asked quickly. Again, there was a slight twitch to his eye and only the slightest stiffening of his spine.

The answer to her question came in the form of electronic chimes echoing throughout the space. “Excuse me,” Claire said, and left the room.

Ray’s posture relaxed slightly, and Jessie thought she could make out the ghost of a smile on the man’s features.

There were voices in the foyer that carried into the room, followed by Claire and another woman walking closely behind her. The woman had an athletic build that was obvious even in gray sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and a gym bag hung from one shoulder.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, dropping the bag near the entrance. "Came straight from spin class." She fixed Jessie and Alex with a hard stare. "Katherine Morrison, Mr. Ray's attorney." Her smile was razor sharp. "And this conversation is over."

"Ms. Morrison," Alex began, “your client was just helping us with an investigation.“

“And I am sure he will continue to be helpful when you direct any questions through proper channels." She turned to Ray. "Marcus, don't say another word." Her attention snapped back to Alex and Jessie. "And since you haven't produced a warrant, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave my client's home. Now."

Ray stood, running a hand through his hair. “I’m more than happy to assist. You can reach me through my lawyer moving forward.” He nodded to Katherine, and she produced a business card that she handed to Alex. “Claire will show you out." He turned to leave the room, his lawyer at his heels.

“This way,” Claire said, gesturing back the way they had come.

At the door, Alex gave the woman a nod. “Would you mind giving your husband a message? Ask him not to leave town. Just in case we have more questions.”

Claire offered them a cordial smile and shut the door in their faces.

“Well,” said Jessie, “that was fun.”

They stepped off the porch and headed for Alex’s car. “They were expecting us. That’s why he called his lawyer. Probably saw us pull up on the security system.”

Jessie nodded. “He’s definitely cool under pressure. And we won’t get anything out of him his lawyer doesn’t want us knowing.”

“We’ll see about that. We can do a lot of digging in Mr. Ray’s background. See what happens when we rattle his gilded cage.” His phone buzzed and he stopped, looking down at the screen. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

Alex looked up, the color drained from his face. “Martinez. She didn’t make it.”

12

Jessie and Alex pushed through a sea of first responders, nurses, lab techs and portable x-ray equipment as they made their way through the halls of the small Pine Haven hospital. It wasn’t designed for the number of casualties that flooded it, but it was the closest hospital to the fire. There was also a growing contingent of police officers milling about in the halls as word of what happened began to spread.

They made their way to the trauma and triage desk where Dr. Lindquist stood speaking with a tall man in blue surgical scrubs. Blood stained the front of Lindquist's shirt in dark patches. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, hands trembling slightly as he gestured while speaking.

The doctors turned at their approach. Lindquist's face crumpled slightly at the sight of them. Jessie recognized the look of guilt and grief warring in his expression.

"Detective Thomas," Lindquist said, his voice hoarse. "This is Dr. Sikes, he’s a trauma specialist.” He swallowed hard before continuing. "He... he took over Martinez's care when we arrived."

Dr. Sikes stepped forward, his face grave beneath his surgical cap. Jessie had seen the look on his face countless times before during her military career. It was the look of someone who would never get used to the kind of news he had to deliver. "I'm very sorry," he began, measuring each word carefully. "We did everything we could, but the internal injuries were too severe. The blood loss alone..." He shook his head. "Honestly, it's remarkable she made it to us at all."

Alex swallowed hard, and Jessie could see the tension in his jaw as he fought against his emotions.

"The crushing injury caused catastrophic internal bleeding. Most patients with that level of trauma don't survive the first fifteen minutes." Dr. Sikes glanced at Lindquist. "Your coroner's quick action in the field, his management during transport—that's the only reason she had any chance at all. The measures he took bought her time...” He shook his head sadly. “Just not enough.”

Jessie eased a hand onto Alex’s shoulder. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white with anger. He looked from one doctor to the other. “Was she in a lot of pain?”

Dr. Sikes hesitated before continuing. “I don’t think so. That kind of injury… the body has certain defenses against that type of trauma. She would have blocked out the pain. With as much blood as she lost…it would be like she just went to sleep and didn’t wake up.”

Lindquist slumped against the wall, all pretense of professional detachment crumbling. His head sagged and he looked like a man defeated.

Dr. Sikes approached him carefully. “You did everything you could under those circumstances. Chances are, had I been standing next to her when it happened, I’m not sure the outcome would have been any different.” He gave his colleague a reassuring clasp on his shoulder.

The trauma surgeon's pager chirped, breaking the heavy silence that followed. He checked it quickly, then looked back at them with sympathy. "I need to go. Detective, I'll have my full report sent to your department by morning. And Dr. Lindquist..." He waited until the coroner met his eyes. "You did good work today. Remember that."

As Dr. Sikes strode away, Jessie watched Alex's expression harden into something she knew all too well. The look of someone converting grief into purpose. His voice, when it came, was steel under a layer of sorrow.

"Someone set that trap," he said quietly. "Someone knew first responders would investigate that debris. They knew exactly what they were doing."

"And now they've killed a cop," Jessie added, her own anger rising to match his.

Lindquist straightened slowly, wiping his hands across his face. When he lowered them, his expression had changed too. Grief had given way to determination. “Do me a favor. Catch this bastard.”

“Don’t you worry, Doc. Whoever did this is going to pay.” The edge in Alex’s voice was one Jessie hadn’t heard before. And truthfully, she wasn’t sure she liked it.

She looked at Dr. Lindquist, worry lines creasing her forehead. “You need to go home. Get some rest after this. We can regroup⁠—“

The doctor shook his head. “I’ll clean up at the lab. There’s a shower there. I need to get started on the autopsy of that body.”

Jessie’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t buried when the rest of the lodge came down?”

“No,” Lindquist said, glancing over at Alex. “Thanks to this one. He told me the place was unstable and that I should probably have the body taken out, even though I wasn’t finished with the initial inspection. Thankfully, I listened. It was on its way to my office when the second explosion hit.”

“So, between that and the samples the crime scene guys collected, we should still be in business,” Alex added.

“That’s good to hear,” came a voice from behind them.

Alex and Jessie turned to see a striking African American woman standing before them. Chief Sarah Daniels carried herself with the measured precision of someone who had earned every commendation pinned to her dress blues. Her uniform, pressed to knife-edge creases, showed an attention to detail that went beyond mere appearance. But it was her stance that Jessie noticed first. Her feet were planted shoulder-width apart, spine straight without being rigid, with her hands clasped behind her back. It was a pose that was both authoritative and ready for anything that might present itself.

Jessie arched an eyebrow in appreciation at the four stars pinned to her collar. They showed that the chief had reached the highest level of command in her station. And to have done that in Washington, DC made it all the more impressive.

“I am sorry I didn’t get here sooner. But as you can imagine, there were quite a few upset officers at the department. I made sure the ones that needed to take time for themselves knew they could. And those that wanted to be here, were also allowed to leave. Once the department was stable, I made my way here to show my respect and see if there was anything I could do.” Her voice carried the calm authority of someone used to being heard the first time. She didn't raise her volume or adjust her tone to command attention.

“Thank you, Chief Daniels,” Alex said. “That means more than you know.” The chief nodded and turned her attention to Jessie, appraising her with a sweep of dark-brown eyes. “Oh, this is Jessie Night. I keep forgetting you haven’t officially met,” Alex continued.

The police chief held out a hand and gave Jessie a firm shake. “It is a pleasure. I’ve heard so much about you. I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.”

“It’s an honor, ma’am. And congratulations on the appointment.”

Chief Daniels pursed her lips. “Thank you. It’s a change, that’s for sure. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance. I’m just sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Before Jessie could answer she turned to Dr. Lindquist. “Doctor. I assume I’ll have a copy of the autopsy report and any other findings on my desk as soon as they are complete.”

Dr. Lindquist seemed taken aback as he found himself unable to maintain her stare. “Well… um… sure. It’s just that, usually everything has always gone through…” His voice trailed off as he looked towards Alex.

The detective interjected. “What the doc is saying is that with Chief Walker, he always gave the reports to the investigating officer. Chief Walker was…a busy man who liked to be kept in the loop but…from a distance.”

“I see,” the chief responded. “However, I am most definitely not Chief Walker. For now, you are our only detective, so you’ll be running point, but I expect to see every report that comes to you as soon as they are available.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure everything is routed to your desk,” Alex replied.

Her smile was genuine and warm. “Thank you, Detective Thomas. I’d greatly appreciate that. Also, we need to set a time for a daily debriefing. Ms. Night can join if there is information she can add.” She nodded her head in Jessie’s direction. “So, where are you going from here with the investigation?”

Jessie took a breath. “Well, I’ll be heading for county records. I’d like to take a look into Marcus Ray’s property holdings and history. They’re probably all behind an LLC, but I have a source that should be able to help me with that.”

The police chief didn’t miss a beat. “You mean Will Mason? The reporter who also works for the mayor’s office?”

Despite herself Jessie was taken aback. “Well, yes. That would be my source.”

Alex cleared his throat. “And I’m going to go and visit the family of Officer Martinez. They’re good people and I want to let them know the department is here for them.”

Chief Daniels nodded. “Yes, that sounds appropriate. I’ll join you.” She turned to head for the exit but hesitated, turning back to Jessie. “You know, speaking of the mayor’s office, moving forward I would appreciate any calls to her that might involve adding personnel to my department, be ran by me first.” She smiled, her eyes fixed on the consultant. “No surprises make it easier for us all to be on the same team. Right?”

“Absolutely,” Jessie replied.

The chief continued to head for the exit, calling back to Alex. “Detective, we can take my car. Yours is in desperate need of a good washing.”

Alex looked at Jessie and Dr. Lindquist, gave them a shrug, and hurried after his chief.

Jessie moved to stand next to the doctor. “I like her. I think she’ll be good for the town.”

Dr. Lindquist stared longingly down the hall, but didn’t speak.

“Hey,” Jessie said. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

His face slowly turned until they locked eyes. “How do you do it? How do you get so used to watching someone die in front of you?”

Her eyes softened and she placed a hand on his arm. “Doc…that’s something you never want to get used to. Because the minute you do, you’ll find yourself in a very dark place.”

He placed a hand over hers, his lips pressed into a tight line as he nodded and headed back into one of the emergency bays. “I’ll get that report to you…to everyone, by morning.”

Jessie watched him go, before taking out her phone and hitting one of the contacts from her list. It rang a couple of times before a weary voice picked up.

“Will,” Jessie said. “Can you meet me for a drink? I need your help with something. And bring your computer.”

13

The evening breeze off the lake carried the scent of garlic and marinara as Mark set down the steaming plates with theatrical flair. "I still don't understand why you’re having dinner here. We are a bed and breakfast. Not a…breakfast and dinner.” He shot Jessie a look of mock indignation, before turning his head to Will and offering the reporter a slight sneer.

"Because Angela's is closed, and my refrigerator contains exactly three eggs and something that might have been cheese in a previous life." Jessie inhaled deeply, appreciating the aroma of the perfectly breaded chicken. "Besides, no one makes chicken parm like you.”

Eric appeared with a bottle of red wine, grinning as he filled their glasses. "She's right about that. And you love having them here—gives you fresh victims for your gossip addiction."

Something about the pointed way he said that immediately put Jessie on edge.

"Speaking of gossip," Mark said, pulling up a chair uninvited. Jessie tensed at his tone. "A little bird told me someone was seen getting cozy with a certain rugged, dark-haired someone else with bulging biceps, on the town green today." His eyes sparkled with barely contained glee. "Spill it, Night, or no tiramisu for you."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Nothing happened." She tore off a piece of bread. "We were discussing the fire at the lodge.” She fixed Mark with a stern look that would have intimidated most people. Mark just grinned wider.

"Discussing the fire,” Eric echoed, dropping into the remaining chair. "Is that what they're calling it these days?" He gave his husband a playful look.

Jessie’s eyebrows shot up. “Not you too.” She looked at Mark. “I’d expect this from him. You just said you’re running a bed and breakfast. Not a gossip column.”

"Honey, the gossip is complimentary," Mark said. "Like the mint on the pillow, only juicier. Now tell us about Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Firefighting before I'm forced to rely on Mrs. Audry’s version. And we all know how she embellishes."

Will leaned back, clearly enjoying Jessie's discomfort. "Yeah, Jess. Tell us all about it."

"You're supposed to be on my side," she muttered, but couldn't completely hide her smile. "Fine. You want the truth? He's investigating wildfires that have been breaking out up on the ridge line and is making sure there isn’t a connection to what happened at the lodge. That's it."

"Mmhmm." Mark's tone dripped with skepticism. "And I suppose those biceps of his are just an unfortunate distraction from his investigative skills?"

"I haven't noticed his biceps," Jessie lied, taking a sip of wine.

"Liar," all three men said in unison.

Jessie rolled her eyes, but the banter was a welcome distraction from the day's darker events. She needed this, the warmth, the familiar teasing.

“Wait,” said Will, cutting into the perfectly cooked chicken breast. “Tall and muscular. Plus, the ridge line is state property. That means…are we talking about…” His eyes grew wide. “Are you seeing Korr Green?”

Jessie fought the feeling of a blush creeping up her neck. “No. I’m not seeing anyone. Korr is helping us catch whoever did this. That’s all.”

“Wait, what kind of name is Korr?” Eric asked.

“He’s a smoke jumper,” Will said. “One of those crazy firefighters that jumps out of planes to fight fires in the mountains where the terrain prevents normal fire crews from reaching. And from what I’ve heard…he’s one of the best.”

Jessie nodded. “He’s a professional. And he’ll be around until this case is solved.”

"Fine, fine," Mark sighed dramatically, standing. “But you have to bring this professional over at some point. I need to see for myself what Mrs. Audry keeps crowing about.”

Eric laughed and pulled his husband away from the table. "Come on. Let them work. I need help in the kitchen anyway."

Once they were gone, Will leaned over the table. “So, there is more to this than you’re letting on. Korr doesn’t get involved in residential fire investigations. Not his jurisdiction. But I heard that the head of the U.S. Forest Service called the mayor asking for a favor regarding making an exception for him. That’s serious business.”

Jessie gave him a long stare. Since her move to Pine Haven, Will had proven himself someone she could trust. He had contacts and ways of getting information that she didn’t. And so far, he had not given her any reason to doubt his ability to keep things confidential. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she always gave him first dibs on stories to print in his self-made local paper. “We found a body in the lodge. One that looks like it was placed there before the fire was set.”

Will sucked in a breath. “A murderer and an arsonist. How awful.”

Jessie twirled pasta around her fork, organizing her thoughts. "I need information about Marcus Ray's property holdings. Specifically, anything connected to Eagle's Rest Lodge or similar properties in the area."

"No computer needed for that one." Will took a sip of wine, his expression darkening. "Marcus is just the pretty face. The real story is his father, Harlan Ray."

"Harlan Ray?" Jessie set down her fork. “That name doesn’t sound familiar."

“He's the reason half of Pine Haven's old families don't own their ancestral lands anymore." Will's voice carried an edge she rarely heard from him. "The Rays built their empire on other people's misfortune. Harlan spent decades buying property out from under folks who couldn't afford to keep up with taxes or needed quick cash. He'd wait until they were desperate, then swoop in with lowball offers they couldn't refuse."

Jessie picked up her own wine glass as her thoughts flashed back to what Korr had told her. “Does that include Eagle’s Rest Lodge?”

"Got it for pennies on the dollar about five years ago. Word was they planned to level it, put up either high-end condos or some boutique shopping complex." Will's mouth twisted. "But they got greedy and didn't do their homework. Historical designation threw a wrench in their plans."

“Meaning they couldn't just demolish a historically significant building."

"Bingo." Will broke off a piece of bread, but didn't eat it. "But here's where it gets interesting. County records show they're something like eighteen months behind on property taxes. Mayor's office has been trying to collect, but the Ray family lawyers keep throwing up roadblocks."

“And you know all this…how?”

“It was for a story I wanted to run last year, but Maggie…er Mayor Beaumont, killed it. She said it would just add more friction between the town and the Rays and give their lawyers more fodder for roadblocks.”

Jessie sat back, mind racing. "So, they're stuck with a property they can't develop, bleeding money on taxes they're refusing to pay..." She met Will's eyes. "That's one hell of a motive for wanting a building to accidentally burn down." She tapped her fork on the table as she thought. “But that doesn’t fit with the body we found. The presence of that body ensures a deeper investigation. That’s the last thing someone committing arson for insurance money would want.”

“True. But one of the first things I learned in journalism school…and politics for that matter…is you follow the money. You never know where it might lead.”

Jessie nodded, giving him a smile. “You’re right. See if you can find anything else. I’ll look into things from this angle and maybe track down the elder Mr. Ray. Unless you already know his whereabouts?”

Will shook his head as he dunked another piece of bread in the red sauce. “Nope. Now that I don’t have. But I’m betting Alex could get that. Unless you’ve sidelined him to work with Mr. Biceps that is.”

Jessie laughed. “Please. This is business. Nothing more.” She leaned back, sighing. “I should be going. Blizzard will be itching for an evening walk before we turn in. Thank you, for the information. And if you find anything else…”

“You’ll be the first to know. Oh, hey, I’m not sure how you can do it, without giving too much away, but you might want to talk to someone who has direct ties to the Rays and isn’t too fond of them.”

Jessie frowned. “Do you know someone like that?”

He nodded, swallowing the last of his wine. “I do. She was the person that originally put me on the story. Harlan’s sister.”

“Would she talk to me?”

“Oh, I’m sure. She has no love for her brother and would probably like nothing more than to shut him down. Her name is Eleanor Whitfield.”

Jessie froze, glass midway to her lips. “The lady in charge of the Historical Society?”

“That would be the one. You know her?”

“Oh, I’ve met her.” Jessie exhaled sharply before finishing off her wine. Alex was not going to be happy when she informed him that they needed to carefully go over every statement Eleanor Whitfield had made regarding Marcus Ray. But he’d be even more upset with himself if those statements ended up containing information that could have stopped an arsonist, and now a cop killer.

14

Gravel crunched under the tires as Jessie eased into her driveway, phone pressed to her ear.

"So, get this. Marcus Ray runs his dad’s business. His father is Harlan Ray, and guess what? Eleanor Whitfield is his sister,” she said, letting the engine idle. "Will's pretty sure she knows more than she's letting on about the family's business dealings." She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “Also, the lodge was months behind on property taxes. Will said the mayor's office has been trying to collect but keeps getting stonewalled.”

"That could explain her vendetta against Marcus Ray," Alex replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “The Historical Society is funded by private donations, but they also get a percentage of taxes paid as well. Though it doesn't explain the body. Or the fires."

“True,” she said. “I was thinking that as well. But the fact that she has such an interest in Marcus Ray—her nephew—could mean there is more to this than we’re seeing. Maybe a connection there that—“ Jessie’s words died in her throat as her headlights swept across her front porch. They shone briefly on the outline of a figure sitting in one of her rocking chairs. The form was broad-shouldered and solid, motionless against the darkness. Through her front window, she could see Blizzard's white form alert and watching, his ears pricked forward. The shepherd wasn't barking, which meant whoever was out there wasn't a complete stranger. “Alex, I’m going to have to call you back.”

"What's wrong?"

"Someone's at my house." She killed the engine but left the headlights on, illuminating the porch in harsh shadows. "I'll call you in a few minutes." She ended the call before he could protest.

Her hand moved to the glove compartment where she kept a small backup revolver. She hated having it, but she had learned the hard way how it was better to have the gun and not need it, than to need one and not have it. The weight of the small revolver was reassuring in her palm as she eased the car door open.

The figure stood, hands raised slightly. “It’s just me, Jessie.”

She recognized John Bartley's gravelly voice even before he stepped into the light. The owner of the Gray Eagle bar was dressed in flannel and work boots as he stepped off the porch and into the light. Jessie’s phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. A single text message showed.

On my way!

She unlocked the phone and quickly typed back that everything was clear, and she was alright before stuffing the phone back into her pocket. "John?" She kept her hand near her hip as she approached, noting how his eyes kept darting to the shadows at the edge of her property. "What are you doing here?" She turned and walked back to the Jeep placing the gun in the glovebox before shutting off the lights.

“You know, this place is damn creepy at night. All that marsh leading into the lake, and the overgrown bushes around the house. Anything could be hiding in them.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of the dark. There’s nothing out there.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But when it comes to Jessie Night, let’s just say I’ve learned to be cautious.”

She sighed, shaking her head as she brushed past him, heading for the front door. She opened it, greeting the excited bundle of white fur that leapt onto her. “Who’s my good boy? Such a good baby you are. Go do your business.” She stepped aside as he ran for the yard, pausing to give John a quick sniff.

“I guess you’re pretty safe with him running around,” John said.

“Best security system on the market. You coming in or just standing there?”

He hesitated, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other while his fingers worked at the edge of his shirt. A nervous gesture she’d seen from him before. Finally, he stepped across the threshold and into the house.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jessie offered.

“Um, no. But thank you.”

Jessie shrugged as she made her way to the back entry off the kitchen and went about setting out Blizzard’s food and re-filling his water bowl. “Are you okay, John? I think this might be the first time you’ve come by unannounced.”

The man’s eyes grew round. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I can go…you’re probably busy.” He jabbed his thumb at the front door.

“No, not at all. It’s good to see you.” Jessie went to the door and let her shepherd in, smiling as he made a bee line for the bowls in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I was just in the area and figured I would stop by and see how you were doing.”

Jessie watched as he scratched at his head, his eyes fixed on the giant dog scarfing down a bowl of Kibble nearly as big as his head. She nodded at John, not wanting to say that he neither lived nor worked anywhere near her house, so he probably wasn’t 'just in the area'.

He fumbled with the tail of his shirt again. “So, um…yeah. How are you? I haven’t seen you since Lady Maya’s. Things got pretty intense in that session, so I guess I just wondered how you were feeling.”

Jessie let out a breath and dropped into one of the chairs opposite the small couch. She motioned for John to have a seat before she spoke. She could feel the part of her that was used to shutting down any conversation like this. She wanted to pull away, to change the subject. She only spoke openly to her friend and therapist, and she was halfway across the country.

“I’m okay,” Jessie said. “Really okay. I don’t know what happened in the sessions I’ve had, but I’ve felt more in control of parts of myself than I have in years. It’s strange.”

“Sessions? As in plural?”

Jessie nodded. “I’ve gone back a couple of times.” She saw the unspoken question in John’s eyes. “Alone. Lady Maya really only needed me there with someone the first couple of sessions. But after that, we—or rather I—was fine. I realized the fear I felt wasn’t so much about what was happening, but rather what it made me face.” She locked eyes with the man. “I realized that sometimes, it’s good to face our old demons head on. And in doing so, it’s helped me gain control of them. I may never be able to fully defeat them, but they no longer control me.”

John snorted and gave her a wry grin. “All that from getting tied up.”

Jessie shrugged. “Therapy comes in all forms. You should try it sometime.” She gave him a playful smile. “Oh wait…that’s right...”

He rolled his eyes in response. “Well, maybe some of us do it to feed our demons. Not to vanquish them.”

Jessie frowned, studying the man. She sensed it was her turn to ask the question. “John, are you okay?”

The owner of the Gray Eagle motorcycle club exhaled sharply, puffing his cheeks out before leaning back and running his hands over his face. “Yeah, I guess I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was stressing a little. You know I’ve gone straight…even though I might still have contacts from my old life, I’ve really been on the up-and-up. But this audit I’m going through is starting to make me wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

Jessie gave the man time to take a breath and settle. “John, you’re doing the right thing. Everything is going to be just fine.” She knew what he was referring to. His name had popped up as a silent investor in an LLC that turned out to be a front for an organization that had shady ties to government contracts and pharmaceutical companies. John had owned up to investing in the company but thought that it was a legitimate landholding LLC. To his credit, he had cooperated fully with the town and state investigation and was now feeling a little worse for wear for doing the right thing. “I’m proud of you for doing the right thing, John.”

“Yeah. I meant it when I said I’ve changed. The bar is legitimate now. And I’ve divested any and all of the… let’s say holdings from my previous life.”

“And how do you feel about all of that?”

“Honestly? I’m a lot poorer now, but I sleep better at night now that I can close both eyes. And I was getting too old for all that mess anyway.” He smiled, and Jessie could see some of the weight lifting off the man. “But there is something I wanted to tell you, in case it gets out. I did use quite a bit of my old stash of money in order to get it off my books…”

Jessie frowned at the man. “Used it, as in…?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Well, you know that fancy new crime lab the PD received as an anonymous gift?” His grin turned sheepish.

Jessie’s mouth dropped in genuine surprise. “That was you?”

He nodded. “I figured it was about time this town entered the modern era. Plus, I thought it might come in handy helping you and Alex catch the bad guys. Which meant you could stop coming to me asking me to rat out old acquaintances.”

“And is that all?”

He shrugged slightly. “I might have donated to the library fund for new computers and sent some new equipment to the coroner's lab as well, under the guise of new funding from the town’s budget surplus. But that’s it.”

Jessie wrinkled her brow. “And Maggie was good with that?” He nodded, a sly smile crossing his features. “Christ, John, how much were you sitting on?”

“More than I realized. But that pretty much wiped me out. The rest was in that land investment company… which is now coming back to bite me in the ass.” He sighed again. “But maybe keep all that to yourself. Can’t have too many people thinking I’m a do-gooder.” He stood up and stretched. “I should be going, but hey, there’s one other thing I wanted to mention…”

Jessie sank back into the couch. He had taken the long way around but finally arrived at whatever was on his mind.

“So, I hear you’ve been hanging around with Korr Green…”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. She fought off the heat that rose in her cheeks. “What the…I am not dating Korr Green! Where are people getting this?”

John arched a single eyebrow. “I didn’t say dating.”

Jessie looked away but could still feel the man’s eyes on her. “He’s helping us with a case. That’s all.”

John chewed at his lower lip. “Well, just be careful. I’m not saying Korr’s a bad person, but he tends to have blinders on when it comes to those around him…”

Jessie stared at the man as he headed for the door. “What does that mean?”

Before he could answer, blue and red strobe lights flashed through the picture window, accompanied by the blare of a siren. Seconds later, Alex Thomas was knocking at the door.

Jessie crossed the room quickly and pulled the door open before he could pound on it again. “Alex. I said I was fine. You didn’t have to come over.”

The detective’s eyes landed on John, and he paused for a moment before addressing Jessie. “What? No, that’s not why I’m here. I mean, yeah…you could have been coerced into giving me an all clear…but I came by because you didn’t answer the last text I sent you. We just got a call that the alarm’s been tripped at the Historical Society. There’s been a break-in.”

15

The Historical Society's Victorian silhouette stood dark under the streetlamps of Main Street. Alex killed the SUV's headlights, letting momentum carry them the final few yards before easing to a stop well back from the building's entrance. For some reason, Jessie found the ticking of the engine as it cooled soothing, as she took a couple of deep breaths to steady her heartbeat.

Jessie's hand instinctively went to her hip, though she hadn't brought her weapon. Even though she had only been carrying for a short time, she hated how quickly it had given her a false sense of security. She caught Alex checking his own sidearm, his movements precise and controlled in the darkness. She could practically read his mind. On the drive over, he told her he had called in that he was responding and for everyone else to hang back. Not that there were many officers available. It was late, and in a town like Pine Haven there was never really a need to have patrols out and about. Jessie could see that the events of the lodge still hung heavy on him. He’d lost one officer today—he wasn’t about to lose anyone else.

"Front entrance," Alex whispered, nodding toward the building. "Stay tight."

At first glance, everything appeared normal. The heavy wooden door was closed, its polished brass hardware gleaming under the porch light. But as they drew closer, Jessie noticed the subtle violence done to the frame. The door jamb was splintered near the lock, fresh wood showing pale against the darker stain. Someone had used enough force to break through solid oak.

Alex pressed his back against the wall beside the door, gun drawn but pointed downward. His breathing was steady, controlled, mirroring Jessie’s. He caught her eye and gave a quick nod. She eased the door open, wincing at the slight creak of century-old hinges.

The foyer stretched before them and they paused, giving their eyes time to adjust to the slight change in lighting. A space that was so warm and inviting during the light of day, now felt like a trap. A beam of light bounced erratically down one of the corridors. The same hall that led to the archives where Eleanor had shown them the photographs earlier. The dancing light disappeared around a corner, followed by the muffled sound of drawers being opened and closed with increasing urgency.

They moved silently through the darkness, each taking note of the other's position. Alex took point while Jessie watched their six, both hyper-aware of every shadow and sound. The floorboards beneath the carpet were old, quick to betray any misstep with a telltale creak.

Behind them, a floorboard groaned.

They spun in unison, Alex's weapon snapping up as a broad-shouldered figure emerged from a doorway. Jessie's heart leapt into her throat before recognition hit. The beam from Alex's tactical light illuminated Korr's face, his expression deadly serious.

Korr held up his hands, finger pressed to his lips. He pointed down the hall where the flashlight beam still danced, then tapped his ear and held up one finger.

One person.

Alex lowered his weapon slightly but kept it ready. The three of them crept forward, closing in on the archives room. The sounds of someone rifling through files grew louder, punctuated by frustrated muttering and the metallic scrape of filing cabinet drawers.

They reached the doorway. Alex took one side while Korr flanked the other. Jessie positioned herself behind Alex, ready to move. Through the gap, she could see the flashlight beam sweeping across filing cabinets, casting wild shadows as its holder searched with increasing desperation.

Alex gave a sharp nod. Korr's hand found the light switch.

The room flooded with harsh fluorescent light, splintering the intruder's shadow into a dozen fractured silhouettes against the walls. The man spun toward them with a startled yelp, his flashlight clattering to the floor. He stumbled backward into a filing cabinet, hands raised in panic.

Jessie blinked, taking in the incongruous sight. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was dressed in fleece pajamas covered with tiny sailboats and clouds. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his sandy brown hair was carefully styled despite the late hour. He certainly didn’t look like someone breaking into historical archives at midnight.

"Don't shoot!" he squeaked, pressing himself further against the cabinet.

Alex kept his weapon trained on the man but didn't approach. His voice rang out strong. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Who are you?"

"Robert Spears,” the man said, his voice steadying slightly though his hands still trembled. "I work here—I have keys!" He fumbled for his pocket with shaking fingers.

"Stop," Alex commanded. "Keep those hands up where we can see them."

The intruder’s arms shot straight into the air. "I'm the digital archive manager here. I live in the apartment upstairs." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "The alarm triggered, and I came down to check things out. When I saw the front door had been forced, I wanted to make sure nothing was damaged or missing in the archives."

"You live here?" Jessie asked, studying him carefully.

"Yes, part of my compensation package." His professional demeanor began to show through his nerves. "There are irreplaceable documents and artifacts here. As I said, when I saw the door was broken, I had to make sure everything was secure."

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp voice from the doorway cut through the tension.

"Bobbie? What's happened?"

They turned to see Eleanor Whitfield standing in the entrance, her small frame somehow filling the doorway. She wore a hastily donned cardigan over what appeared to be pajamas, her feet stuffed into garden clogs.

Alex lowered his weapon, confusion evident on his face. "Mrs. Whitfield, can you vouch for this man?”

Eleanor's lips curved into a small, tired smile. "You could say that." She fixed Robert with a concerned look. "He’s my son."

16

"Goodness, boy, what are you doing down here dressed like that? Go put a robe on at least." Eleanor's voice carried the weary exasperation of a mother who'd long since given up on understanding her child's choices. The harsh fluorescent light cast unflattering shadows across her face, aging her beyond her years.

Robert crossed his arms over his sailboat-patterned chest, his glasses catching the light as he tilted his head. "Really, Mother? You're critiquing my wardrobe choices when you rushed over here in gardening clogs and that ancient cardigan?" The edge in his voice told everyone there were years of similar exchanges between the two.

Alex stepped forward, maintaining his professional stance despite the seemingly domestic scene unfolding before him. His gun remained at the ready, eyes constantly scanning the space beyond the doorway. "Ma'am, we haven't cleared the building yet. You shouldn't be⁠—"

"Oh, nonsense." Eleanor dismissed his concern with a sharp wave. "Anyone who broke in is long gone by now, with all this noise we’re making. They clearly weren't after anything valuable, or Robert would have found evidence of theft already." She turned back to her son, her tone shifting from Historical Society president to mother in an instant. "Now go upstairs and make yourself presentable. We have guests."

Robert's mouth worked through several unspoken responses before he threw up his hands in defeat, the gesture oddly reminiscent of his mother's. "Fine. But I'm telling you, nothing's missing. I checked all the sensitive materials first thing." His bare feet made soft padding sounds against the wooden floor as he retreated upstairs.

Once her son was out of sight, Eleanor moved through the space with the confidence of someone who knew every creaking floorboard. "The Hayes collection is untouched. The land deed records too." Her fingers traced the edge of a filing cabinet, leaving clean lines in the thin layer of dust. "Though someone's been rifling through these drawers. Recently."

Alex held out a hand as he holstered his weapon. “All the more reason for you not to touch anything. I’ll have the crime scene guys over here to dust for⁠—“

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor said, her voice hard as stone. “I will not allow people in here with powders and…and whatever else they use around these artifacts. Why some of them are sensitive to flash photography. Everything is present and accounted for and that’s all that matters.”

Movement out of the corner of Jessie’s eye caught her attention and she turned to see Korr methodically examining one of the archive cases that appeared locked. His movements were precise, almost like he was looking for something specific. When he caught her studying him, he straightened quickly.

"See something interesting?" she asked.

"Just being thorough." His response came too quickly, too casually. He moved away from the files, but Jessie noted how his eyes kept drifting back to that section.

“Your son, Robert, what does he do for the Society?” Alex was asking.

“He is our digital archivist,” Eleanor said. “It is his job to make sure that all historically significant records—those that were born digital and the ones that are digitized from physical materials—are acquired, preserved, organized and made accessible. He is the safeguard of the cultural heritage of this historic mountain and its people.”

“Really?” Korr piped in. He gave Jessie a questioning look. “So, everything physical you have in the archives, he would have a digital version of?”

“Oh yes.” A light went off in Eleanor’s eyes. “If you have further questions about the Hayes photographs, or ones that we may not even have, Bobbie will most likely be able to access them for you. Despite his fashion sense on display tonight, he’s actually quite brilliant. Just don’t ever tell him I said that.”

“Too late, I heard it.” Robert returned, now wearing a paisley robe that somehow clashed even worse with his sailboat pajamas. “Where would you be without me? Still trying to catalog everything by hand and filing reams of paper away in some dusty old cabinet, no doubt.” He turned to Korr. “And if there’s anything in particular you need to know about, feel free to come by. During working hours, that is.”

Alex holstered his weapon. "I'll need to take your statement, Mr. Spears. Walk me through exactly what happened when the alarm went off."

"Of course." Robert nodded.

Jessie caught Korr's eye and tilted her head toward the door. "Let's give them some space."

They stepped outside and Jessie took in a deep breath of the cool, night air. "What were you doing here tonight?" She leaned against one of the porch pillars, studying Korr's profile in the dim light. "Bit late for a casual drive-by."

He smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light. "I was out driving. Sometimes when my mind gets too full, I just... drive. The mountains have a way of putting things in perspective." His fingers drummed absently against the porch railing. "I keep a scanner in my truck. When the call came through about the break-in, it seemed like too much of a coincidence."

"Coming so soon after our visit this morning."

"Exactly." He turned to face her. "Someone breaks in just hours after we start asking questions about old photographs and land records? That got my attention."

Jessie nodded slowly. “I’d be lying if I said the same thought didn’t go through my mind.” She watched his reaction carefully. “Back inside…it looked for a minute like there might have been something else you were interested in.”

"Are you asking if I had an ulterior motive to get inside the Historical Preservation Society, Ms. Night?" There was an edge of amusement in his voice now.

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"Probably not." He grinned, and this time it was genuine. "Is this how you and Alex usually work? He handles the formal questioning while you come at it sideways, getting people to open up without realizing they're being interrogated?"

"Is it working?"

He didn’t answer but moved his gaze away from her to the gravel expanse that served as the Society’s parking lot. The breeze carried the faint scent of woodsmoke from somewhere in the distance. Jessie watched as Korr's head lifted slightly, nostrils flaring as he automatically cataloged the smell, assessing potential threat. It was the instinctive reaction of someone who'd spent years reading fire's subtle languages. She arched an eyebrow in his direction.

“Sorry. Bad habit of mine. But it’s nothing.”

"We'll figure it out," she said quietly. "Whatever's going on here, whatever connection exists between all of this, we'll find it." She cleared her throat. You know you’re going to have to give Alex an official statement about all of this, right?”

He stretched his arms overhead, his shirt straining at the move. “Yeah, I know. Tell him I’ll be by his office first thing in the morning. If he needs to reach me before then, he knows how to get hold of me.” He raised two fingers to his forehead in a half salute before turning and heading towards his truck. “Goodnight, Ms. Night.”

Jessie watched him go, her mind suddenly filled with more questions to things than she had answers for. She made her way back to the Society’s front door and was studying it as Alex pulled it open and stepped through.

He was finishing up writing in his notepad before shoving it back into his jacket pocket. “Did Korr tell you why he just happened to be here?”

Jessie nodded. “He did. And it seems plausible. I’ll fill you in on the details later. You get everything you needed from Robert?”

“Yep. And that made sense as well.”

Jessie sighed and pointed at the door. “Well, someone definitely tried to break in.”

“Could be that Robert showing up spooked them and they ran,” Alex surmised.

“Maybe. But look here…” Jessie pointed at the frame of the door. “This is a solid oak door, in good shape. No signs of rotting in the framework.”

Alex was nodding. “Yeah. So, whoever forced this open was big. It took strength to do this.” He looked at Jessie, not needing to go any further.

“Can you at least have the crime scene guys dust the door?”

He shrugged. “I can try. But Eleanor was pretty adamant about not taking this any further.”

Jessie stared at the door, hoping she was masking the questions that lingered in the back of her mind. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do here. It’s late and I’m exhausted.” She headed for Alex’s car parked a couple of buildings away.

The detective walked along beside her in silence. As they reached the car, he stopped and faced her. “So, John just happened to be in your neighborhood and stopped by?”

Jessie bit the inside of her cheek. This wasn’t something she had the energy to tackle at the moment. “He was checking in. I think he’s still processing the ordeal he went through. Being kidnapped and tortured has left him with some trauma that he’s going to have to deal with sooner rather than later.” She left it at that and climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Alex climbed in after her and fired up the engine. He didn’t speak as he eased the car in gear and headed in the direction of Jessie’s house.

Once home, Jessie climbed out of the car and leaned forward, ducking her head back into the vehicle. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We can compare notes and decide on next steps.”

Once she made her way inside, she dropped onto the sofa, cradling Blizzard's head in her lap. Her mind was still in overdrive. The break-in was first and foremost in her thoughts, along with Korr’s appearance at the scene. But playing louder than all of that was John’s warning.

He has blinders when it comes to those around him.

Her phone flashed and she looked at the message Alex had sent.

Meet me at Doc’s lab first thing in the morning. He said he found something we need to see.

17

Dawn had barely broken when Jessie pulled into the hospital parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath her tires as she eased into a spot next to Alex's cruiser. It was one of her favorite times of day in the mountains. Watching the pale morning light paint the tops of the ridges around her. She carried two large coffees in a cardboard tray, along with a paper bag containing a selection of pastries she'd picked up from Angela's Bakery.

The medical examiner’s office was attached to the back of the Pine Haven Regional hospital, a single-story box that jutted from the backside of the building. The modest morgue and newly upgraded forensics lab commanded the entirety of the space.

The smell of antiseptics and cleaning supplies threatened to erase the nutty aroma of the coffee she carried into the building. The polished concrete floors gleamed up at her as she hurried down the corridor. Alex leaned against the wall outside the lab, his eyes fixed on his phone. At her approach, he looked up, dark circles beneath his eyes betraying his lack of sleep.

“Figured you could use this," Jessie said, offering him one of the coffees.

Alex took it gratefully, inhaling the aroma before taking a cautious sip. "Thanks. I've been up half the night, filing and going over the statements from Eleanor and her son." He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Still trying to figure out what someone was looking for at the Historical Society."

"Any luck?"

"Not really. They both insisted nothing was taken." He pocketed his phone and gestured toward the lab doors. "You think he's worked straight through since yesterday?"

“Probably. After what happened with Martinez, I doubt he's gotten any sleep at all."

Alex's jaw tightened at the mention of the fallen officer. “Yeah, I guess that’s hit us all pretty hard.” He shook his head, banishing the memories. “Korr’s coming in to give his official statement about last night." He took another sip of coffee. "Told him to meet us here at nine."

Jessie nodded, choosing not to comment on the slight edge in Alex's voice. "Let's see what the doc has found."

The pneumatic doors to the lab slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Dr. Lindquist hunched over a computer terminal. His white lab coat was rumpled, and a day's worth of stubble darkened his jaw. Three empty coffee cups formed a small battalion near his elbow, and his usually neatly combed hair stood at odd angles.

"Morning, Doc," Alex called out.

Lindquist started slightly before turning to face them. The momentary flash of confusion in his eyes confirmed Jessie's suspicion that he hadn't left the lab since yesterday.

"Ah, Detective Thomas, Ms. Night. Right on time." He gestured toward the coffees in their hands. "I see you came prepared."

"Brought you one too, though I’m not sure more caffeine is what you need,” Jessie said, holding out the third cup and the bag of pastries. "And something to eat. When's the last time you had a meal?"

Lindquist accepted both with a grateful nod, though he set the food aside unopened. "I'm fine, really. This work has been... consuming. And I’ve welcomed it." He took a long drink of coffee before setting it down. "I've made some interesting discoveries about our victim." A flicker of something…pain perhaps, or simply fatigue, crossed his face before he masked it with professional detachment.

Alex and Jessie exchanged concerned glances, but neither pressed the issue as Lindquist led them toward the main autopsy room. The temperature dropped noticeably as they entered the sterile space, the smell of disinfectant sharp in the air.

In the center of the room, beneath focused overhead lights, lay what remained of the lodge victim. The body had been placed on a stainless-steel examination table, a sheet drawn up to the chest. Even cleaned of soot and ash, the remains were barely recognizable as human.

Fire had done its brutal work thoroughly.

"The fire did extensive damage," Lindquist began, his clinical voice at odds with the exhaustion etched into his features. "But it also preserved certain evidence in ways that might surprise you."

He moved to a computer terminal and brought up a series of X-ray images. "Let me show you what I've found." He pointed to the screen and began to unravel the secrets that only the dead, and science, could reveal.

The screen illuminated with stark black and white images, revealing a complete skeletal scan of the victim. Lindquist zoomed in on several areas, each marked with digital tags.

"First things first. Male, approximately mid-to-late fifties to early sixties, based on bone density and wear patterns." His finger traced the outline of the skull. "Caucasian, based on cranial structure. Height approximately five-foot-eleven."

Jessie leaned closer to the screen. “Did it confirm your suspicion about the cause of death?"

He nodded grimly. “It wasn’t the fire. Look here." He indicated a barely perceptible fracture at the base of the skull. "Blunt force trauma. Delivered with significant force, from behind and slightly above." He demonstrated the angle with his hand. "Likely instantaneous, or near enough."

"A single blow?" Jessie asked.

"Yes. Precisely delivered." Lindquist pulled up another image. "But that's not the most interesting part. The fire revealed something that might otherwise have gone unnoticed."

He clicked through to another screen showing close-up images of what appeared to be the victim's forearms. Even to Jessie's untrained eye, something looked wrong about the right one.

"This is a healed spiral fracture of the right ulna and radius," Lindquist explained. "It dates back decades—thirty, forty years at minimum. And it healed... poorly." He gestured to the unnatural angle. "Modern medicine would have set this differently, but back then, especially in rural areas with limited medical access..."

"Resulting in permanent disfigurement," Jessie finished.

“To a degree, yes. But not so much that it would have slowed the victim down or made it noticeable over time to the untrained eye. Most likely, he would have been able to hide it.”

“So, that could have made it much easier to pose the body in the style of the photograph,” Alex added.

“Probably,” the doctor said. “Especially if the killer knew about the break in the arm.”

Alex scribbled furiously in his notepad.

"Any chance of DNA recovery?"

"Limited, but yes. The fire consumed much of the soft tissue, but I was able to extract samples from the marrow and teeth. Even with our new equipment, extracting and analyzing DNA from those sources can be tricky. I've sent them to the state lab, but it will take time." Lindquist pulled up yet another image. "Now, this is where things get truly unusual."

He called up more images on the screen until zeroing in on what looked like a close-up of a funnel.

Alex paused his writing. “What am I looking at, Doc?”

“This is the victim’s inner ear structure, magnified several times. I found evidence of a rare congenital condition called Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome, or SCDS. It's an abnormal opening in the bone that covers part of the inner ear canal." His finger traced a small gap in the bone structure. "Only affects about one or two percent of the population."

"Would that mean anything for the victim when he was alive?" Jessie asked.

"Hypersensitivity to sound, chronic dizziness, ability to hear internal bodily functions, even the sound of their own eyeballs moving." Lindquist's clinical description couldn't mask the fascination in his voice. "It's hereditary, and quite distinctive in its presentation."

Jessie studied the image. "How did the fire help you find this?"

"The intense heat actually preserved crucial evidence by essentially calcifying delicate structures that might otherwise have decomposed. Additionally, the fire burned away soft tissue that would normally obscure these subtle bone abnormalities." He zoomed in further. "In a conventional autopsy, without specific reason to examine the inner ear structures, this might have been missed entirely."

Alex circled something in his notepad. "What about the metal framework that was holding him upright?"

"Custom-made. High-grade steel alloy, designed by someone with knowledge of both metallurgy and human anatomy." Lindquist moved to a side table where pieces of the framework lay arranged in anatomical order. "The points of attachment correspond perfectly with the body's natural balance points. Whoever designed this understood center of gravity, load distribution, even how fire would affect the supporting materials."

"Meaning our killer has some very specialized knowledge," Jessie observed.

"Precisely." Lindquist picked up one of the metal components. "These weren't mass-produced. Each piece was hand-fabricated for this specific purpose."

"Time of death?" Alex asked.

"Based on decomposition rates adjusted for the fire's effects, I'd estimate between forty-eight and seventy-two hours before discovery." Lindquist set down his coffee. "There's something else you should see."

Lindquist guided them to a second workstation where several evidence containers were arranged in a precise line. He pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves before opening the first container.

"These are residue samples I collected from the victim's hands." He held up a sealed vial containing what looked like fine, crystalline dust. "I'm not a chemical analyst, but even preliminary testing shows it's not typical ash or debris you'd expect from a standard structure fire."

"Any idea what it might be?" Alex asked, leaning closer.

"The white phosphorus compound was definitely present, as Korr suggested." Lindquist carefully returned the vial to its container. "But there's something else mixed with it—a compound I couldn't readily identify. I've sent all the samples to the crime scene techs for comprehensive analysis. Their equipment is better suited for this kind of specialized work."

Jessie crossed her arms, her brow furrowed in concentration. "So, our victim was killed by a single blow to the head, positioned with a custom metal framework, and found at the epicenter of a precisely controlled fire." She looked at Alex. “All of this implies meticulous planning.”

Alex nodded grimly, then turned to Lindquist. "Doc, is there any way to identify this man? Dental records? Anything?"

Lindquist's shoulders sagged slightly. "The fire damaged most identifying features, but I've managed to extract a partial dental pattern." He tapped some keys, bringing up a digital reconstruction of the victim's teeth. "If the victim had comprehensive dental records on file somewhere, we might get a match. I've also sent tissue samples for DNA analysis, but without a comparison sample in the system, it's a long shot."

"What about the arm break?” Jessie suggested. "Something that distinctive—someone would remember it."

“That’s a possibility,” Lindquist said. “But that injury was sustained as a child. You can check area doctors and see if you get a hit on one that recognizes the break, but the likelihood of that is pretty slim. And that’s assuming the victim is from this area.”

“So, our options at identifying the victim hinge on possible dental work or trying to find a doctor who’s been in the area long enough to remember a child with a broken arm.” Alex sighed. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Well, that’s not the only way,” Jessie said. “There’s still the old-fashioned way. We pore over missing person’s reports that fit our victim’s description. Look for a break that way.”

Alex’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “I’ll start that ball rolling as soon as I get back to the department.”

Jessie looked at the coroner with concern as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “You really should get some rest. You can’t keep going like this.”

A shadow passed across Lindquist's face. A flicker of something more than mere physical exhaustion. "I will. Soon." He gestured toward the body. “I want to wrap this up, and then I’ll head home for a bit.”

Alex's phone chimed with an incoming text. He glanced at the screen, then back at Jessie. "Korr's at the station to give me his statement. I should head over that way—“ He was cut off as the phone began to buzz in his hands. “Hello?” He moved it to his ear. He nodded a couple of times, added a few, “right aways” and then hung up before turning to Jessie. “That was the chief. She wants her morning update. Now.”

Jessie frowned. “Well, why don’t you take Korr’s statement. I’ll fill the chief in on where we are so far. As soon as you’re done, you come join us.”

Alex twisted his lips to one side as he considered her words. “I don’t know…”

“Look, it will give me a chance to get to know her better. To chat. Plus, the sooner you get Korr’s statement the better.”

Alex understood what she meant without her having to say it. They needed to compare the statement he gave Alex to what he said to Jessie after the break-in.

Alex nodded and walked off as she spun back towards the medical examiner. “Promise me you’ll get some rest.”

He gave her a weary smile. “I will. And thank you.”

Jessie smiled and made for the lab exit, before half turning. “You know, you’re going to need to catch up on your sleep before the weekend.”

The doctor frowned, confused. “What’s this weekend?”

“Your first shooting lesson. I can’t have you handling a gun for the first time if you’re not one hundred percent.” She exited the lab, not waiting for an answer.

Sometimes, getting what you wanted out of someone meant giving them what they wanted. Now, all she had to figure out was what the new chief of Pine Haven’s police department wanted.

18

The flag flying at half-mast greeted Jessie as she pulled into the Pine Haven police department. The building looked heavier to her, taking on the weight of Officer Martinez’s loss. She sat in her Jeep, steeling herself for the range of emotions she knew she would encounter inside.

The duty officer at the front desk gave Jessie a tired nod, tracking her movements as she pushed through the glass doors. The same malaise had settled into everyone she passed in the hall. Stiff bodies. Low voices. Puffy eyes.

Chief Daniels' office door stood slightly ajar. Jessie could see the woman inside, her posture military straight as she reviewed documents on her desk. Jessie knocked twice on the doorframe.

"Come in, Ms. Night." The chief looked up momentarily before finishing a notation and then setting her pen down with precision. "I was expecting Detective Thomas."

"He's taking a statement from a witness regarding last night's break-in at the Historical Society," Jessie explained, stepping into the office. "He'll join us as soon as he's finished."

Chief Daniels' office was efficient and minimalist. The desk was clear of clutter, every item precisely positioned. A framed commendation from Washington D.C. hung centered on the wall behind her, flanked by her degrees and certifications. This was an office that belonged to someone who valued order and competence above all else.

"A break-in?" Chief Daniels arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "And this takes precedence over an arsonist who's also a murderer?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely pointed.

“It’s too early to rule out any possible connections,” Jessie replied.

“What’s your thought process on it?” The chief gestured to the chair across from her desk, and Jessie took the seat.

"Someone broke into the Historical Society shortly after we visited it to look into old photographs. Ones that may be related to the lodge victim. Nothing appears to have been taken, but the timing is... convenient."

“Could have just been a coincidence,” the chief said.

Jessie weighed her words carefully. “Perhaps. But I don’t believe in coincidence.” She could tell by the look on Chief’s face that she didn’t either.

Chief Daniels nodded, her dark eyes assessing. "And who exactly is this witness Detective Thomas is interviewing?"

Jessie met her gaze. "Someone who was on scene when the break-in was discovered."

A slight smile curved the chief's lips. "You're being deliberately vague, Ms. Night."

"Just thorough, Chief Daniels. There’s no point in sharing information with you until it’s proven to lead somewhere.”

"Fair enough." The chief leaned back in her chair. "I've been reviewing your involvement with the department since my arrival. Your record is... impressive. Multiple solved cases, effective consultation methods, and a unique insight into criminal behavior." She tapped a folder on her desk. "It seems Pine Haven has been fortunate to have you."

"Thank you," Jessie said, caught off guard by the praise.

"I'll be direct. I prefer structured protocols and clear chains of command. But I'm not blind to effective resources, regardless of their unconventional nature." Chief Daniels leaned forward. "So, convince me. What's your assessment of our unsub?"

Jessie took a moment to gather her thoughts. "We're looking at someone with exceptional knowledge of fire behavior. The precision of the burns, the careful staging of the victim—this isn't an amateur playing with matches. This is someone who understands exactly how fire moves, how structures fall, and how to control the burn."

"A firefighter?" the chief asked, her tone neutral.

"Possibly. Or someone with specialized training or education." Jessie shifted in her chair. "But it's more than technical knowledge. There's a theatrical element to these crimes. The body wasn't just killed; it was positioned specifically, displayed for maximum impact once discovered. The killer wanted to create a moment."

Chief Daniels nodded slowly. “To what end?”

"That's where it gets complicated," Jessie admitted. "The theatrical element suggests someone seeking recognition or making a statement. But the specific pose of the victim adds another layer. They mimicked a historical photograph that is well known in the area. That points to something more personal, possibly a connection to local history.”

"You're thinking revenge?"

"Or retribution. Justice through a distorted lens." Jessie said, leaning forward.

“Two sides of the same coin.”

Jessie nodded. "Whoever this is, they're meticulous. The staging of the body, the precise application of accelerants, the trap set for first responders. Each element was planned with extraordinary attention to detail."

“What about the personality traits of someone capable of doing this?”

Jessie fought back a grin. The chief was testing her now. She had obviously worked with profilers before and wanted to see what Jessie was capable of. "Intelligent. Patient. Detail-oriented." Jessie ticked off each characteristic. "Someone capable of compartmentalizing emotion to execute methodical violence. They likely present as high-functioning in their daily life—respected, even. But underneath, there's a driving need for control and recognition."

The chief’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Likelihood to escalate?”

“Practically a given. We believe they were staging wildfires using wooden debris as a stand-in for human victims. That escalated to the arson of a residential structure. The unsubstantiated was also willing to set a trap that resulted in the death of Officer Martinez. Add to that, the unknown factor about the victim, and we have all the signs of classic escalation.”

"The victim?” Chief Daniels said, before understanding illuminated her eyes. “You mean did they kill the victim?”

Jessie was nodding. “That we have no idea about. And if they didn’t kill the victim, that tells us something potentially even more horrifying.”

“That they had help.” She leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. “What else?”

“Our killer shows signs of understanding how an investigation works. They are reactive to the investigation, but not necessarily impulsive. The trap wasn't hastily set after we discovered the body—it was already in place, waiting to be triggered. That suggests they anticipated our response and prepared accordingly. Which tells me they may have training, observation, or maybe even experience in law enforcement.”

The chief sighed. “So, we’re looking for a potential police officer-slash-firefighter-slash-first responder. That could be hiding in plain sight.”

“Well, not officially. Like I said, having knowledge of a process doesn’t mean they’re involved in the field.”

The chief was silent for a moment, processing. "And do you believe the break-in at the Historical Society is part of this?"

Jessie chose her next words carefully. “I do. I believe understanding the significance of the photograph that the victim mimicked is going to be vital to catching our unsub.

Chief Daniels studied Jessie with renewed interest. "You know, Ms. Night, I was skeptical about civilian consultants when I arrived in Pine Haven. In my experience, they often complicate things more than they help."

Jessie remained silent, waiting.

"But I'm beginning to see why Mayor Beaumont insisted on maintaining your relationship with the department." The chief's expression softened a fraction. “She was right. Your insight is... valuable."

Before Jessie could respond, a knock at the door drew their attention. Alex stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.

"Detective Thomas," Chief Daniels said. "Nice of you to join us."

"Sorry for the delay, Chief. I was taking a witness statement regarding⁠—"

"The Historical Society break-in. Ms. Night has filled me in." The chief gestured for him to enter. "She's also been providing her profile of our unsub. Quite thorough."

Alex shot Jessie a questioning look as he took the seat beside her.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she will fill you in. Detective, where are we on identifying the victim?" Chief Daniels asked, shifting gears seamlessly.

"Dr. Lindquist has provided a detailed autopsy report. Male, late fifties to early sixties, with a distinctive healed fracture to the right forearm from decades ago. Also has a rare inner ear condition which is hereditary. We’ve already begun cross-referencing with missing persons and checking area medical records for both abnormalities. We realize it’s a long shot, but right now it’s what we have to go on. I’ve sent everything we have so far to your computer.”

Chief Daniels nodded. “And the witness from the Historical Society? Anything relevant there?”

Alex hesitated, briefly glancing at Jessie. “As of now, there was nothing in the witness’ statement that tells us anything we do not already know.”

The chief contemplated the information, nodding slowly. “You two are in lockstep together. That’s good. You’re thinking like a team.”

Alex frowned slightly, unsure if they had just been given a compliment or criticism.

“Good work, so far. I’d like a daily update, and I think it should be in person. Preferably first thing in the morning. Night, you’re included in that.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Jessie said.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Chief Daniels’ expression was grave. “This is a top priority for this department. You have all of the department’s resources you might need, but I expect results.” She fixed them both with an unwavering stare. “Find them before anyone else dies.”

Alex breathed a sigh of relief after they were out of the chief’s office. “So? What’d you think?”

"She's not what I expected," Jessie admitted quietly. “What did you get from Korr?”

“His statement matched what he told you one hundred percent.”

Jessie chewed on that for a moment. “Well, that’s good and bad.”

“Good in that he’s telling the truth,” Alex said. “Or bad in that it’s a rehearsed response and he knows more than he’s letting on.”

Jessie didn’t respond as they rounded the corner into Alex’s office. They both came to a stop when Korr looked up from the chair in front of Alex’s desk.

“Korr. I thought we were all finished here,” Alex said. “Did you have something to add to your statement?”

The big smoke jumper smiled. “Nope. I just thought you might want to know that I have it on good authority that Marcus Ray is on the move. I’m guessing you know who his daddy is? Sounds like Marcus is paying him a visit. I figure you might want to head up there, and if you do, I’d like to go.”

Alex glanced at Jessie before speaking up. “Well, we’ll need to verify the information. And once that happens, we can look at next steps. Plus, it’s not exactly against the law to visit family.”

Korr shrugged his massive shoulders. “Makes sense. But here’s the thing. He’s headed up to Devil’s Point. Apparently, they’ve got a family compound up there.”

Alex stiffened. “The old Widow’s Peak Compound?”

Korr nodded.

“What’s so special about that?” Jessie asked.

“It’s comprised of a couple of different houses. Set strategically atop a ridge with sightlines that allow whoever’s in it to see any vehicles coming up roads leading to it.” He glanced at Korr. “It also has one of the few private airstrips in the county.”

Jessie’s eyes widened. “He’s making a run for it.”

“Not if we get to him first.” He started out the door, before pausing to give Korr a nod. “You coming?”

19

Korr's truck clawed its way up the steep mountain slope, tires biting into loose shale and damp earth as the engine strained against the brutal incline. Each switchback revealed a more treacherous path ahead, the narrow fire break barely discernible beneath years of neglect and erosion. Jessie braced herself against the dashboard as they lurched over a section of exposed roots, her eyes continually scanning the dense forest around them.

"We should have taken my SUV," Alex said from the backseat, his knuckles white against the overhead grab handle. A flash of irritation crossed his face as the truck bottomed out on a particularly rough patch, sending a metallic scrape echoing through the cab. “Doesn’t do us any good if we get stranded halfway up the mountain.”

Korr's mouth tightened, his forearms flexing as he maneuvered around a jutting boulder. "And announce to everyone within five miles that law enforcement is approaching? They’d see your vehicle long before you caught sight of the compound.” He downshifted, pulling hard at the gear. The transmission responding with a low, complaining whine. "The compounds up here can have dedicated spotters. A police vehicle would be made before we cleared the first ridge." His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "That would give them plenty of time to prepare for your arrival or, worse, fire up whatever aircraft they might have stashed at that private strip and disappear completely."

"This fire break hasn't seen maintenance in at least three seasons,” Jessie said, gesturing toward what lay ahead. It was little more than a crude scar cut through the wilderness for emergency fire response teams. The path narrowed further as they climbed higher, branches occasionally scraping against the truck's exterior. “I’m not even certain my Jeep would have made it through this.”

Alex muttered something under his breath, the words lost beneath the sound of mud splashing against the undercarriage. Korr guided the truck through a deep puddle that painted the windshield with a brown splash. The wipers struggled momentarily before clearing just enough for visibility.

The truck rocked violently again, and Jessie grunted as she was thrown to one side of her seat. She gritted her teeth. “So, I’ll ask what we are probably wondering—“ she shot Alex a quick look— “how exactly do you know about this place and that Harlan is living here?”

“You have your connections, and I have mine,” Korr replied, his eyes locked on the slope before him.

“That’s a deflection,” Alex said, “not an answer.”

Jessie saw something flicker across Korr's face. Frustration? But at the path he was trying to navigate, or at Alex? "Fine." He eased the truck around a fallen branch with surgical precision. "When Eleanor mentioned Marcus Ray's name during our visit, it clicked. Everyone in this county with ties to forestry or firefighting knows the Ray family." His jaw tightened perceptibly. "The compound isn't exactly a secret in my line of work."

"What do you mean?" Jessie asked, studying the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel.

Korr adjusted his grip, eyes scanning the treacherous path ahead. "Smoke jumpers maintain comprehensive records of all private airstrips in the region—mandatory protocol for emergency operations. If we're ever fighting a fire and need to make an emergency landing, or coordinate aerial water drops in remote terrain, we need to know every viable landing zone within our jurisdiction. Even the ones that would prefer to stay… off the grid.”

“And this is one of those,” Jessie surmised.

"Registered directly to Harlan Ray," Korr confirmed, easing the truck over a section of exposed rock. "We've got topographical layouts, approach vectors, maintenance records—standard information for all private aviation facilities. The compound came with the package." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "It's listed in our emergency response database, even though it's technically restricted access."

"That explains your knowledge of the airstrip’s location," Alex conceded, a noticeable edge creeping into his voice. "Not how you knew Marcus was en route there today, specifically."

Korr's mouth formed a tight line as he negotiated a particularly steep section. "Received that intelligence this morning, after our meeting at the station."

"From?" Alex's tone was clipped, professional.

“Let’s just say that since I’m not officially in law enforcement, I can skip asking permission to keep eyes on a subject.” Korr’s tone made it plain he didn’t want to elaborate further.

Luckily, Alex seemed to catch his meaning and sunk back into the seat, not pushing the subject further.

Jessie cataloged the subtle tells in Korr's demeanor. The slight tension at the corner of his mouth. The carefully regulated breathing. The way his grip adjusted on the steering wheel when pressed for details. She could tell he was holding something back, but whether to protect someone else or himself remained unclear.

The truck's engine fell silent as Korr eased it to a stop just before the tree line thinned completely. Through gaps in the foliage, they caught glimpses of the compound's outer perimeter. A reinforced fence topped with discreet security measures told them the compound was focused more on privacy than security.

Jessie leaned forward, studying what little she could see of the property beyond. "How do you want to play this?" Her voice was low, though they were still well outside any reasonable surveillance range.

Korr shifted in the seat, his weight causing the suspension to creak slightly. "We could continue on foot from here, approach from multiple angles. Element of surprise."

“And look like we’re conducting a raid?” Alex shook his head. “That could trigger a response we don’t want.”

“Alex is right,” Jessie said. “I’m betting they have protocols for unwanted visitors. Especially ones caught sneaking around. Besides, we’re not here to accuse anyone of anything.” She mentally cataloged the security measures that were in sight and wondered what else there might be that was hidden. "We don't have a search warrant or anything. Just questions at this point."

“True,” Alex said. “Though I did ask Ray to stick around in case we had more questions about the investigation.”

“Which technically he’s done,” Jessie pointed out. “At least until he steps foot on a plane.”

Korr’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a measured rhythm. "If we approach like we've got something to hide, they'll assume we do."

Alex frowned in the rearview mirror. "So, what's your suggestion? Drive right up to the front door and knock?"

Korr’s eyes scanned the perimeter before he leaned forward, turned the key and brought the engine back to life. “Yep. Why not?” Before anyone could protest, he threw the truck into reverse, making a three-point turn. "There's an access point about a quarter mile ahead where this fire road connects to their private drive. If we time this just right, we can be at the gate before they realize anyone’s even approaching.”

The trees thinned gradually until they reached a crude junction where the fire break intersected with a more maintained gravel drive. Korr made a right turn, and suddenly they were on a well-tended access road, their approach far more direct than the meandering main entrance would have allowed.

The compound materialized through the trees. First the perimeter fence, then outbuildings, and finally the main structure. The house itself was at odds with the beauty of its natural surroundings. It was a fortress of concrete, steel, and expansive glass that somehow managed to both dominate the landscape and blend into it. Solar panels glinted on one section of the roof, while a separate wing housed what appeared to be a hangar-like structure, presumably concealing the private airstrip's maintenance facilities.

As they approached the gate, an unassuming man in his mid-forties emerged from a small monitoring station. His posture shifting from casual to alert in the space of a heartbeat as the truck came to stop next to him. Jessie watched the way his hand hovered next to his hip… not reaching for a weapon but taking comfort in its presence.

Korr brought the truck to a stop and lowered his window. “Howdy,” he said, cheerful enough.

“Where’d you come from?” the guard said, his eyes straying to the main road they turned in from.

Korr offered an easy smile. “Fire access road. I’m with the National Forestry Service and these are my friends.” He gestured to Jessie and Alex. “We need to speak with Harlan Ray and his son if they’re in.”

Jessie watched the tension gather in the guard’s frame. “This is private property. I’m sorry…are you expected?”

Korr gave an easy shrug. “Well, if we were do you think we would have trekked up the mountain using a barely passable access road?”

Alex leaned forward from the backseat, his badge already in hand. He held it at an angle where the sunlight caught the metal in a brief flash of authority. "Detective Alex Thomas, Pine Haven Police Department. We're here on official business and need to speak with Mr. Ray.”

The guard's eyes lingered on the badge before systematically assessing each occupant of the truck. His expression remained carefully neutral, but Jessie noted how his gaze lingered a fraction longer on Korr.

"Wait here," he said finally, retreating to his station without turning his back on them.

Through the glass, they watched him lift a phone, his eyes never leaving the truck as he spoke in short, clipped sentences to whoever was on the other end. The conversation stretched for nearly a minute, the guard's expression giving nothing away as he listened more than he spoke.

"He's stalling," Alex murmured, just loud enough for Jessie and Korr to hear.

"Giving someone time to prepare," Jessie agreed, keeping her own expression neutral as she maintained casual eye contact with the guard through the glass.

Finally, the guard returned, his demeanor now cloaked in professional courtesy that felt more practiced than genuine.

"Mr. Ray will see you," he said, his finger already pressing the gate release. "Follow the drive to the main entrance. Someone will meet you there."

The heavy metal gate slid open to reveal a curved driveway that led to the main house. As they pulled through, Jessie caught the guard watching them in her side mirror, one hand already reaching for his phone again.

The compound grew more imposing with each yard they advanced. Security features revealing themselves in layers. Cameras tracked their approach from discrete mounting points in the landscaping. Motion sensors disguised as decorative lighting dotted the perimeter.

"Someone's very concerned about uninvited guests," Jessie observed.

The truck rounded the final curve of the drive, bringing them face to face with the main house, and the tall, silver-haired figure waiting on its steps. His posture radiating the unmistakable confidence of a man accustomed to power. Next to him stood two imposing figures, each a head taller than the man with expansive shoulders that Jessie was sure could only come from chemical assistance.

It appeared Harlan Ray had come out to greet them personally.

20

They climbed out of the car and Alex took the lead as he approached the older man. Harlan Ray stood at the top of the polished concrete steps, flanked by his two bodyguards dressed in dark suits. His silver hair caught the sunlight, immaculately styled despite the remote location. Looking at him, Jessie could see the family resemblance between him and Marcus.

"My, my," he called out as they approached, his voice carrying the warmth of someone who'd spent decades charming people in boardrooms and exclusive clubs. "It's not often we get uninvited guests up here.” He flashed a too-perfect smile. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Alex stepped forward, badge already in hand. "Mr. Ray, I'm Detective Thomas from Pine Haven PD. We have some questions regarding one of your properties, the Eagle's Rest Lodge."

Harlan's expression remained pleasant, but Jessie caught the momentary tightening around his eyes. A flash of calculation that was quickly masked.

"Of course, Detective. Although I must say, a phone call might have been more conventional. But since you’re here, how can I help?” Harlan spread his hands in a gesture of openness that contrasted with the rigid posturing of his security detail.

Alex kept up his professional demeanor as he took a step closer, gauging the reaction of the guards. "You're aware of the fire at Eagle's Rest Lodge?"

"Of course I am," Harlan replied, his tone suggesting mild offense at the question. "It was a tragedy. That property has been in our portfolio for years." He shook his head in dismay. "A terrible loss of history and investment.”

"Speaking of investment," Jessie interjected, studying Harlan's face carefully, "we've been reviewing some of the property records and tax documentation related to Eagle's Rest."

Caution crossed Harlan's features before the fake smile returned. "Have you indeed? Is that standard procedure for a fire investigation?"

“It can be,” Alex added, “when we suspect the fire was deliberate.”

Jessie watched the older man’s face darken. His facade cracked just a bit.

"We like to be thorough," Alex said, his tone neutral. "County records indicate there are significant tax liens against the property. Eighteen months of unpaid property taxes, multiple denied variance requests, and several stalled renovations permits."

This time Harlan’s eye twitched and the muscles in his jaw tightened before he managed to bring himself back under control. Even still, his tone changed ever so slightly when he spoke. "Detective Thomas, surely you understand how these things work. Large properties, especially historically significant ones, often involve complex tax arrangements and development challenges." He waved a hand as if brushing away a minor inconvenience. "My financial team manages these details. I assure you, everything is in order."

Korr, who had been quietly observing the exchange, stepped forward. "The Historical Society seem to think otherwise. From what we understand, your son was locked in a dispute over the property's historical designation."

Harlan studied the man, his brow dipping. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“My name is Korr. I work for the National Forestry Service.” He didn’t extend a hand and held the older man’s gaze.

"My sister has always had... grandiose ideas about preservation," Harlan said. The mention of his sister brought a new edge to his voice. "Eleanor tends to romanticize the past without consideration for progress or economic reality. Historical designation can be a death sentence for property development, frozen in amber, generating expenses rather than revenue."

"So, you'd say there was financial pressure to resolve the situation with Eagle's Rest?" Alex pressed.

Harlan frowned. “I’d say nothing of the kind. I’m just explaining how things work is all.”

Jessie stared at the man as something clicked in her mind. “You didn’t know about this, did you? About the tax problems. The liens. The issues with the historical preservations.”

Harlan’s spine stiffened. “I’ve turned the reigns of my business over to my son. I have faith in the decisions he has made to this point. There are always multiple considerations in property management. But I’m sure that’s not something you people would know about.”

Jessie ignored the barb, not giving him the satisfaction of rattling her. “I’m sure there is a lot to managing a property portfolio like yours Mr. Ray. But basics are basics. Like paying the taxes on said properties on time. Maintaining the right insurance coverage. Following local zoning and renovation laws…which includes knowing what you can and can’t do if you’ve purchased a home that’s potentially a historic landmark.”

Alex was nodding. “Or you could just toss all that to the wind and burn the place down to file a fraudulent insurance claim.”

A plume of red rose from Harlan’s neck, and the two men beside him shifted nervously.

“You know, it might be good if we could speak with Marcus. Maybe we can clear all this up and be on our way,” Alex continued.

"Marcus? I haven't seen him." His response came too quickly, the denial automatic rather than considered. "Why would you think he's here?"

“Well, in that case, maybe you can fill in the gaps. Mind if we finish this conversation inside? Just a few more questions and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Harlan bristled, taking a half step back. “Do you have a warrant? Otherwise, I think you should be leaving right now. Anything else you have to say you can speak with my lawyer.”

Alex sighed heavily, turning his face to Jessie. “Again with the lawyers…” He turned back to Harlan. “No one is in trouble, Mr. Ray. We are investigating this as an arson case, and the questions that you could help clear up could go a long way in helping us close it.”

Korr grunted and looked at the man. “Actually, it might be a bit more serious than arson.” That seemed to hit Harlan in a way he wasn’t expecting and his eyebrows shot up. “But maybe you already knew that. Maybe you’re covering up something much worse that your son did. Maybe Marcus is more than just a firebug…”

Jessie placed a hand on the smoke jumper’s arm, letting him know he had pushed too far. He shook her off and continued. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, showing it to Harlan. “I work for Rick Carson. You know who that is, right? I’m betting he can find a way to ground private flights from this area for a bit. Especially for any plane without a destination filed. That should be long enough for my friends here to get a search warrant up to the property.” He turned to Alex. “What do you say?”

Alex nodded grimly, taking out his phone. “That works for me.”

Harlan's composure cracked, the polished veneer splitting to reveal genuine alarm beneath. His eyes flashed with something Jessie recognized instantly.

Panic.

A dull thud followed by hurried movement came from inside the house over Harlan’s shoulder. His head jerked toward the noise, a reflexive betrayal that confirmed what the investigators already knew.

The older man's features hardened with decision. He spun suddenly, lunging toward the door with unexpected agility for his age. "Marcus!" The name tore from his throat. A warning, not a summons.

The guards moved as one, their bodies forming a human barrier, blocking the entrance to the house where Harlan had darted. The larger one stepped directly into Alex's path, shoulders squared, hands rising into a defensive stance. The second guard pivoted toward Korr, already reaching inside his jacket.

"Pine Haven Police! Stand down!" Alex's command cut through the tension, one hand already moving toward his holster.

Jessie assessed the situation in less than a heartbeat. Both Alex and Korr were committed to their targets as the large bodyguards focused their attention on the two men. As usual, men of their size only saw other men as threats, and that meant they took their eyes off Jessie.

She moved without hesitation, exploiting the blind spot created by their positioning. A quick sidestep put her beyond the guards' peripheral vision, and a burst of speed carried her past their blockade before either man registered her movement.

Sometimes it paid to always be underestimated.

Behind her, she heard the muffled sounds of struggle, a grunt of exertion followed by the distinctive thud of a body impacting the ground.

She didn't look back.

The front door stood open, revealing a vast entry foyer with soaring ceilings and polished stone floors. Harlan's footsteps echoed through the space as he raced deeper into the house, his voice still calling out warnings that rebounded off the minimalist architecture.

Jessie pursued, her breath catching in her chest. She passed floor-to-ceiling windows that perfectly framed the panoramic views of the mountains like portraits. She tracked Harlan through the great room, noting the strategic placement of security cameras in the ceiling corners. No doubt the entire confrontation outside was being recorded and monitored. The thought spurred her forward.

Harlan disappeared down a hallway to the left, his footsteps growing more frantic. Jessie followed, aware that at any moment another bodyguard could burst from one of the many doors she sped past.

The sounds ahead changed, a door being thrown open followed by hushed, urgent voices. Jessie slowed her approach, measuring each step to minimize noise. The hallway opened into what appeared to be a private wing of the house, more intimate than the showcase rooms designed to impress visitors.

"They know," Harlan's voice carried from an open doorway, breathless and urgent. "The big one is calling Carson. You need to go now."

Another voice responded, lower and less distinct. Jessie edged closer to the doorway, pressing her back against the wall.

"It's too late for that," came the second voice. Marcus. "They'll have the airstrip watched now. I…I need to call Claire, tell her I’ll be late getting there.”

"There are other ways off this mountain," Harlan insisted. “You just need to⁠—“

Jessie stepped into the doorway, taking in the scene with a single sweep. A spacious bedroom converted into an impromptu command center. A large suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with clothes and documents. Marcus stood by a sleek laptop, his fingers frozen above the keyboard. Harlan had one hand on his son's shoulder, the other gesturing toward a door that presumably led to another part of the house.

Both men froze at her appearance. Eyes large, mouths open. It was almost comical.

Time collapsed as the two men sized up the situation. Harlan recovered first.

"Ms. Night," he acknowledged, his voice regaining its measured calm. "I believe you're trespassing on private property." The words didn’t have the same weight to Jessie’s ears as she imagined they would with a team of lawyers standing behind him.

Jessie remained in the doorway, her stance relaxed but balanced. Ready. "Your son seems rather prepared for an impromptu visit." She nodded toward the suitcase. "Going somewhere, Marcus? Didn’t Alex ask you to stick around in case we had more questions about the investigation?”

Marcus Ray straightened beside the laptop, closing it slowly. Unlike his father, he made no attempt to mask his surprise. The polished veneer he'd presented at their first meeting had eroded completely, replaced by something harder. Something more desperate.

"This is harassment," he said, hands curling into fists at his sides. "You have no right to be here."

Jessie studied him closely. Just as she had countless times before with other individuals who had chosen flight over fight. But every person she had met that decided to run had the same thing in common.

When cornered, they would turn on you quick.

"Tax evasion is a serious charge, Marcus. But murder is quite a few steps above that,” she said quietly. “And fleeing makes it worse."

Something flickered across Harlan's face. Surprise, that he couldn’t mask. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, moving subtly to position himself between Marcus and the door where Jessie stood. “No one here has killed anyone.”

Jessie didn’t take her eyes off Marcus. “You sure about that? All those lawyers your company has could handle the financial aspect. The IRS investigation. The shell companies, the undeclared income from properties across three states.” She was fishing, piecing together fragments from Will's information and her own observations. She needed to see how the bait landed.

Marcus' expression confirmed she'd struck close enough to truth. His complexion paled slightly, the cold confidence deteriorating further. Harlan, however, was a different matter. His breathing increased, fists clenched at his side as his eyes swung wildly from his son to Jessie and back again. Her earlier assessment was right. He didn’t know what his son had done.

Marcus growled as raw desperation took over. He lunged forward suddenly, using his father's body as partial cover for the attack.

Jessie had anticipated the move. She sidestepped, allowing his momentum to carry him past her. Her forearm came up in a block that deflected his reaching hands. The movement was economical, reflexive. The product of thousands of training repetitions.

Marcus staggered, unbalanced by the failed attack and his own momentum. Before he could recover, Jessie executed a precise leg sweep that sent him crashing into an ornate side table. The expensive wood splintered beneath his weight.

She pivoted immediately, aware of Harlan's movement in her peripheral vision. The older man had grabbed a heavy crystal paperweight from the desk, raising it with clear intent.

"Don't," she warned, but he was already committed to the attack.

Jessie caught his wrist mid-swing, using his own force and weight against him. A quick twist redirected his momentum, turning his body as she applied pressure to the captured joint. Harlan gasped as he found himself suddenly on his knees, arm immobilized in a control hold that required minimal effort to maintain but caused maximum compliance through carefully applied pressure.

“Stay down," she instructed. The man was weak, and she had no desire to hurt him. But she also wasn’t about to allow him to bludgeon her either.

A shuffle of movement announced Marcus' recovery. He pushed himself up from the ruined table, face contorted with rage and wounded pride. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek where he'd struck the edge of the furniture.

He saw his father’s face twisted in pain and snarled, charging at the private investigator. “You bitch!”

Jessie maintained the hold on Harlan with one hand, using her body positioning to keep him controlled while she prepared to meet Marcus' attack. Years of training had taught her to remain calm in situations like this. Situations where her opponent’s rational thought was overridden by adrenaline and emotion.

The wild swing Marcus took at her told Jessie the man had never fought anyone outside of a boardroom in his life. Jessie deflected the blow, waiting for the overextension she knew would follow. The miss brought Marcus’ face close to hers and she brought her free hand up, her palm snapping under his chin. The blow rocked his head backward and she drew back, delivering a stiff punch into his solar plexus.

The air left Marcus' lungs in an explosive gasp as he doubled over.

A single fluid movement brought her knee up to connect with his descending face. The impact was controlled, enough to disorient without causing serious damage. Marcus crumpled to the floor beside his father, stunned and gasping for breath.

Alex burst through the doorway, gun drawn, shirt torn across one shoulder. His eyes swept the room, taking in the situation in an instant. Behind him, Korr appeared, a darkening bruise forming along his jaw but otherwise appearing unharmed.

"Jessie," Alex said, lowering his weapon slightly at the sight of the subdued men. "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied, easing the pressure on Harlan's wrist fractionally.

Alex holstered his weapon and moved to secure Marcus, producing handcuffs from his belt. "Marcus Ray, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest."

Korr approached Harlan, his expression unreadable as he looked down at the older man still held in Jessie's control technique. "Your security team has been... secured. Though I suspect their employment contracts don't cover assaulting federal agents." He nodded to Jessie that he would take over restraining the older man.

As Jessie released her hold and stepped back, Marcus found his voice again. “Look, if this is about the taxes, I can provide you with what you want. But I swear, I had nothing to do with burning the place down. I’ll cooperate⁠—“

“Shut your fool mouth,” Harlan growled at the man.

“You had your chance to cooperate,” Alex said. “Now we do this the hard way.”

“My lawyers will have your badge for this. You still need a warrant…” Harlan said.

Alex met his gaze evenly. "After assaulting officers, fleeing, and attempting to assault my colleague? I think we've established probable cause."

Korr pulled Harlan to his feet, surprisingly gentle despite the circumstances. “Come on. Let's take this somewhere more comfortable while we wait for reinforcements.”

As they guided both Ray men from the room, Jessie caught Korr studying a framed photograph on the wall, an old black and white image. The style was unmistakable. “Is this a Hayes original?” Korr asked.

Harlan sneered at him. “What? You think I’d have a copy or a fake in my house? That’s a one-of-a-kind, baby.”

Jessie moved to stand by them to get a better look at the photograph. It was of a small mining cabin, with a river flowing behind it and two white-capped mountains in the backdrop. In the foreground, a woman with long, dark hair stood smiling. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her head was turned to the side so that she was in profile.

At her feet sat a child, their arms reaching up, pleading to be held.

Korr pulled out his phone and flicked at the screen until he held it out for Jessie to see. He showed her the pictures he had taken of the stick arrangement in the woods. The ones that had been charred in the controlled wildfire burn. Jessie swallowed, her heart thundering in her chest.

The arrangement of twigs and sticks were a perfect match for the woman in profile. Korr swiped to the next photo, and it was an eerie match for the child seated at her feet.

21

Korr's cabin hugged the banks of Snake River like it had grown there naturally alongside the pines. The structure was modest but sturdy. Weathered cedar siding darkened by years of mountain seasons, a covered porch wrapping around two sides, and a metal roof that sloped sharply to shed winter snows. Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney as Jessie pulled her Jeep in beside Alex's cruiser on the gravel drive. Blizzard's nails clicked against the console as he shifted his weight impatiently, eager to explore new territory. Jessie leaned over to scratch his ears. "I know, boy. Just a minute."

Behind them, the setting sun turned the river to a ribbon of molten copper. The property stretched along the water's edge, bordered by tall pines that provided natural privacy without isolation. It felt remote and peaceful without being inaccessible. To Jessie, it was exactly what someone who battled infernos for a living might want.

It felt like Korr.

"Not what I expected," Alex commented. He cut his engine and climbed out.

"What were you expecting? A fire tower?" Jessie said with a grin.

"Something less..." Alex gestured vaguely at the flower beds that lined the path to the front door, bursting with hardy mountain blooms. "Domesticated."

"I'm fairly certain those are native to the region," Jessie said, eyeing the plants. "I'd guess he just knows what grows well in rocky mountain soil."

Alex snorted. "I'd never have pegged him for a gardener."

"I'd never have pegged him for inviting us both over, either. Yet here we are." She opened the passenger door and let Blizzard out. "Come on, boy."

The shepherd bounded out, nose immediately working overtime as he cataloged the new location. His tail swung in a wide arc, signaling there was nothing threatening in the new scents he detected.

Korr emerged from the cabin before they reached the steps, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He'd exchanged his usual work clothes for worn jeans and a faded green Henley that looked soft from years of washing. For the first time since they'd met him, he appeared completely at ease.

"You found it." He gestured toward the cabin with the towel. "Not the easiest place to locate without coordinates."

"Your directions were... precise," Alex said.

“Practically military grade,” Jessie added with a smile.

Korr grinned, apparently catching the subtle dig. "Occupational hazard. When you give someone directions to drop you into a burning forest, you learn to be exact." He stepped aside, holding the door wider. "Come on in. I've got coffee brewing and some food in the oven."

The interior of the cabin was open and airy, with high ceilings supported by rough-hewn beams. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth lined with smooth river rocks. The furniture was simple but well-crafted and had clearly been chosen for comfort rather than style. Bookshelves lined another wall, filled with volumes on forestry, wilderness survival, and to Jessie's surprise, classic literature.

"Your place is lovely," Jessie said, taking it all in. She noticed framed photographs on a side table of Korr in firefighting gear with his team, mountain landscapes in different seasons, and an older couple smiling in front of a waterfall. “Are these your parents?”

Korr nodded. “Yes. That was taken last year up at Drop Falls. Have you been there?”

Jessie shook her head. “No, but it looks lovely.” She turned her attention to Blizzard who had circled the main room, sniffing each corner before settling near the fireplace with a contented sigh.

"Looks like someone approves," Korr said, nodding at the shepherd.

Alex moved toward the windows overlooking the river. "Nice view."

"Best part of the property." Korr gestured toward the kitchen. "Coffee's ready. Or I've got beer if you prefer.”

"Coffee's fine," Alex said.

Jessie nodded in agreement. "Coffee sounds perfect."

They followed Korr into the kitchen, where the aroma of baking bread mingled with coffee. The space was functional but surprisingly well-equipped. A professional-grade range dominated one wall, while well-used cast iron cookware hung from hooks.

"Another occupational hazard," Korr explained, noticing Jessie's raised eyebrow at the chef-worthy setup. "When you spend weeks eating dehydrated rations in the wilderness, you develop an appreciation for real cooking." He pulled three mugs from a cabinet and filled them, then checked whatever was in the oven. "Should be ready in about ten minutes."

Jessie accepted her mug, letting the warmth seep into her hands. "I have to admit, I was surprised by your invitation."

"Surprised is a polite way of putting it," Alex added, leaning against the counter. "I half expected you to tell us we were stepping on jurisdictional toes after yesterday's... excursion."

Korr met his gaze steadily. "That's exactly why I invited you both here. I figured we needed to clear the air before things got any more complicated." He took a sip of his coffee. "And I'd rather do it somewhere neutral. Or at least, somewhere we're not surrounded by other people."

"Fair enough," Jessie said.

They moved to a grouping of comfortable chairs arranged around the fireplace. Blizzard adjusted his position, keeping all three humans in his sightline while maintaining his proximity to the warmth of the hearth.

Korr leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mug cradled between his hands. "I want to start with an apology. I haven't been entirely forthcoming with you both." He fixed his gaze on a point between them. "Not dishonest, just... selective."

"About what, specifically?" Jessie asked, her tone neutral.

"About how I knew where to find Marcus Ray. About my connections to this case." Korr set his mug down on the coffee table. "You asked me yesterday where I got my information about Ray's movements. I told you I had my sources."

"Which wasn't technically a lie," Alex observed. "Just conveniently vague."

"Yes." Korr nodded, accepting the criticism. "The truth is, while Rick Carson did help with the airstrip information, the intel about Marcus Ray's movements came from my dad." He paused, measuring his next words. "My adoptive father, Jack Green."

Alex frowned. “Jack Green…why does that name sound familiar?”

“He was the fire chief for a short time,” Korr added. “But stepped down after adopting me to focus on family. He still keeps his ear to the ground.”

“And why is that?” Jessie asked. “If he left the field and is retired, why bother?”

“Because he cares.” Korr’s voice was low but pointed. “For decades he has watched Harlan Ray get away with environmental travesties, while raking in millions of dollars.” He paused, staring into his mug before continuing. “Their business focused quite a bit on illegal clear-cutting, which is where they systematically clear-cut sections of old-growth forest far beyond what their permits allowed. This lead to erosion, habitat destruction, and increased wildfire risk. Many wetlands were also drained in order for them to expand developable land. That not only destroyed unique ecosystems, eliminated crucial buffer zones that prevent flooding and filter pollutants.” His eyes darkened with barely contained rage as he looked at his guests.

“All illegal?” Jessie said. “How have they been allowed to get away with it for so long?”

“They operate in gray areas for some of their dealings. The definition of what constitutes a protected wetland has changed over time, and those definitions are constantly being challenged. Many times, the Rays have claimed that certain areas weren’t technically wetlands under the prevailing definition. And when they can’t find loopholes to their advantage, they resort to cash.”

“Bribery,” Alex said.

Korr nodded. “So far, it’s been impossible to prove, but yeah that’s definitely been happening. But they messed up with the clear-cutting. It resulted in a couple of wildfires adjacent to their property, which of course brought them under the forestry purview. The old man is slick. Takes things slow…makes sure things are handled before he moves. Junior, however, was not cut from the same cloth. He likes to move fast and make money.”

“Cutting corners in paying tax bills and fines will always catch up to you,” Alex said.

“But that’s not the same thing as murder. We don’t have anything to connect them to the body found on their property,” Jessie added.

“Not yet,” replied Alex.

Korr watched Jessie closely. “You don’t think they did it, do you?”

Jessie sighed. “They are guilty of fraud. But murder? No, I’m not getting that from them. I’m willing to bet once we have a concrete time of death from Lindquist, they’ll easily alibi out.”

The muscles in Korr’s jaw tightened. It was obvious that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Korr, I take it you believe there is a connection between the Rays and our murder victim?” Jessie was blunt, her tone neither accusatory nor judgmental.

"I believe it's a possibility we can't ignore."

"Based on what evidence?" Alex pressed.

"Based on their history." Korr leaned back in his chair. "The Ray family built their fortune on acquiring land through... questionable means. Including intimidation tactics that sometimes resulted in property owners getting burned out."

“Let’s just say for the sake of argument, there could be a connection,” Alex said. “Why would they leave the body there in a way that they knew would be found and examined?”

Korr puffed his cheeks out, exhaling loudly. “I…don’t know. That part doesn’t fit. But everything else does.” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped before him. “What about the photographs? Can that just be coincidence?”

Alex drew in a breath and shrugged in Jessie’s direction. “We all know how you feel about coincidences…”

Deep down, Jessie was glad the subject had come up. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the picture hanging at the Ray compound. “Well, on the one hand, you did say the Hayes photographs were extremely popular in the region. There’s a chance Harlan could have been a fan of the man’s work. On the other hand, the fact that our first victim was literally modeled after a man from one of Hayes' photos is…disturbing. Add to that the fact that the poses of the woman and child in the picture in Harlan’s house is eerily reminiscent of those stick figures that Korr found in wildfires…I don’t think a possible connection can be ignored.”

Korr clapped his hands together loudly enough that it made Blizzard raise his head quickly. “Yes! I knew you were thinking the same thing I was when we saw that photograph.”

Jessie held up a hand. “Easy there. A hunch…an intuition…isn’t going to make a case. I understand that Harlan was grilled about the picture. Did he give us anything to go on?” She turned her attention to Alex.

The detective shook his head. “Marcus confirmed your suspicion. His father had no part in the tax evasion that their company is now embroiled in. He also said that he knew about the preservations that were aimed at the property preventing him from renovating it…but he denied having it burned down. He said he was trying to ‘fix’ everything before his father got wind of anything.”

Jessie arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed you got him to spill. I was sure he’d hide behind that lawyer of his.”

“Oh, he tried,” Alex said. “Until we explained how much trouble his father was going to be in and the fact that he’d probably spend the rest of his life in prison by the time the feds were finished with him. Took him less than half an hour to cut a deal in order to save his father. But they are both adamant that they don’t know anything about a murder. Or that the photograph hanging at Harlan’s house is anything other than a piece of art he admires.”

“I’m a big fan of Hayes myself. I have a few of his prints.” Korr jutted his chin at a landscape photograph hanging above the mantle. “Yet I’ve never seen that one before. I mean, I thought I had, when I first saw it. But the longer I looked, the more I realized it wasn’t one of the prints in circulation at the art stores and antique shops in the area.”

“Meaning?” Alex asked.

“Meaning that it’s not only an original, but it’s also one of a kind… or, at least, it’s super rare. Harlan claims to have the only one in existence.”

“And if that’s the case,” Jessie said, “then how would our killer know to mimic the figures shown in it.”

“Exactly,” Korr said.

Alex looked from one to the other. “So… where does this leave us?”

“Well,” replied Jessie, “we already had to identify the person in the first photograph, so now, we need to add two more identifications. The people in the photograph mean something to the killer. Otherwise, he would not have posed that first victim the way he was or practiced burn patterns with them in the wild. We find out who they are, it might point us in the direction of who our killer is.” She frowned, another darker thought crossing her mind. “Or maybe it will tell us who the next victims are in time to stop the unsubstantiated. We need the identity of that first victim.”

“That means pushing the doc,” Alex said.

Korr saw the look that passed between them. “Is that a problem?”

“He’s been through a lot,” Jessie said. “But that won’t hinder him from doing his job. He’ll find out the identity. But in the meantime, we need to give him as much to go on as possible.”

Alex nodded. “I’ve already requested medical records from existing doctor’s offices in the area as well as the two local hospitals that might have treated any patients with the physical identifiers Lindquist found. I’ll start digging through them in the morning.”

A ding came from the kitchen and Korr stood, making his way to the oven. “Okay, one roasted chicken and some homemade biscuits and gravy are ready for consumption.”

Jessie smiled warmly, following him out of the living area. “Smells amazing. Be careful. If Mark finds out your cooking could rival his, you’ll have a whole different kind of fire to fight.” She turned to Alex and saw him staring at the phone, his brow creased. “Everything okay?”

He exhaled deeply before pushing out of the chair. “Looks like you guys are going to have to eat without me. Just got a call. A couple just walked in on an intruder. Looks like things got physical.”

Now it was Jessie who frowned. “Want some company?”

“No, no. You stay here. Can’t let our host’s cooking skills go to waste. It’s down in The Row, so hopefully this will be pretty cut and dry.”

Korr was placing the chicken on the stove top and stopped to face them. “The Row? Did they give you an address?”

“Yeah,” Alex looked at his phone. “224 Rassmus.”

Korr’s eyes grew large as he spun, heading for the door. “That’s my parents' house.”

22

Korr's truck swerved violently onto Rassmus Street, the tires skidding over loose gravel as he brought the vehicle to a jolting halt in front of his parents' modest two-story home. The flashing lights of a police cruiser painted the neighboring windows in the colors of emergency. Curious faces peered from doorways and front porches as the curious gathered to see what was happening. An ambulance was parked at an angle, its back doors open, equipment visible inside.

Before his truck had fully settled, Korr was already moving. He threw the door open and launched himself toward the house, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground. "Mom! Dad!" Raw panic stripped away any professional demeanor.

Jessie’s jeep, followed by Alex’s cruiser skidded to a halt seconds behind Korr. By the time they exited their vehicles, the smoke jumper had reached the small, concrete porch.

A uniformed officer stationed at the front door moved to intercept Korr, one hand raised in warning, the other instinctively hovering near his service weapon.

"Sir, this is an active⁠—“

Korr didn't slow, his momentum and size making him an intimidating figure as he barreled forward. The officer braced himself, his hand now grasping the clasp on his holster.

Alex sprinted up the walkway, badge already extended. "Officer! It’s okay, let him through.” He closed the distance, focusing on the officer. “He has my permission to enter that house.”

Recognition flickered in the younger officer's eyes, and he stepped aside just as Korr reached the doorway, their shoulders brushing in the narrow space. The smoke jumper disappeared inside, his anguished voice calling out again for his parents.

Jessie arrived at Alex's side, her eyes quickly scanning and assessing the scene. No obvious signs of forced entry at the front of the house, no broken windows visible from her vantage point. "What happened?" she asked the officer who had nearly intercepted Korr. The young man looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t place his name.

“Home invasion,” he said. “Call came in about twenty minutes ago. The homeowners came home from the grocery store and surprised a prowler in their study. A struggle ensued, during which Mrs. Green was able to trigger their panic alarm.”

“And Mr. Green?” Alex asked.

The officer hesitated. “The paramedics are with him now.” He nodded his head over his shoulder towards the back of the house.

Alex nodded and moved toward the door, Jessie following close behind. They stepped into the house, the familiar layout of a Row home leading them through a narrow hallway that opened to a modest living room and adjacent kitchen. Voices drifted from the kitchen, Korr's distinct baritone among them, laced with concern.

The kitchen was cramped with bodies. A paramedic knelt beside Jack Green, who sat in a wooden chair, waving off the young man's attempts to place a bandage on his forehead. Mrs. Green, a petite woman with silver-streaked dark hair, stood wrapped in her son's protective embrace, her body trembling slightly despite the warmth of the room.

"It's nothing," Jack insisted, wincing as the paramedic cleaned the shallow gash above his eyebrow. "Just a bump. Stella, tell them I'm fine."

"You're not fine," his wife countered, her voice surprisingly steady despite her visible distress. "You're bleeding, Jack."

Korr's posture remained rigid, his arms still encircling his mother, as if he expected more unseen danger to materialize at any moment. His eyes tracked Alex and Jessie as they entered, acknowledging them with a terse nod.

"Mr. Green," Alex said, stepping forward. "I'm Detective Thomas. This is Jessie Night, a consultant with the department. Can you tell us what happened?"

Jack Green snorted, a sound of pure frustration. "What happened is I'm getting too old." He gestured to the small bump on his head. "Twenty years ago, this joker would've been the one needing the ambulance." He shook his head in disgust.

The paramedic finished applying a butterfly bandage to the wound. "The cut is superficial, but you should still go to the hospital for observation. Head injuries can be tricky."

"I'm not going anywhere," Jack said firmly. “Not with some masked lunatic out there.”

Mrs. Green nodded, finally extracting herself from Korr's embrace though she kept one hand on his arm. "Dark clothes, ski mask. We had just come in from the grocery and walked into the kitchen.” Jessie looked around, noting the overturned bag that was on the small counter, its contents spilled across the floor. “We heard a noise coming from the study. Like someone was opening and closing drawers.”

"I thought it was just the window rattling," Jack continued, dismissing the paramedic once again with a wave. "That old casement's been loose for years. Went to check, flipped on the light, and there he was, rifling through my desk."

"Did he say anything?" Alex asked, pulling out his notepad.

Jack shook his head. "Didn't give him the chance. I charged at him… stupid, I know. Got in his way at least. He shoved me down, caught my head on the corner of the desk." His hand drifted to the bandaged area. "By the time I got my bearings, he was gone."

"Front door or back?" Jessie asked.

"Back," Mrs. Green supplied. “Scared the dickens out of me when I heard the commotion in the study. I was at the back door and hit the panic button on the alarm. He just ran past me and was gone before I even knew what was happening.”

Korr took in a shuddering breath and drew the woman back into his arms again. He looked over at Alex, his eyes wet, yet blazing with fury. His jaw tightened as he looked at his father. "Did you recognize anything about him? Height, build, the way he moved?"

"Tall," Jack said after a moment's consideration. "Maybe not your height, but leaner. Moved fast.”

“Did he take anything?” Alex asked.

Jack's eyes dropped to the table. "Nothing. At least, nothing missing that I can see."

Alex glanced at Jessie. “You’ve just been through a traumatic event, sir. Maybe later you can take a closer look.“

"I'd know if something was taken," Jack insisted, his tone sharper than necessary.

Jessie observed the exchange, noting the tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled against his palm, a gesture she'd seen in countless interviews when subjects were holding something back.

"Korr, why don't you check the study with your mother anyway? Just to be certain,” Jessie said softly.

For a moment, it seemed Jack might object, but he remained silent, his eyes fixed on a point beyond his son's shoulder.

Korr hesitated, his gaze shifting between his parents. "Mom, you okay with that?"

She nodded, smiling up at her son and patting his arm. Together, they moved out of the kitchen, heading for the room just before the space where they all stood. Once they had left the room, Jessie studied Jack Green more carefully. His hands rested on the kitchen table, fingers spread wide as if bracing himself. There was a tightness to his eyes that hinted at something more than physical pain. She looked at Alex and gave him the slightest of nods.

“I’m going to check and see if maybe Mrs. Green notices something you might not have,” he said, before heading in the direction of the study.

Jessie moved to stand by the paramedic who was quickly becoming exasperated at not being able to render the help he deemed Mr. Green needed. “It’s okay,” she said, “you can’t force him to go to the hospital if he doesn’t want to.”

The paramedic closed his bag. “You know, a head injury is nothing to play around with.”

Mr. Green rolled his eyes. “Son, I’ve bumped my head harder than this on cabinet doors that I’ve forgotten to close. I’ll be fine.”

Jessie waited until the first responder had left, muttering to himself, before she approached Jack Green. She gently placed a hand on his forehead, tilting his head from side to side as she examined the cut above his eye. “They always overreact. You’re not even going to have a shiner to show for this.”

The man huffed, but he didn’t resist. “They wouldn’t be acting like that if I weren’t an old dodger.”

“You’re not old, Mr. Green. Not by a long shot.”

He sighed. “Call me Jack. Mr. Green was my father.”

“Fine. So, are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to say about all this? Nothing else happened in your study?”

He was quiet, but she could sense the stiffening of his body in response to her questions. Finally, he shook his head and let out a breath. “This used to be a perfectly quiet and safe neighborhood. You could go to sleep with your door unlocked and your windows open to enjoy the breeze. No one had alarms or had to worry about some junkie breaking in to get pocket change for their next fix.”

Jessie frowned. “Mr. Green—Jack—do you know who broke into your home?”

“No. But I’m sure it was just someone looking for a quick score. They prey on the elderly around here. We’re Pine Haven’s dirty little secret. I mean, why come steal what little we have here in The Rows, when you’ve got all those fat cats sitting around the lake in their fancy mansions with all their valuable nonsense that they probably wouldn’t even miss?” He gave her a frown, his face tightening. “I’ll tell you why. Because the police and the mayor wouldn’t put up with that shit, that’s why. If we lived in the Glades and this happened, that little bastard would already be in handcuffs.”

Jessie smiled warmly at him. “Well, I can tell you from experience that it doesn’t quite work that way.” She watched the man closely, choosing her next words carefully. “Mr. Green, I understand from Korr that you’ve been keeping tabs on the Ray family. Is there any reason for you to think that maybe they had something to do with this? Are you reluctant to speak out because of them?”

The man visibly flinched at her words, and his eyes darted momentarily to the kitchen entrance before settling back on Jessie. “I’m just an old man doing what I can to help my son. And you, from what I understand. I grew up on this mountain. It’s my home. It, and everyone living in this town, will be better off when every member of that thieving family is behind bars.” There was steel in his voice and fire in his eyes when he finished speaking, and Jessie couldn’t help but admire the man’s spunk. But something in his tone told her there was history with the Rays he didn’t want to give voice to. She’d seen this kind of single-minded, burning passion to see justice done, and it almost never ended well.

It was a look she’d seen more than once in the mirror.

She reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out a card. “Mr. Green, this is my cell phone number. You can call it anytime, day or night. If there is anything that you can think of that you would like to talk about… or make me aware of, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

The man started to push the card away, but Jessie clasped his hand in both of hers, pressing her contact information into his palm. “Just take it. I can assure you, anything that is said between us is just that… between us.”

Heavy footsteps announced Korr’s return into the room, followed by his mother and Alex.

“Well, looks like you were right,” Alex said, nodding in Jack Green’s direction. “Your wife confirms nothing was missing.”

The old man frowned. “Of course I was right. You think just because I’ve got a few years on me I’m senile?”

It was fast, but Jessie caught it. A look that flashed between Jack and his wife. There was an almost imperceptible nod from his wife.

Confirmation.

“Dad, no one is saying that,” Korr said. “Everyone here is trying to help you. That’s all.”

“Well, if you want to help me, leave me alone so I can clean up these groceries and get them put away before everything spoils.”

Korr rolled his eyes and turned to Alex and Jessie. “Guys, I’m sorry. We can resume our talk another time. But, right now, I think I’ll hang out here to help clean up and get them settled. Regroup tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Jessie said. “Call if you need anything.” She turned and nodded to Korr’s parents, holding Mr. Green’s eyes for a split-second before signaling to Alex she was ready to leave.

Once outside, Alex leaned in as they walked towards their vehicles. “Did you get anything out of him?”

“He definitely knows more than he’s letting on. I think I’ll be getting a call from him before too long.”

Alex grunted. “I just hope that call arrives before another body.”

23

Even though the majority of Main Street's businesses hadn’t yet opened. Jessie hoped that Eleanor would arrive early at the Historical Preservation Society, even though the recent break-in was probably still fresh in her mind. She wasn’t disappointed. Her watch read 7:38 a.m. as she pulled the Jeep into one of the three designated visitor spots, and she could make out movement through one of the glass windows that faced the street.

Something about the encounter at Jack Green's house had lodged in her mind like a splinter. Small but persistent, impossible to ignore. It was something about the way Jack acted, the subtle communication that seemed to pass between him and his wife. The way his eyes lingered after Korr and his wife when they headed into his study. There was a look there she had seen before; in Eleanor Whitfield’s eyes when she had regarded her son during the break-in. A look only reserved for those in the know.

Blizzard's nails clicked against the pavement as Jessie let him stretch his legs before returning him to the Jeep. "Sorry, boy. Not today." She rolled the windows down just enough to give him fresh air but prevent any escape attempts. The German Shepherd let out a sigh that seemed deliberately dramatic as he settled onto the back seat.

Jessie approached the front entrance and saw that the damaged door frame had already been crudely repaired with a metal reinforcement plate. She pressed the buzzer and waited. Footsteps echoed behind the door, followed by the metallic sound of multiple locks being disengaged.

The door swung open to reveal Eleanor Whitfield, dressed in jeans and a Pine Haven Historical Society polo shirt. Dust streaked one cheek, and she held a clipboard in her free hand.

"Ms. Night?" Eleanor's eyebrows rose in surprise. "The Society doesn't open for another hour and twenty minutes."

"I know. I was hoping I could speak with you privately." Jessie kept her expression neutral. "About the break-in."

Eleanor's lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced back over her shoulder, then stepped aside. "Come in, but please be quiet. Robert is finally sleeping. After everything that happened, the poor boy hasn’t been able to rest well.”

Jessie stepped into the foyer, noticing the scent of lemon furniture polish and old paper that defined the building's interior. The hardwood floors had been freshly mopped, still slightly damp in patches.

"You've been cleaning," Jessie observed, following Eleanor through the main hall.

"I find physical labor helps settle my nerves," Eleanor replied without turning around. "When my husband disappeared, I reorganized our entire house. Twice." She led Jessie into a small office behind the main reception area, closing the door softly behind them. "Now, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until normal business hours?”

Filing cabinets lined one wall, each drawer meticulously labeled. The desk overflowed with stacks of papers and folders, yet each pile seemed deliberately placed, like pieces on a chessboard mid-game. “It looks like you’re busy, so I’ll try and make this as quick as possible. “Could I see the Hayes photograph collection again please?” Jessie said, watching Eleanor's reaction carefully. "Specifically, the original 'Timber Creek Pioneer' photograph and any others that might have been taken around that time.”

Eleanor's hand tightened imperceptibly around her clipboard. "May I ask why? That particular collection has been moved to our digital processing space. My son is really the only one that works in there. I’m afraid I don’t even understand his method of cataloging as he prepares the images for digitizing, so I may not even be able to find them.”

Jessie could hear the slightest change in the register of her tone. The woman wasn’t lying to her, but she also wasn’t telling her everything.

Eleanor’s eyes shifted from Jessie, looking around the room. “But I’m willing to try.”

She motioned for Jessie to follow her, and she led her to a large room at the back of the house behind the one she had seen with Korr. Inside, the digitization room was smaller than Jessie had expected, more like a vault than a traditional archive. LED lights activated automatically as they entered, illuminating a space lined with specialized storage units. Temperature and humidity monitors displayed steady numbers on a wall panel.

"Wait here," Eleanor instructed, moving to a flat filing cabinet against the far wall. She pulled a pair of white cotton gloves from a box on top of the cabinet and slipped them on before carefully opening one of the drawers.

Jessie watched as Eleanor studied the contents of the files, sifted through carefully labeled folders, before finally selecting one and bringing it to a central examination table. The older woman's movements were almost reverential. She clearly loved and respected her calling.

"Here it is," Eleanor said, opening the folder to reveal the photograph they'd examined during their first visit. "The Timber Creek Pioneer. One of Hayes' most recognized works."

Jessie leaned closer, studying the black and white image. The man stood on what appeared to be freshly cleared land, his shovel planted firmly in the soil beside him. His broken right arm was held at that distinctive angle, the awkward twist making it appear as though he were gesturing toward something beyond the frame.

Something appeared different about the smaller photograph. It was grainier, yes, but there was something else about it that she couldn’t quite place. “And this is the original?”

“Absolutely. This is what launched Gerald Hayes’ career. Drove the demand for all his previous works.”

“Over the years, how many reproductions do you think were printed and sold?” Jessie asked.

Eleanor scowled, her mouth twisting to one side as she thought. “I really wouldn’t have any idea. I don’t even know who would track something like that.”

“The executors of the Hayes estate would track it. Though I imagine their number would be off considerably.”

Both women turned to see Robert standing in the doorway. Unlike the last time Jessie had seen him, he had replaced his sailboat pajamas with a pair of khakis and a casual button-up shirt complete with a green bowtie with black dots. He stepped into the room and nodded. “Mother. Ms. Night.”

“Please. Call me Jessie. And I’m sorry if my visit disturbed you.”

He smiled and crossed the room. “Not at all. My mind has been racing lately, and I haven’t slept well. Besides, there is so much work to be done bringing this historical society into the present day.” He gave his mother a playful smile. “Speaking of… is there something I can help you with?”

Jessie watched as his eyes flitted across the open folder laid out behind her. He briefly glanced at his mother, before returning his attention to Jessie.

“I need to take a closer look at some of the early works of Gerald Hayes. And I noticed on this one that it appears to be slightly different from the photographs that have been sold. But I can’t quite place it,” Jessie said.

Robert stepped into the room, striding to her side. “Good eye. The reprints that have circulated over the years were based on copies of copies of the original print. There was some degradation in the photo as you can imagine, so what you see for sale today, is not quite the same as the photo that you’re seeing now.”

Jessie nodded along as he was speaking. She leaned in, squinting, and then pointing. “Is that… another figure in the background?”

Eleanor cleared her throat. “Mr. Hayes was a professional, but he was also known to sometimes capture ghostly images in the background of their subjects because of the limitations of his equipment.”

Robert nodded along to his mother’s explanation. “This was usually the result of partial rewind. A photographer might rewind a roll partway, open the camera for some reason, and later reload the same roll from the beginning. It would result in an accidental overlaying of new shots on top of old ones. That’s one of the reasons some of Haye’s images would be altered by printers. Too many buyers were being scared off by ghosts in his photographs. So, sellers realized that removing the ghosts caused sales to jump.”

Jessie looked up, noting the way Eleanor was grasping her hands. Her knuckles were almost white. “So, Robert, is this a photo you’ve already digitized?”

The man frowned at her question but nodded. “Yes, it is. I’ve pretty much cataloged all of Gerald’s work and have been implementing a comprehensive meta tagging data system that will make our collection searchable in ways we never thought possible. Oh, and I am about to start digitizing a new group of local, and unique, architectural photographs. Would you like to see some examples of early cantilevered barns? They are quite majestic.”

“I’m sure they are. But no thank you. However, I would be very interested in seeing this particular Hayes original in digital format. As well as a few of his other works if you wouldn’t mind.”

Eleanor stepped forward, cutting off her son before he could reply. “Oh, I’m sure Robert wouldn’t mind showing you all of that as soon as he finishes his cataloging.” She glanced at the man. “You know how you get when you’re interrupted in the middle of a process…”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Let me show you our digital restoration lab." He led Jessie through a door at the far end of the archive room, leaving his mother to stand there processing what was happening. "Mother rarely ventures in here. Says computers take the soul out of history."

The room they entered was approximately fifteen feet square with no windows, its walls lined with charcoal acoustic panels. The air felt several degrees cooler than the rest of the building, with a subtle hum from climate control equipment maintaining precise temperature and humidity levels.

At the center stood a workstation that dominated the space like a command center. Three monitors formed a semi-circle on a curved desk. Two 27-inch displays flanking a massive 49-inch ultra-wide screen mounted on an articulating arm. The central monitor's surface had a matte finish that eliminated glare from the recessed lighting above.

"This is where history reveals its secrets," Robert said. His voice took on a reverential tone as he settled into a high-backed mesh chair. He gestured to a second chair beside him. "Please."

As Jessie sat down, Robert tapped a small device on the desk—a color calibration tool, she realized—before his fingers moved across a specialized keyboard with what appeared to be custom shortcut labels on certain keys.

"We invested in a complete Ravenscroft archival system," he explained, pride evident in his voice. "Only seventeen installations exist nationwide. The scanning resolution exceeds what most museums can achieve."

Jessie tried to bite her tongue as she thought back to her conversation with John. “Must have cost a pretty penny. The Society must be having a good year.”

“Oh, we are almost entirely funded by the town government, plus whatever we can manage from our donors. But yes, my mother did mention we had a windfall donation that has helped immensely.”

Jessie settled into the chair, immediately aware of how the workstation had been designed for hours of detailed examination. A specialized trackball replaced a standard mouse, its smooth operation allowing for pixel-precise navigation.

"This dial controls zoom level," Robert explained, pointing to a round controller with detents. "This panel here manages enhancement filters. The trackball gives you much finer control than a mouse when examining minute details."

Jessie's attention fixed on the photograph that Robert pulled up. She zoomed in on the man with the broken arm, studying the distinctive profile and posture. Then, remembering what she'd noticed earlier, she navigated to the background area where she'd seen what Eleanor had dismissed as a possible ghost image.

"If you see something that needs enhancement, try this filter sequence," Robert suggested, reaching over to press a series of buttons on a small control surface. "It was specifically designed for recovering barely visible background elements."

The image processed instantly, and Jessie's breath caught.

What had appeared as a mere smudge or anomaly in the physical print transformed on the screen. It wasn't a photographic error at all. The digital enhancement revealed with startling clarity a woman standing in the distance, her posture distinctive even at that range. At her feet, a small child reached upward with tiny arms.

"Interesting," Jessie said, fighting to keep her tone neutral despite her racing pulse. "Do you have any photographs where this woman might be the primary subject? Perhaps from the same series?"

Robert stared intently at the image before turning his curious eyes to Jessie. “I’ve seen this woman and child in a photograph before. I’ve only seen it once. It’s incredibly rare; even we don’t have it in our archives.”

Jessie stared at him, trying to control her breathing. “Where did you see it?”

“My uncle’s house. He said it was a gift from… my mom. Back when they were still on good terms.”

"Is it possible to print me a copy?” Jessie asked, working to keep her voice steady despite the turmoil forming in her mind.

"Of course," Robert replied, moving to a professional printer station in the corner. "The Epson maintains color fidelity within 99.7% of the digital scan. Would you like the full images or specific sections?"

"Both," Jessie said. "The zoomed section showing the woman and child, and then the full image.”

Robert spun around in the chair and the printer hummed softly as it produced two glossy sheets with remarkable clarity. He handed the prints to Jessie.

"Thank you for your assistance," she said, carefully sliding the printouts into a folder he offered. "This has been extremely illuminating." She stood up to leave then turned to the man. “Robert. I need to ask you to keep this between us. It could be vital to our investigation, and I can’t have anything leave this room.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him not to bring his mother into it, but something on his face told her he was thinking the same thing.

24

Dr. Lindquist checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. The shooting range stretched before him, empty except for a middle-aged man firing methodically at the far end. Each shot rang out with metronomic precision, making the doctor flinch despite the foam earplugs he'd inserted.

He adjusted his stance, feeling out of place in his pressed khakis and button-down shirt. The other patrons, what few were there, were dressed in tactical pants and t-shirts emblazoned with gun manufacturers' logos or patriotic slogans. His loafers squeaked against the concrete floor as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

He checked his watch again.

Jessie was late. He'd arrived fifteen minutes early, wanting to appear punctual and prepared. Now, twenty minutes past their agreed time, his nerves had progressed from anticipation to something closer to dread. His hand moved unconsciously to his throat, rubbing at the phantom sensation of a rope that had been there months before.

The clang of the range's outer door drew his attention. Hope flared briefly, then faltered as Korr Green's broad-shouldered frame filled the entrance rather than Jessie's more slender silhouette. The smoke jumper's eyes swept the facility before locking onto the doctor. Recognition registered in the slight nod he gave before approaching.

"Dr. Lindquist," Korr said, extending a hand. "Jessie called. She found something involving the case and had to meet with Alex. She asked me to tell you she'll be late and asked me to come keep you company.”

Lindquist's shoulders sagged as he accepted the handshake. "I see. Well, I suppose we can reschedule."

"We could," Korr agreed, studying the doctor's face. "Or I could get you started with the basics. I'm a certified firearms instructor. Used to teach the seasonal wildfire crews basic safety before we'd head into bear country."

"You?" Lindquist's eyebrows rose involuntarily. "I mean… I didn't realize you were qualified."

Korr's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Most people don't think beyond the jumping out of airplanes part of my job. But yes, I'm qualified. That is, if you're comfortable with me standing in."

Lindquist hesitated, weighing his options. He’d set his mind on the plan at hand and didn’t relish the thought of going home. Yet the idea of handling a firearm for the first time with this virtual stranger instead of Jessie, someone he trusted implicitly, sent a flutter of anxiety through his chest.

"I don't know," he said finally, his fingers finding the top button of his shirt, adjusting it needlessly. "Jessie and I had discussed starting with some basics⁠—“

"Which is exactly where we'll start," Korr said. His voice had shifted, adopting a calm, instructive tone that seemed to automatically lower the tension in Lindquist's shoulders. "Safety first. Understanding how the weapon functions. Proper grip and stance. We won't even load it until you're completely comfortable."

Lindquist's jaw worked as he considered the offer. He observed Korr's steady gaze, the patience in his stance. No pressure, just presence. It reminded him, oddly enough, of his surgical mentors during residency. The importance of confidence without being overbearing.

"Alright," he said finally, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "I suppose there's no harm in learning the fundamentals."

"Good choice," Korr said, moving toward the counter where a bored-looking attendant scrolled through his phone. "Let me see what they've got available for beginners."

As Korr spoke with the attendant, Lindquist turned his clinical eye on him. The man moved with precise movements that suggested both strength and control. Nothing extraneous, nothing wasted. His gestures were minimal but specific. The doctor recognized these as traits of someone who had spent their life building muscle memory for precise, potentially life-saving actions.

Korr returned carrying a small plastic case, a box of ammunition, and what appeared to be safety glasses. "We'll start with this. Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm. Easy to handle, minimal recoil, simple operation." He placed the items on a small table in the nearest shooting lane and motioned for Lindquist to follow.

"Before we even open the case, I'm going to go over the four fundamental rules of firearms safety. You'll get tired of hearing these from me, but they keep people alive." Korr raised his index finger. "Rule one: Treat every firearm as if it's loaded. Even when you know it isn't, you handle it like it is." A second finger joined the first. "Rule two: Never point the muzzle at anything you aren't willing to destroy." A third finger. "Rule three: Keep your finger off the trigger until your sights are on target and you've made the decision to shoot." A fourth finger. "Rule four: Be sure of your target and what's beyond it."

Lindquist nodded, mentally cataloging each rule, giving them the same equal weight he would surgical protocols.

“Repeat them back to me,” Korr instructed.

Lindquist recited the rules verbatim, his memory honed by years of medical texts and anatomical details.

“Good,” Korr said, reaching for the case. “Now let’s look at the parts of a handgun.”

He opened the case to reveal a black pistol nestled in molded foam. He removed the magazine and racked the slide back, locking it open and peering into the chamber. Only after this inspection did he lift the firearm from its case.

“This is the slide,” he explained, pointing to the top portion of the gun. “It moves back and forth during firing, ejecting spent casings and loading new rounds. This is the frame, which houses the firing mechanism and serves as the grip.” His finger moved to the underside. “This is the magazine release. Press it, and the magazine drops free. This is the slide lock lever, which will hold the slide open when the gun is empty.”

Lindquist watched intently, noting how Korr maintained muzzle discipline throughout his explanation, keeping the weapon pointed downrange even as he rotated it to display different components.

“The front sight and rear sight help you align your shot,” Korr continued. “You’ll want to focus on the front sight, placing it centered in the notch of the rear sight and centered on your target.”

Korr placed the unloaded pistol down on the table, carefully positioning it so the muzzle pointed downrange. “Any questions so far?”

Lindquist’s eyes remained fixed on the weapon. “When you checked it, racking the slide back, that was to confirm it wasn’t loaded?”

“Exactly,” Korr nodded approvingly. “Visual and physical confirmation that the chamber is empty. It’s not enough to just remove the magazine. A round can still be in the chamber.”

“And that would be the most dangerous scenario,” Lindquist reasoned. “Believing a weapon is unloaded when it isn’t.”

“You’ve got it,” Korr said. “That false sense of security causes accidents. Now, ready to try holding it?”

Lindquist’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, I think so.”

“Stand here,” Korr positioned him at the firing line. “First, put these on.” He handed Lindquist the safety glasses. “Now, before you pick up the pistol, I want you to watch how I hold it.”

Korr demonstrated the proper grip, his strong hand high on the backstrap, supporting hand filling in the spaces, thumbs pointing forward.

“Your grip should be firm but not white-knuckled. Think of shaking hands with someone confident. Not trying to crush their fingers, but not limp either.”

Lindquist mimicked the hand position without the gun, studying the alignment of his thumbs.

“Good,” Korr said. “Now for stance.” He demonstrated, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, upper body leaning forward at the hips. “Athletic stance. Like you’re preparing to catch something heavy. Push forward slightly with your arms. The recoil will push back, and you want to resist that force.”

Lindquist copied the stance, feeling awkward and exposed.

“Relax your shoulders,” Korr instructed, reaching out to lightly tap the doctor’s tense trapezius muscles. “Tension here translates to poor control.”

The doctor made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders and drew a deep breath to center himself.

“Better. Now, pick up the pistol. Remember, finger alongside the frame, not on the trigger, and assume the stance I showed you.”

Lindquist reached for the weapon, his hand hovering momentarily before committing to the motion. The pistol felt simultaneously heavier and lighter than he’d expected. Heavier in weight, lighter in... significance, perhaps. Just another mechanical device. You’ve handled plenty of them, he told himself.

His index finger extended alongside the frame as instructed, deliberately away from the trigger guard. He brought his support hand up, completing the grip Korr had demonstrated, and assumed the stance. Feet apart, knees bent, leaning slightly forward.

“How does that feel?” Korr asked.

“Strange,” Lindquist admitted. “But not as intimidating as I anticipated.”

“Good. Now, extend your arms, bringing the sights up to eye level. Don’t drop your head to the gun; bring the gun up to your line of sight.”

Lindquist complied, extending his arms and raising the weapon. The sights came into alignment with his eyes, and he found himself naturally focusing on the front sight as Korr had mentioned.

Korr stepped closer, examining Lindquist’s form. “Not bad. Now, without changing anything else, I want you to slowly place your finger on the trigger. Don’t pull it, just rest your finger there.”

Lindquist’s finger moved cautiously from its position along the frame to curl around the trigger. He was surprised at how natural the motion felt, how the ergonomics of the grip guided his finger precisely where it needed to go.

“The trigger press should be straight back, like you’re pressing a button. Not a squeeze or a pull—a press. Try it now, slowly, remembering the weapon isn’t loaded.”

Lindquist applied pressure, feeling the resistance of the trigger. There was a mechanical precision to it that appealed to his analytical mind.

Click.

The sound of the hammer falling on an empty chamber was surprisingly satisfying.

“Good,” Korr said. “Now do it again, but this time, try to press the trigger without disturbing your sight picture. The front sight should remain steady throughout the press.”

Lindquist tried again, focusing on maintaining sight alignment while pressing the trigger. The front sight wobbled slightly.

“That’s normal,” Korr reassured him. “It takes practice to develop the fine motor control needed for a clean trigger press. But that’s it. You now have an understanding of the basics.” He smiled and patted the doctor on his shoulder. “Next lesson we can practice safe loading and unloading.”

Lindquist looked up at him. “I want to try it with a live round. Just once. I need…” he hesitated. “I need to feel it.” Wanting to own a gun was one thing, but handling it now made it more real. “I need to do that in order to know if I want to truly be an owner.”

Korr nodded slowly. “I get that. And you’re sure you don’t want to take that step with Jessie?”

“You’ve brought me this far.”

“Alrighty then.” The big man strode back to the assistant and exchanged words before returning with a box of ammunition and two sets of protective, over-the-ear cans. They reminded the doctor of fatter, uglier versions of the noise cancelling headphones he wore around the house when he listened to music. “Put these on. And I’ll do the loading and the unloading of the gun.”

Lindquist settled the protective ear covers in place, the sudden dampening of ambient sound creating an unsettling isolation. Korr positioned himself alongside the doctor, close enough to intervene if needed but giving him enough space to establish his stance independently.

“Watch carefully,” Korr instructed, his voice muffled through the ear protection.

He picked up the magazine, demonstrating each step as he worked with the firearm. He loaded a single round into the magazine, his thick fingers surprisingly dexterous as they managed the small brass cartridge. Then he showed the loaded magazine to Lindquist, making eye contact to ensure the doctor was tracking each step.

“One round only,” Korr said, tapping the magazine for emphasis. “We’ll take this step by step.”

He inserted the magazine into the pistol with a firm push until it clicked into place. Then, gripping the slide, he pulled it back fully and released it, allowing the mechanism to chamber the round. The metallic sound of the slide locking forward sent a jolt through Lindquist’s chest.

“Now it’s hot,” Korr said, his expression serious. “Remember what we practiced. Firm grip, proper stance, sight alignment.” He carefully transferred the loaded weapon to Lindquist, ensuring the muzzle remained pointed downrange throughout the exchange.

Lindquist accepted the pistol, surprised by how the mere knowledge of a live round in the chamber changed its weight in his hand. He positioned his feet as he’d been shown, established his grip, and raised the weapon.

“Take your time,” Korr said, stepping back slightly. “When you’re ready, find your sight picture and press the trigger straight back. Don’t anticipate the recoil, let it surprise you.”

Lindquist drew a deep breath, aligning the sights on the paper target suspended downrange. His analytical mind cataloged each element of his form.

Grip pressure, arm extension, sight alignment.

The front sight centered in the rear notch, which centered on the target’s bullseye. His finger moved to the trigger, taking up the slack.

He exhaled halfway and held it, just as Korr had instructed.

Then he pressed the trigger.

The weapon discharged with a sharp crack that seemed to bypass the ear protection entirely. The muzzle flashed and rose with the recoil, more pronounced than Lindquist had anticipated despite Korr’s warnings. The acrid scent of burnt powder filled his nostrils as the sound echoed through the range.

Beside him, Korr flinched violently, his entire body tensing as if struck. His hands shot up toward his ears, stopping halfway as he caught himself, masking the motion by adjusting his own ear protection. The reaction lasted only a split-second, but Lindquist caught it.

“Good,” Korr said, recovering quickly. His voice sounded strained. “How did that feel?”

Lindquist lowered the weapon, maintaining muzzle discipline. “Powerful. More recoil than I expected, but manageable.” He studied Korr’s face carefully. “Are you all right?”

Korr rubbed at one ear, adjusting the protective cover. “Yeah, I’m fine. Usually I double up, earplugs underneath the cans.” He tapped the ear protection. “Especially indoors where the sound reverberates. I’ve always had sensitive hearing. Some times worse than others.”

“Sensitive in what way?”

“It comes and goes,” Korr said with a casual shrug that didn’t quite match the tension still visible in his shoulders. “Some days, even normal conversation sounds like shouting. Other times, it feels like I’m picking up whispers from across a room.” He reached for the pistol. “Let me clear that for you.”

Lindquist handed over the weapon, watching as Korr expertly removed the magazine and checked the chamber. “Do you ever experience hypersensitivity to internal sounds? Your own voice resonating in your head, for instance?”

Korr’s hands paused briefly in their movement, almost imperceptibly, before continuing the unloading procedure. “Sometimes. Why?”

“Professional curiosity,” Lindquist replied, removing the ear protection. “The human auditory system is fascinating.”

“If by fascinating you mean annoying, then sure.” Korr attempted a laugh. “There are times when I can hear my own heartbeat so clearly it’s like thunder in my ears. Especially at night, trying to sleep. Drives me crazy.”

“Your heartbeat?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the excitement building in his chest. “And does this ever accompany a sensation of dizziness or disorientation?”

Korr frowned. “Sometimes, yeah. Why all the questions, Doc? You moonlighting as an ENT specialist now?”

Before Lindquist could respond, the door to the range opened, and Jessie appeared. Curiosity clouded her features as she took in the scene before her. “Sorry I’m late. How’s it going here? Making progress?”

Lindquist turned to her, his expression a mixture of excitement and concern. “Jessie, I need to get Korr back to my office immediately.”

“What?” Korr’s surprise was evident. “Why?”

He turned excitedly to the smoke jumper. “Because I think you are about to blow this case wide open.”

25

Harlan Ray stared out the tinted window of the Mercedes as it wound its way up the mountain road toward his compound. The sun had begun its descent behind the ridge line, casting long shadows across the valley below. The beauty of the landscape was lost on him today. His jaw ached from being clenched so tightly during the drive from the Pine Haven courthouse.

Katherine’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as she navigated the curves. She could feel the anger radiating from her client. The lawyer's usual confident demeanor had faded over the course of the day’s events. The sleek black pantsuit she wore seemed to match her mood, all business, no frills.

In the back seat, Marcus sat beside his father, his shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the floor mat. The silence between them had stretched for miles, broken only by the occasional alert from Katherine's phone as messages from her associates arrived with updates on their rapidly deteriorating legal situation.

"The judge has denied our request for a continuance," Katherine said finally, breaking the oppressive quiet. "We've exhausted most of our procedural options."

Harlan snorted. "There's always another option."

“Usually.” Katherine's voice remained professional, but firm. "The federal tax evasion charges alone carry significant penalties. Add to that the environmental violations, falsified permits, and the questionable land acquisitions..." She let the sentence hang in the air.

“What do I pay you for?” Harlan snapped. It wasn’t really a question so much as a declaration.

“To keep you out of the type of situation you’re about to find yourself in,” the lawyer replied. “And to be honest, I will do my best on that front. But it’s kind of hard to clean up a mess that I wasn’t privy to the creation of.” Her eyes flicked to the younger Ray’s reddened face.

Harlan huffed again, turning his face from his son. “And what about those arson charges?”

“They have nothing to tie anyone in the family to that,” Katherine replied. “But it did open the doors for other investigations the DA was already looking at. It’s the financial paper trail that’s damning. Detective Thomas and friends just gave the IRS the opening they were seeking when they brought everything forward.”

The car rounded the final bend, revealing the compound's security gate ahead. The guard spotted them and immediately triggered the opening mechanism. No scrutiny, no protocol. The change wasn't lost on Harlan. His employees sensed a shift in the winds.

"I've quietly started exploring plea options," Katherine continued as they pulled up to the main house. "Marcus, if you're willing to testify about certain business practices, we might be able to⁠—“

"Absolutely not," Harlan interrupted, his voice like gravel. "No one in my family is testifying against anyone."

Katherine parked the car and turned to face them both. The professional mask slipped for just a moment, replaced by genuine concern. "Harlan, I need you to understand the gravity of this situation. There will be jail time. The only question now is how much, and for whom."

Harlan's hand tightened around the door handle, knuckles whitening. "I've been fighting battles longer than you've been alive, Katherine. And like I said, there is always another way."

He pushed the door open and stepped out into the mountain air. Marcus followed, moving like a man twice his age, the day’s pressures stooping his shoulders.

"You should go home," Harlan said, not looking at his son. "Claire will be worried."

Marcus shook his head. "Dad, I can't just leave you to deal with this alone. This is my fault. I pushed too hard, took too many shortcuts."

His father’s eyes blazed as they locked onto the younger man. “No. This is my fault for ever trusting that you were ready to take over a business like this. Get out of my sight.”

Before anything else could be said between them, Katherine joined them, her slim briefcase clutched in one hand, phone in the other. "I have three more calls scheduled with the prosecution team. We still have some bargaining room regarding the specific charges, but you need to be realistic about⁠—“

"Enough." Harlan raised a hand. "Both of you, go. I'll call when I'm ready to discuss next steps."

Marcus hesitated, looking toward the house and then back at his father. "Dad⁠—“

"Go," Harlan repeated. This time, his tone left no room for arguing.

Katherine nodded, professional enough to recognize when pushing would be counterproductive. "I'll be in touch tomorrow morning." She glanced at Marcus. "Come on. I'll drive you to your place."

Harlan didn't watch them leave. He turned and made his way up the stone steps to the entrance of his home. The heavy oak door swung open with a shove as he entered. He grumbled under his breath, making his way through the entry to the wet bar in the great room. The glass decanter felt cold in his hands as he poured himself two fingers of bourbon. He downed it in a single gulp before pouring another and letting out a deep sigh.

He looked around the estate, thankful for the quiet. On the drive up the mountain he had called ahead and sent the staff home. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s questioning looks. Not that any of them would have made a remark, but he needed some time to think things through.

Damn boneheaded son.

He made his way through the great room, past the wall of windows that showcased the mountain vista he'd spent decades acquiring, piece by piece. Land that had once belonged to dozens of families now consolidated under his name. An empire built on opportunity—or exploitation, depending on who you asked.

The thought of it slipping through his fingers was unacceptable.

He reached his office door and pushed it open, not bothering with the lights immediately. The room was dim, lit only by fading light through the windows. He threw back the last of the bourbon and moved to the bar cart in the corner, reaching for the crystal decanter of Macallan 25. Some problems required the proper tools to solve, and right now, he needed something that burned.

Glass in hand, he turned and finally registered what his distracted mind had initially missed.

His office was destroyed.

Papers lay scattered across the Persian rug. Filing cabinets stood open, their contents strewn about like confetti. The portrait behind his desk—an original print that had cost him more than most people's homes—hung askew, the frame cracked in one corner.

Harlan froze, the whiskey forgotten in his hand. His first thought was law enforcement, a search he hadn't been informed about. But this was too chaotic, too unprofessional. This was someone looking for something specific, and in a hurry.

He reached for his phone, only to realize he'd left it in the car with Katherine.

A soft sound behind him—the whisper of fabric on fabric—was his only warning.

Harlan began to turn, glass still clutched in his hand. "Who's⁠—“

The impact came from his blind side, something heavy connecting with the side of his skull. The crystal tumbler slipped from his fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor as he crumpled. The amber liquid pooled beneath him, soaking into his sleeve as darkness claimed his vision.

His last conscious thought wasn't of the pain, but of bitter irony. After decades of taking what others valued, someone had finally come to take something from him.

26

The CT scanner hummed to life, its circular opening swallowing Korr as the table slid him into position. The smoke jumper's broad shoulders barely cleared the machine's aperture, making the already confined space feel even more restrictive.

"Remind me again why I'm in here?" Korr's voice echoed slightly inside the scanner. He kept his head perfectly still as instructed, but his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against his thighs.

Dr. Lindquist adjusted a setting on the control panel before answering. "It's just a hunch, but there's something about your inner ear structure I need to confirm." His tone was deliberately casual, but there was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"My ear?" Korr's confusion was evident. "What does my ear have to do with anything?"

"Your reaction at the shooting range," Jessie said, leaning against the doorframe between the control room and the scanner area. "When the gun fired, Dr. Lindquist says you flinched like you were in pain."

"Lots of people flinch at loud noises," Korr said. The table moved another inch, positioning his head precisely in the center of the scanner. “And I already explained. Sometimes my ears can be very sensitive.”

"This will only take a few minutes," Dr. Lindquist assured him. "The scan is completely harmless—just a series of X-rays from different angles that will give us a detailed look at your inner ear structure." He laid a heavy, lead apron over the smoke jumper’s lap and stepped back.

“I thought you said the rays were harmless.”

Dr. Lindquist smiled. “Added protection. In case you want to have kids someday.” He quickly retreated from the room before Korr could protest.

Jessie joined him at the control console as he settled behind the display and pulled a small microphone close to his mouth. Pressing a button, he spoke into it. “I need you to remain perfectly still. Think of it as one of those meditation exercises you smoke jumpers do before a drop."

Korr's laugh was short and tight. "We don't meditate before jumping into fires, Doc. We check our gear and pray we don't screw up."

"Well, apply whatever technique keeps you still," Lindquist said. His finger hovered over the initiation button. "Starting now." The bank of monitors flared to life, displaying various angles of the scanner and readouts Jessie couldn't begin to decipher.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked, keeping her voice low despite the fact Korr couldn't hear them.

Dr. Lindquist's eyes remained fixed on the screens as the first images began to form. "Not yet. I need to be sure before I say anything more." He tapped a command into the keyboard, rotating one of the images. "But if I'm right..." He trailed off, lost in the technical display before him.

Jessie studied the coroner’s face. Whatever he suspected had him completely absorbed.

The scanner continued its circular progress, capturing slice after slice of data. From their vantage point, they could see Korr's face through a small window in the machine. His eyes were closed, and he was motionless, completely resigned to the examination.

"Almost done," Dr. Lindquist announced over the intercom. "You're doing great, Korr. Just another minute."

The smoke jumper didn't respond, but Jessie noticed his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. For a man accustomed to jumping out of aircrafts into infernos, being trapped in a medical scanner seemed to test his composure more than she would have imagined.

The machine completed its final rotation and fell silent. The table began its automatic withdrawal, sliding Korr back into the open.

Dr. Lindquist stared at the completed scans, his expression shifting as he studied the images. He turned to Jessie, ready to speak, then caught himself.

"Let's get him out of there first," he said, heading for the door. "Then we can all talk."

Dr. Lindquist ushered Korr into the control room where Jessie waited. The space was cramped with the addition of the smoke jumper's large frame, forcing them into an awkward triangle around the computer displays. Korr rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off the confinement of the scanner.

"Okay, Doc. I did your test. Now tell me what this is all about." His patience was clearly wearing thin.

Dr. Lindquist nodded, pulling up the scan results on the main monitor. The computer had rendered a three-dimensional model of Korr's skull, focusing on the inner ear structure. With a few keystrokes, the doctor zoomed in on a specific area, rotating the image to give them a clear view.

"This," he said, pointing to a small opening in the bone structure, "is what's called Superior Canal Dehiscence." His finger traced the anomaly. "See this gap? This opening in the bone that covers the superior semicircular canal?"

Korr leaned closer, squinting at the screen. "What am I looking at exactly?"

"Your inner ear has three fluid-filled semicircular canals that help you maintain balance and spatial orientation," Dr. Lindquist explained. "They should be completely encased in bone. Yours has an opening, a dehiscence—or opening, that allows the inner ear fluids to be affected by pressure and sound in ways they shouldn't be."

"Is that why loud noises sometimes feel like they're inside my head?" Korr asked, his voice dropping.

Dr. Lindquist's eyebrows rose slightly. "Yes, exactly. People with SCDS—Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome—often report hearing their own voice abnormally loud, or internal sounds like eye movements or heartbeats. Some experience dizziness, particularly with changes in pressure, like during airplane descent."

Jessie frowned, glancing between the screen and Korr. "Wait, how could he be a smoke jumper with a condition like this? Wouldn't this have shown up during physical examinations?"

Dr. Lindquist leaned back against the counter. "That's what makes this fascinating. If Korr grew up with this condition, he's likely developed coping mechanisms without even realizing it. The brain is remarkably adaptable. He might automatically compensate for the balance issues in ways that appear normal during standard physical tests."

Korr was staring at the image, his jaw working silently. "So, I've been jumping out of planes with a... hole in my ear?" His voice had taken on a hollow quality. "Is that even safe?"

"That depends," Dr. Lindquist said carefully. "There are pros and cons to your situation. On the positive side, if you've been successfully functioning all these years, your brain has clearly developed impressive compensatory mechanisms. Your balance systems have adapted."

"And the cons?" Korr pressed.

Dr. Lindquist's expression grew more serious. "The pressure changes during rapid descent could potentially trigger severe vertigo or disorientation. In a worst-case scenario, you could experience a complete vestibular crisis—essentially, your sense of up and down could disappear entirely."

"Which would be catastrophic during a jump," Jessie added quietly.

"Or while fighting a fire on steep terrain," Korr said, his voice barely audible. He steadied himself against the counter, knuckles whitening. "Are you telling me I've been putting my team at risk this whole time?"

"Not necessarily," Dr. Lindquist countered. "The fact that you haven't experienced a major episode suggests your particular case may be milder than others. But it does mean you should be monitored more carefully going forward."

Korr ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the floor. "So, ultimately, what does this mean for me?"

"Right now, it means being aware," Dr. Lindquist said. "There are surgical options if symptoms worsen, but they come with their own risks."

Jessie watched Korr carefully. The medical revelation settled onto his shoulders like a physical weight.

"There's something else you should know," Dr. Lindquist continued, his tone measured. "SCDS is an extremely rare condition, affecting only about one to two percent of the population. More importantly, it's hereditary."

Korr looked up sharply. "Hereditary? You mean I got this from one of my birth parents?”

"It's highly likely," Dr. Lindquist confirmed. "The genetic component is quite strong."

Jessie and Dr. Lindquist exchanged a look that didn't go unnoticed by Korr. He straightened, eyes darting between them.

“Oh, what now?” The edges of his voice had hardened.

Dr. Lindquist adjusted his glasses and faced Korr directly. "I'd like to draw some blood, if you're willing."

"Blood?" Korr's confusion was evident. "What for?"

Dr. Lindquist looked at Jessie and she nodded for him to continue. "Because I believe the man we found in the burned lodge—the victim—had the same inner ear anomaly.”

The color drained from Korr's face. His mouth opened, then closed, words seemingly beyond his reach. He reached blindly for the edge of the counter to steady himself. “You mean like… a brother or something?”

Dr. Lindquist hesitated. “Possibly. Although given the victim's age… I am more inclined to believe it may have been your father.”

The big man was silent, his eyes faltering between Lindquist and Jessie. "My father?" he finally managed, the words barely more than a whisper. "But that’s not possible. My parents died in a fire when I was four.”

Dr. Lindquist’s voice was low and measured when he spoke. “The victim showed the same rare inner ear anomaly we just found in you. The same hereditary condition. The exact bone pattern formation. The chances of it being a coincidence…” He didn’t need to say more.

Korr seemed to sway slightly, his breathing shallow and quick. "This doesn't make sense. If he was... if that was my father, then how... who..." He shook his head, unable to complete the thought.

"DNA would give us a definitive answer," Dr. Lindquist said gently. "With your permission, of course."

The smoke jumper stood frozen for a long moment, processing the implications. Then, slowly, he rolled up his sleeve.

"Do it.”

27

The vending machine gave a mechanical whir before spitting Korr's dollar bill back out for the third time. He snatched it from the slot, his jaw tightening as he smoothed the crumpled edges against the side of the machine.

"Come on," he muttered, feeding the bill back in. The machine hummed, considering his offering, before promptly rejecting it again.

Korr's fist came down against the side panel, harder than he'd intended. The sound echoed through the empty hospital corridor.

"Hey," Jessie said, "why don't we just go to Angela's? I'll treat you to some real coffee instead of that vending machine sludge. We could both use a break and maybe talk through some of what Lindquist said. It’s going to be a bit before he has the DNA analysis back. Might help you get some things off your mind.”

Korr ran a hand over his face, exhaustion starting to settle in. The CT and blood draw had taken less than an hour but had drained him far more than any physical activity could. "Thanks, but right now I just need a jolt of caffeine to shake me out of..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "This. And I'm not exactly in the right mindset for town. Not with..." His voice trailed off, unable to articulate the emotions Jessie could see playing out across his features.

Before Jessie could respond, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, frowning at the screen before answering.

"Alex? What's—" Her expression shifted immediately, concern replacing curiosity. "Wait, slow down. When did this happen?"

Korr’s spine straightened as he watched Jessie's face grow taut with tension.

"Actually, we're still at the hospital. We'll be right there." She ended the call, already turning to head down the hall.

"What happened?" Korr asked, falling into step beside her.

"It's Harlan Ray," Jessie said. "Someone attacked him in his home. Alex is in the emergency room with him now."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough. They found him unconscious, significant head trauma." They reached a set of elevators and Jessie stabbed the button marked ‘B’.

The emergency department was one floor below the imaging lab and when the doors opened, they were greeted by a swarm of physicians, nurses and police officers, all talking over one another. Jessie saw Alex and waved in his direction. The detective pushed his way to them, clearly annoyed at the throng of people.

“Alex, what is going on?” Jessie asked, scanning the crowd.

“Small town and news travels fast. Around here, wealth equals celebrity status. So when a man who owns a chunk of an entire mountain gets attacked in his own home… it draws attention,” Alex replied. “Apparently, his son is flying in a specialist from Atlanta, but until then, the house docs are doing what they can.”

Something in his voice worried Jessie. “What’s the prognosis?”

Alex looked carefully over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “The doctors aren’t optimistic. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“Where is he?” Jessie asked.

“Trauma bay one. Come on, I’ll take you in.” Alex pushed forward and turned to Jessie. “What were you two doing here?”

Korr shrugs. “Just learning that my dead father might have just died a second time. Ironically, in another fire.”

Alex gave the man a perplexed look as Jessie spurred him on. “I’ll explain later.”

Korr hung back. “I’ll wait out here.”

Alex led Jessie through a set of double doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only," flashing his badge at a nurse who started to intercept them. As they approached bay one, Jessie could see Marcus Ray pacing just outside the glass partition. His expensive suit was rumpled, tie loosened and hanging askew. Claire stood nearby, one arm wrapped around herself, the other hand pressed against her mouth as silent tears tracked mascara down her cheeks. Katherine Morrison stood several feet away, her back to them, phone pressed to her ear as she spoke in sharp, hushed tones.

Through the glass, Jessie could see Harlan Ray's still form on the trauma table. Two doctors and a nurse worked around him, their quick movements mirroring one another. A breathing tube protruded from his mouth, and bandages wrapped his head, dark crimson seeping through the white gauze. Monitors displayed vital signs that even Jessie, with her limited medical knowledge, could tell were dangerously unstable.

Marcus looked up as they approached, his grief-stricken expression hardening instantly. He pushed away from the wall, his body coiling like a spring.

"You," he snarled, voice cracking. "You did this."

Alex raised his hands slightly, palms out. "Mr. Ray, I understand you're upset⁠—“

"Upset?" Marcus' voice rose sharply, drawing glances from nearby staff. "My father is dying in there because of you people. If you hadn't come sniffing around, pushing your accusations, none of this would have happened!" Spittle flew from his lips as he lurched toward them.

Claire moved quickly, grabbing her husband's arm. "Marcus, please⁠—“

He shook her off, jabbing a finger at Jessie and Alex. “I was sorting everything out. The taxes, the permits… all of it! He didn’t need to know! He never would have dismissed the staff if you hadn't upset him. He wouldn't have been alone!"

Katherine ended her call and strode over, inserting herself between Marcus and the investigators. "That's enough," she said firmly, though her eyes held the same accusation when they met Alex's. "This isn't helping your father."

"We need to ask some questions about what happened," Alex said, his tone professional despite the hostility radiating from the group.

"Absolutely not," Katherine replied, sliding her phone into her jacket pocket. "Mr. Ray is in no condition to answer questions, and his son is in no state to be interviewed." She glanced at the medical team working on Harlan. "Any questions can wait until we know… more.”

“Can you at least tell us who found him?” Jessie asked.

Marcus let out a bitter laugh. “Like you care. The housekeeper found him when she returned for her phone hours later. Who knows how long he was lying there.”

"Who had access to the compound?" Jessie asked quietly. "With the staff dismissed, who could have gotten in?"

"That's exactly the problem," Marcus snapped. "He sent everyone away. Even the security team. He wanted to be alone." His voice broke on the last word, anger giving way to anguish. "He never does that."

A commotion from inside the trauma bay drew their attention. One of the monitors had shifted from steady beeping to a high-pitched alarm. The medical team's movements became more urgent, voices calling out commands as a crash cart was wheeled in.

Claire gasped, hands covering her face. Marcus turned away from Jessie and Alex as if they'd ceased to exist, pressing his palms against the glass partition.

Katherine placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "You both should step back and let them work." Her eyes flicked to Jessie and Alex. "And you two should leave. Now."

"We'll be just outside," Alex said, taking Jessie's elbow gently. "Please let us know if there's any change."

As they backed away, Jessie caught one last glimpse of Harlan Ray through the glass. The doctors had torn away the bandages, revealing the full extent of his head wound, a savage gash that exposed bone. In that moment, she knew Alex was right. Harlan Ray wasn't going to survive this.

Jessie and Alex pushed through the double doors back into the main waiting area. The crowd had thinned somewhat, no doubt thanks to the handful of uniformed officers standing guard. Korr straightened from where he'd been leaning against the wall, his eyes immediately searching their faces.

"How's it looking?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

"Not good," Jessie said. "Head trauma. Looks like there is significant blood loss. And from what we could see..." She trailed off, the image of Harlan's exposed skull still fresh in her mind.

"Jessie! Alex!" Will Mason's voice cut through the hushed conversations around them. The reporter hurried across the waiting room, camera dangling from a strap around his neck, notebook already in hand. His eyes gleamed with the excitement of a journalist on the scent of a major story.

"Will," Jessie acknowledged, her expression neutral. “Bet I can guess what brings you to the hospital.”

He held up his camera. "Covering the Ray story for the paper. Mayor Beaumont called me personally. Said the town needs 'responsible reporting' on this." His air quotes made clear what he thought of that directive.

“Aren’t you our only reporter in town?” Alex offered.

Will ignored the remark, turning back to Jessie. “I'm guessing you've got better information than what's circulating in the waiting room. Care to share what's happening in there?"

"You know I can't comment on an ongoing investigation," Jessie said.

"Come on," Will pressed, lowering his voice. "Off the record. Just between friends." His eyes darted between them, hungry for details. "Is it true they found him with a hole in his skull? Security system disabled?"

Before Jessie could respond, Will's attention shifted abruptly to something over her shoulder. His expression brightened.

"Never mind," he said, already backing away. "I have sources everywhere." He gestured vaguely toward a harried-looking man in surgical scrubs exiting a side door. "Excuse me.” And he was off, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

"Vultures circling already," Alex muttered.

“He’s a friend,” Jessie reminded him. “He just has a job to do. And he’s just given me an idea. Will mentioned the security system. When we were up there, the place had camera coverage from all angles. We need to get back up there and take a look around before the place becomes a circus.” The unspoken implication hung in the air. If Harlan died, law enforcement from multiple jurisdictions could descend, further complicating their investigation.

Alex nodded, already reaching for his keys. "Family's all here, no one at the house. Best opportunity we'll have." He glanced at his watch. "I'll call the chief on the way, get official clearance."

Korr rubbed at his temples, shoulders slumped with fatigue. "I think I'll sit this one out. Head home, take some aspirin, and wait for Dr. Lindquist to call with those test results." His bloodshot eyes met Jessie's. "Let me know what you find."

Jessie studied him for a moment but decided not to push. "Get some rest. I’ll fill you in on what we find.”

Korr gave her a grim nod and headed off on his own. Jessie watched him go, trying to imagine what he must have been feeling.

"Ready?" Alex asked, already moving toward the doors.

Jessie fell into step beside him. The automatic doors slid open before them as they stepped into a welcome embrace of chilly evening air. Night was falling, and somewhere in the gathering darkness, a killer was watching, waiting.

28

The headlights of Alex's cruiser cut through the darkness as they wound their way up the mountain road. Jessie's mind raced with everything that had happened over the past few hours, trying to make sense of the connections that kept forming between seemingly disparate events.

"So let me get this straight," Alex said, gripping the wheel as they navigated a sharp curve. "Lindquist says the burn victim had the exact same rare ear condition as Korr?"

"Superior Canal Dehiscence Syndrome," Jessie confirmed. "Apparently it's hereditary and extremely rare. The doctor thinks there's a good chance the victim was Korr's biological father. He’s waiting for the DNA tests to come back and see if it’s conclusive.”

Alex let out a low whistle and glanced briefly at Jessie. “How did Korr take it?”

“How would you take news like that?”

“Fair point. But… Korr’s father died when he was a boy.”

Jessie sighed. “And that’s the part that makes no sense.”

Alex was quiet as he eased the car up to the guardhouse. It was dark, the only illumination a flicker of light from the small monitor that sat on the desk inside the structure.

“No one’s here and the gate’s open,” Jessie said. “That doesn’t seem normal.”

“Marcus did say that Harlan sent everyone home early. Guess that includes the guardhouse staff as well,” Alex replied as he eased the car up the main drive to the house. Crime scene tape crossed the front entrance, fluttering in the mountain breeze. A single officer stood by the door, stamping his feet against the cold.

“Thomas. Night.” He nodded as they approached.

“Hey, Charley,” Alex said in acknowledgement. “Anyone inside?”

“Just the housekeeper who found him. She didn’t want to leave yet, and Marcus said to let her stay.”

Jessie frowned. “Isn’t that against protocol?”

The officer held up both hands in resignation. “There was a lot of screaming, crying and swearing. I was told to let her stay until Mr. Ray returned… or his son.”

Alex’s countenance was dark. “The elder Ray won’t be coming back. At least not anytime soon. We need to go in and look around.”

“Be my guest,” Charley replied, stepping aside.

Once inside, Jessie looked at Alex. “This crime scene has been compromised. No one should have been allowed in.”

“Like I said. No one is going to argue with the kind of money this family has. They get what they want.”

Jessie could hear the annoyance in his voice. Something told her the chief would be getting an earful in her morning briefing.

"I want to see if we can access the security footage," Alex said. "If the attack happened after the staff was dismissed, there's a good chance the cameras caught something."

A soft noise stopped them in the hallway, the sound of papers being shuffled and objects being moved. They exchanged a quick glance before Alex unholstered his weapon and moved forward silently, following the sound down the hall to a partially closed door. He pushed it open with his shoulder, gun raised.

"Pine Haven Police! Don't move!"

A startled yelp came from behind the massive desk. A small, gray-haired woman straightened up, hand clutched to her chest. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, with deeply lined features that suggested she was well into her seventies.

"Good Lord, you nearly scared the life out of me!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a thick mountain accent. She was holding a stack of papers, clearly in the process of organizing them.

Alex lowered his weapon but kept his stern expression. "Ma'am, you shouldn't be in here. Are you the housekeeper who found the—who found Mr. Ray?”

The woman sniffed, chin lifting with dignity. Her eyes were red and puffy as she locked onto the two of them. “I am. I have been Mr. Ray's housekeeper for thirty-two years.” She looked around sadly at the state of the office. “He would not want to come home to this mess. I need to put everything back the way it was for him.”

Jessie stepped forward, her tone gentler. "What's your name?"

"Martha Wilkins."

"Martha, I understand you want things to be right for Mr. Ray, but we need to preserve the scene exactly as it was found. Can you show us exactly where the body was? And I’m also going to need you to think back to anything you’ve touched so you can tell us later.”

The old woman's shoulders slumped slightly. “Well, hell’s bells. That’s going to be ‘bout everything in this room.” She made her way from behind the desk, her steps a quick shuffle, and pointed to a dark stain on the hardwood floor that the crime scene techs hadn’t fully cleaned. “Here. Blood everywhere. His poor head..." Her voice caught.

"We're very sorry," Jessie said. "We're trying to figure out who did this. That's why we can't have anything moved or cleaned yet."

"Were you here when it happened?" Alex asked.

Martha shook her head. "No. Mr. Ray dismissed all of us when he was headin’ back from the courthouse. Said he wanted to be alone. I only came back because I'd left my phone." She gestured to a small flip phone clipped to her uniform pocket. "Can't drive anywhere without it these days. My daughter insists."

"Martha, we need to see the security footage," Alex said. "Is there a monitoring room somewhere?"

The housekeeper nodded, relieved to be useful. "This way."

She led them down the hall to another door, this one reinforced with a steel frame and an electronic keypad beside it.

"This is it," she said, stepping back. "Mr. Ray had all the cameras installed last year. Said he was tired of people trespassing on his mountain."

Alex tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. He studied the keypad. "Do you know the code?"

Martha gave him a look that suggested the question was absurd. "Of course not. Mr. Ray didn't share such things with the help."

Alex sighed, turning to Jessie. "We'll need to get a warrant in order to get the code from Marcus."

Martha huffed. “Good luck with that one.” She made a face like she just tasted something unpleasant. She hovered near the door, clearly unsure if she should leave.

"Thank you, Martha," Jessie said. "We'll take it from here."

The older woman nodded and shuffled away down the hall. Once she was out of earshot, Jessie turned to Alex.

"Who knows everything that happens in a house like this?" she asked quietly.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "The help."

"Exactly. People like Martha become invisible after a while. They see and hear things the owners don't realize."

"Worth another conversation," Alex agreed.

They found Martha in the kitchen, filling a kettle with water. Despite the crime scene tape strewn about the compound, she made it seem like the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

"Force of habit," she explained, noticing their looks. "I always make tea when I'm upset."

"Martha," Jessie began, taking a seat at the kitchen island. "We're trying to understand how someone could have gotten into the house. The gate was locked, there were cameras everywhere, and Mr. Ray had a security team."

“That he sent home,” the housekeeper interjected.

Jessie nodded. “But even still, if someone broke in, how would they have known that? Was it just dumb luck that they showed up at the exact right time to get in? Someone must have seen something.”

The housekeeper placed the kettle on the stove and turned to face them. “How did you two get in just now? Same way I did I’m betting.”

Alex frowned. "I don't understand. The officer let us in at the front door.”

“But how’d you get past the guardhouse? Who opened the gate for you?” she replied. “Mr. Ray sent the house staff home. But he never would have excused the guard at the gate. And certainly would have never left the gate open.”

“I assume it was open because of the number of first responders and crime scene techs coming and going,” Jessie offered. But it did make her wonder. There still should have been someone at the guardhouse monitoring who came and went.

"There was no one at the guard house when I arrived," Martha said, her eyes dropping to her hands. "Not the first time that’s happened late in the evening.”

”Go on,” Jessie pressed gently.

Martha busied herself wiping down the marble island, her movements deliberate. "It's not my place to talk about such things."

"Martha," Alex said, "Mr. Ray is fighting for his life. Anything you know could help us find who did this to him."

The kettle whistled, and Martha turned to remove it from the heat. Her back remained to them as she spoke.

"There's been talk about Frank," she said finally. " He's in charge of the guardhouse. Apparently he's been disappearing from his post in the evenings when he thinks no more visitors are scheduled to come. Or he leaves early a lot without telling anyone. Especially these past few months."

Alex had his notepad out and was scribbling quickly in it. “Is the guardhouse manned twenty-four seven?”

Martha nodded. “Herbert comes in at eleven for the night shift, so Frank doesn’t think it’s a big deal if he sneaks out a bit early.” Martha turned around, a hint of color in her aged cheeks. "He has a lady friend who visits him. Sometimes they go off together for an hour or so. Or he leaves to meet her somewhere down the main road. Everyone knows, but nobody says anything to Mr. Ray."

“So, it’s possible that Frank may have left his post after the rest of the staff left for the day,” Alex said. Martha only nodded.

"Do you know who this woman is?" Jessie asked.

Martha's lips pressed into a thin line, loyalty warring with truth. "It's not my business to spread gossip."

"It's not gossip if it helps us find who hurt Mr. Ray," Jessie countered softly.

The housekeeper's eyes flicked between them before she sighed deeply. "Frank and Stella were sweethearts in high school. Everyone thought they'd get married, but then Jack Green came along. Handsome firefighter with prospects." She shrugged. "Stella chose Jack."

"Stella... Green?" Alex clarified, exchanging a quick look with Jessie. “Korr Green’s mother?”

Martha nodded. “Such a nice boy. Nice family. Frank married someone else too. But his wife passed, oh, must be three years ago now. Somehow, Frank and Stella found each other again." A sad smile touched her lips. "At our age, it's nice to find someone who remembers who you were when you were young."

"How long has this been going on?" Jessie asked.

"About a year, I'd say," Martha replied. "Frank's been with the Rays for decades. Started as regular security, worked his way up." She poured hot water into a teacup. "He's a good man. Devoted to Mr. Ray. But when it comes to Stella..." She shook her head. "Men do foolish things for love, especially the second time around."

"Does Jack—Mr. Green—know?" Jessie asked.

Martha's expression grew guarded. "That's not for me to say."

But her averted eyes told Jessie everything she needed to know.

“Martha, do you know Frank’s address?” Alex asked.

The old woman looked at him, a glint in her eyes. “Wait here. I’ll go get it.”

29

Jessie gripped the armrest as Alex's cruiser bounced over the unpaved driveway leading to Frank Lewis’ house. The property was a twenty-minute drive from the Ray compound, nestled in a small valley where the mountains began to flatten into foothills. The modest, one-story ranch house sat on what might have once been working farmland but now appeared to be in a state of slow decay.

Rusted farm equipment dotted the yard like metal skeletons. An old tractor missing its wheels, the shell of a pickup truck, various implements whose original purpose was no longer discernible. Behind the house, a cluster of chicken coops leaned precariously, their wire fencing patched in multiple places. A warm yellow light emanated from the front windows indicating someone was home.

"You sure this is the right address?" Alex asked, putting the vehicle in park.

Jessie consulted the scrap of paper Martha had given them. "According to the housekeeper, this is it." She studied the property with a careful eye. "Doesn't exactly scream 'head of guardhouse security for a multi-millionaire,' does it?"

"Maybe he's frugal," Alex suggested with a shrug as he killed the engine. "Or I’m betting the Rays don't pay as well as they should."

They approached the front door, cautiously. A motion-activated light flickered to life, illuminating the weathered porch and revealing at least three different locks on the front door. Alex raised his eyebrows at Jessie before knocking firmly.

Movement sounded from inside, heavy footsteps, a muttered curse, the metallic slide of a security chain.

The door jerked open, revealing a stocky man in his mid-sixties with a closely cropped gray beard and the weathered complexion of someone who spent considerable time outdoors. He wore faded jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle. Recognition dawned in his eyes as he registered who was standing on his porch, followed immediately by wariness.

"Frank Lewis?” Alex asked.

"Yeah, that's me." His voice was gruff, almost deliberately so. His gaze slid from Alex to Jessie, then past them to the cruiser parked in his driveway. "I remember you two. Day the Rays got themselves hauled in." He craned his neck slightly, scanning the area behind them. "Where's your big friend?”

Jessie tilted her head slightly. “You mean Korr?” She followed his gaze back to the cruiser once again. “You nervous about seeing him for some reason?”

Frank's posture shifted, his shoulders squared. "Nervous? Don't be ridiculous." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I head up a security team for one of the most important men in the county. Takes more than some firefighter to make me nervous."

Alex looked at Jessie. “Don’t remember Korr saying he was a firefighter last time we met, do you?”

Jessie shook her head, smiling at the man in the doorway. “Your boss… one of the most important men in the county as you describe him… is what we’re here to talk about.”

“We have questions about your role in his security team. Mind if we come in?” Alex asked.

Frank's hand remained firmly on the edge of the door. "I'm off duty. Whatever you've got to say can wait till morning."

"Actually, it can't," Alex's voice hardened slightly. "Harlan Ray was attacked in his home tonight. Someone walked right in and bashed his head in. He's in critical condition at hospital.”

Color drained from Frank's face. "What? That's not—“ He swallowed hard. "That's not possible."

"Isn't it?" Jessie asked quietly. "Because when we arrived there earlier, the gate was wide open. And there was no one at the guardhouse." She paused, letting the implications sink in. "Your guardhouse, Frank."

The security chief's jaw worked silently, eyes darting between them. Jessie watched fear and guilt wrestle for control of his features. "So," she continued, "may we come in and talk? Or would you prefer Detective Thomas here haul you down to police headquarters for questioning?"

Frank's fingers tightened on the door, knuckles whitening. For a moment, Jessie thought he might simply slam it in their faces. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose and stepped back.

"Fine. Come in." His tone made it clear this was a grudging concession at best. "But I've got nothing to do with whatever happened to Mr. Ray."

They stepped into a living room that was surprisingly neat and organized given the chaos of the yard outside. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, while the opposite held a large flat-screen television currently showing a muted baseball game. The furniture was well-worn but clean, and family photos lined a shelf by the entrance.

Frank closed the door behind them, activating each lock before turning to face his unwelcome visitors. His expression had shifted from open hostility to something more guarded, more calculating.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms again. “What is it you want?”

Alex took out his small notebook and flipped it open. His posture shifted subtly, shoulders squaring as he slipped fully into detective mode. "Let's start with the basics. You're in charge of the guardhouse security at the Ray compound, correct?"

"That's right." Frank's chin lifted slightly. "Fifteen years in that position."

"And your responsibilities include staffing and supervising the guardhouse?"

"Among other things." Frank's eyes narrowed. "I recently took over grounds patrols, surveillance systems, and background checks on household staff."

Alex nodded, making a brief note. "Then perhaps you can explain why there was no one at the guardhouse this evening, when Mr. Ray was attacked."

Frank's weight shifted from one foot to the other. "Mr. Ray dismissed all staff. Said he wanted to be alone for the evening."

"All staff?" Jessie interjected, watching Frank's face carefully. "Including those responsible for who comes and goes on the man’s property?”

"That's what I assumed.” Frank's voice carried a defensive edge.

Jessie took a step closer, forcing Frank to meet her gaze. "Interesting. Because according to Martha, Mr. Ray would never leave the property completely unguarded. She seemed bewildered by that."

A muscle twitched in Frank's jaw. "With all due respect to Martha, she doesn't know security protocols." His eyes darted between them, something calculating behind his gaze. "Look, I got the call. The order came straight from Mr. Ray himself. 'All staff go home.' Those were his exact words."

Jessie studied the security chief's face, noting the subtle tells. The slight flush creeping up his neck, the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger. Classic signs of deception. She'd seen them countless times during interrogations.

"Let's try another approach," she said. "Where did you go when you left the guardhouse this evening?”

Frank's posture stiffened. "Home. Right here."

"Can anyone verify that?" Alex asked.

"I live alone." Frank gestured toward the empty house. "But I was on the phone with a buddy for part of that time. Talking about the fishing trip we're planning next month."

Alex made another note. "We'll need that friend's name and contact information."

Frank's expression darkened. "Am I a suspect now? Because that's what this is starting to sound like."

"We're just being thorough," Jessie replied.

Frank's voice rose. "I followed orders, just like I always do."

"Always?" Jessie tilted her head. “We were told you've developed a habit of leaving your post early. Especially in the evening hours."

Frank's face flushed deeper, anger mixing with something that looked a lot like embarrassment. "Martha needs to mind her own business."

"Is Stella Green your business?" Jessie asked. The question landing like a stone dropped in still water.

The effect was immediate and unmistakable. Frank's anger vanished, replaced by genuine shock. "What?" he finally managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Alex watched the exchange with interest, his pen poised above the notebook. "Stella Green," he repeated. “Jack Green's wife. Korr’s mother. I understand you two have been... reconnecting."

“What’s this have to do with anything?" His voice had lost its bluster.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Jessie added. “We’re just trying to paint a picture of what happened tonight.”

"I had nothing to do with what happened to Mr. Ray," he said, eyes holding steady on Jessie's. "Nothing. I just want to make that clear.”

Alex closed his notebook with a deliberate snap. "If that's the case, then you have nothing to worry about. We'll just call your fishing buddy, confirm your alibi, and move on. Although, admittedly, it’s not a very strong one…”

"And if he can't quite corroborate your timeline?" Jessie added, letting the question hang in the space between them.

The security chief's shoulders sagged as something seemed to collapse inside him. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers rasping against his beard stubble. The sound filled the quiet room.

"I saw Stella," he finally admitted. "Briefly."

"When?" Alex's notebook was open again, pen poised.

"Around six-thirty. She was upset about something—the break-in at her house earlier. She just needed to talk…” He trailed off, then straightened his spine. "But that's all we did. Talk. For maybe forty-five minutes, then I came straight home."

"So, you've been seeing Stella Green." Alex's tone remained neutral, but his eyes were sharp. "For how long?"

The security chief's gaze drifted to the shelf of family photos. One showed a younger Frank with a smiling blonde woman. "Since Becky passed. Three years in October." His voice softened. "We were high school sweethearts, Stella and I, before Jack came along."

"And now?" Jessie pressed.

The man’s eyes narrowed. "Now I'm trying to convince her to leave him. She belongs with me.”

There was a possessiveness in his tone that sent a chill up Jessie’s spine. She threw a quick glance at Alex and saw that he had caught it as well.

"Has she given any indication she might leave him?" Alex asked, keeping his voice conversational.

Frank shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "She says she's tied to him. That they did something she can never undo." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "She never goes into details, just says they're bound together by things I wouldn't understand."

"And lately?" Jessie prompted. "You said she was upset today. About the break-in?"

"It's more than that." Frank moved to a worn armchair and sank into it, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-plus years. "The past few weeks, she's been different. Afraid."

"Of what?"

"That's just it, she won't say." Frank looked up, genuine confusion in his eyes. "She keeps checking over her shoulder, jumping at shadows. When I ask, she just says ‘you can’t keep the past buried’ and changes the subject."

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling a loose shutter against the side of the house. The baseball game on the television had ended, replaced by the local news. The volume was too low to hear, but Jessie could see footage of the Pine Haven hospital where Ray was taken, emergency lights flashing in the darkness.

Alex followed her gaze to the screen. "Did Stella ever mention any connection to Harlan Ray?”

Frank's brow furrowed. "Not directly, no. But ..." He paused, searching for words. “She didn’t like what I did. I think that was also part of why she wouldn’t commit to me, although she never said that. She didn’t like that man, that was for sure. She refused to ever come up and see me at his property…”

“Which is why you always went to her,” Jessie said.

He looked up, but didn’t answer.

Alex exchanged a look with Jessie before closing his notebook. “I think we’re done. For now. But if we think of any more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

They got up to leave and Jessie spun around to face Frank. “One last thing, do you have access to the security feed from the cameras? The room it’s in at the compound is locked.”

Frank shrugged. “Even if you get in, the footage is encrypted. The old man is paranoid about that. He has a lot of high-profile individuals who visit that he doesn’t want anyone knowing about.” His eyes locked onto Jessie. For the first time, he looked exhausted. Like a man beaten. “But I know the code to get in. And the password to the drives.”

Alex exhaled sharply and nodded. “Good. Get your coat. Looks like we’re headed back to the compound.”

Frank looked from one to the other, his face hopeful they weren’t serious. Finally, he let out a disgruntled sigh and stood, leading them out of the room. He grabbed his coat from a hook on the wall and threw open the door.

The report of a rifle rang out in the darkness, and the soft whup of a high-caliber slug striking flesh threw the man backwards to the floor. Jessie and Alex instinctively dove for cover as Frank lay sprawled on the floor between them, his chest gushing red.

30

The shot's echo rolled through the valley as Frank crumpled to the floor, his shocked eyes still open, a patch of red blossoming across his chest. The bullet had punched through his sternum. Center mass. A professional shot. Jessie and Alex instinctively rolled away from the body, locking eyes over his fallen form.

Jessie's hand moved to her ankle holster, drawing her compact Glock as Alex tore his shirt off in a single fluid motion. He slid across the floor to Frank, pressing the wadded fabric against the wound with one hand while retrieving his phone with the other. Frank's breathing came in wet, labored gasps, pink froth bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

Lung hit.

"Dispatch, this is Detective Thomas. I need an ambulance at 42 Ridgeline Road. Gunshot victim, chest wound, critical condition." Alex shifted his weight to better compress the wound, his knees sliding in the expanding pool of blood. "Go," he ordered Jessie, voice steady despite the warm blood already seeping through his fingers. "I've got him. Shooter might still be out there."

Frank’s hand shot up, grabbing Alex’s wrist with surprising strength. His eyes were wide as he gasped, blood flecking his lips. He opened his mouth, wet coughs choking off whatever he was trying to say.

Jessie didn't hesitate. She launched through the doorway in a crouch, staying low as she crossed the vulnerable space of the porch. A second shot splintered wood inches from her head as she dove behind one of the porch's support posts, pressing her back against it as she calculated.

High-powered rifle. Single shot. Professional. Not spray-and-pray or lucky. The shooter had waited patiently for the door to open and Frank to present himself perfectly in the frame.

She tracked the bullet's trajectory in her mind, mentally drawing a line from Frank's position through the doorway, across the yard. The timing of sound after impact told her approximate distance. The angle of entry in Frank's chest suggested elevation. The precision indicated a trained marksman with proper equipment.

Three factors narrowed the possible shooting positions: the slight delay between impact and sound, the downward angle of the shot, and the need for clear sightlines to the doorway. The shot had come from the tree line approximately two hundred yards northeast, likely using a scope with night vision or thermal capabilities given the darkness.

She ran a quick tactical assessment. The shooter had taken only one follow-up shot, conservative ammunition usage, not trying to hit her specifically. This wasn't someone panicking. They had accomplished their primary objective—Frank—and were now either repositioning or extracting.

A third shot punched through the post above her head, showering her with splinters. The report came a split-second later, confirming her assessment of distance. The shooter was trying to keep her pinned while creating distance. Whoever was firing knew what they were doing.

Jessie used the fading echo of the third shot to mask her movement, sucking in a breath and sprinting from cover. She zigzagged across the open ground between the house and the first row of equipment, making herself a difficult target by varying her pace and direction as her military training kicked in automatically. She slid behind the rusted tractor, her breathing controlled despite the hammering of her heart. No fourth shot came.

The shooter was repositioning. Or running. The three-shot pattern was classic: one to eliminate the target, one to suppress response, one to cover extraction.

She waited five seconds, listening for movement, then darted from cover to cover—tractor to truck shell to chicken coop—closing the gap toward the tree line. Each pause gave her time to scan for muzzle flash or movement. The darkness swallowed her as she reached the forest's edge, crouching low as her eyes adjusted to the deeper gloom beneath the canopy. She pressed her back against a thick pine, its rough bark catching on her jacket.

The forest presented new dangers. Limited visibility, restricted movement, and countless hiding places for an ambush. But it also offered her concealment, and the shooter would be dealing with the same limitations, and if she were lucky… without her training.

A twig snapped somewhere ahead, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed forest. Not directly ahead, about thirty degrees to her right, approximately forty yards in. The sound was too distinct, too isolated. Maybe intentional.

Jessie drew a slow, silent breath through her nose, tightening her grip on the Glock. She moved silently forward using the shadow-moving technique she'd picked up in the military. Each footfall precisely placed to avoid dead leaves and brittle branches. Her senses stretched out around her, cataloging every sound, every slight movement of air, every shift in the darkness. The familiar weight of the Glock steadied her as she advanced, her finger resting alongside the trigger guard.

Twenty yards in, she found it. A recently disturbed area behind a fallen log. Perfect sight line to the front door, partially sheltered from return fire by the position of several large boulders. The shooting nest showed discipline and forethought. The bark on top bore fresh scuff marks where a rifle barrel had rested, with pine needles carefully arranged to break up the silhouette. Spent brass glinted on the ground—.308 Winchester, match-grade ammunition judging by the casings. No fingerprints there; the shooter would have been wearing gloves. The earth still held body heat where the shooter had lain, confirming they'd only just fled.

The details screamed one thing. This wasn’t an amateur.

Another snap echoed through the forest, deeper in, followed by the faint sound of underbrush being pushed aside. Too obvious. Jessie's instincts flared a warning. The sound pattern was wrong. Inconsistent with someone trying to move quietly. A diversion?

She paused, straining her ears beyond that obvious noise, caught the softer sound of careful movement to her left. The shooter was attempting to lead her in one direction while extracting in another.

Jessie moved toward the genuine sound, staying low, using the trees for cover. Each step measured and deliberate. The forest floor was treacherous in the darkness, loose rocks threatened to slide underfoot, branches reached out like grasping fingers clawing at her clothing.

Ten yards. Twenty. Fifty.

The sounds grew fainter, more expert now that the shooter realized the diversion hadn't worked. Her quarry was adapting, moving more carefully. The gap was widening. The shooter had too much of a head start and clearly knew these woods better than she did.

She stopped and listened. A heavy silence settled over the forest, broken only by the distant call of a night bird. Whoever had been there was gone, vanished into the network of trails that crisscrossed the mountain. Pursuing further alone, in darkness, against someone with superior position, local knowledge, and possible night vision equipment would be suicide.

Jessie stood motionless for nearly a minute, straining to hear anything beyond the natural sounds of the forest. Nothing. Her jaw tightened as she reluctantly turned back, frustration burning in her chest. The shooter had escaped, but not without leaving evidence behind.

She began making her way back to the house at a slower clip. She maintained vigilance, scanning constantly for movement, keeping to the shadows. The shooter might be gone, but assumption was the mother of disaster.

Red and blue emergency lights flashed in the distance. The ambulance had arrived but wasn't using sirens. Not a good sign.

Alex knelt where she had left him, but his body language had changed. His undershirt was saturated with blood, his shirt an unrecognizable wad of cloth on the floor beside him. He looked up as she entered, his hands covered in blood to the wrists and shook his head once.

"He's gone," Alex said softly. "Bled out before the ambulance could even get here. Paramedics just confirmed it." His voice carried the flat, mechanical quality that came with processing trauma.

Jessie bent down, holstering her weapon, and stared at Frank's still form. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, the last expression of surprise still etched on his features. Someone had placed a blanket over most of his body, but it couldn't hide the reality of what had happened. The pool of blood had spread across the wooden floor, soaking into the grain.

"Got a shell from the shooter's position," she said, holding up the spent .308 casing. "Professional job. And I didn’t have an evidence bag on me, but hopefully the crime techs can pull something other than my prints off it.”

“Did you get a look at them?” Alex asked.

"No. They were gone before I could get close. Knew the terrain too well." She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. "Whoever did this was waiting for Frank to open the door. And they were confident enough to take the shot with the two of us here with him.”

He shook his head, his hands trembled as the spike of adrenaline left his system. “Why?”

Jessie stood. “If Frank was the only other person able to get that security footage…”

“Then he was a potential threat,” Alex finished. He took out his phone carefully. “I’m calling forensics to photograph the scene here and I’m also sending a team to Harlan’s compound to seize whatever equipment is in that security room. One way or another, we’re getting into it.”

Jessie was sullen, dark thoughts forming in the back of her mind. Thoughts she wasn’t yet ready to share.

“What is it?” Alex said.

She sighed, masking her features. “I just… hate that the shooter got away.”

Alex nodded. “Not your fault. You know that. We need to head back to the office. I’ll need to write this up. You get some rest. First thing in the morning, we have two leads to follow up on.”

Jessie frowned. “Two? Stella and Jack Green I’m assuming. But the second?”

Alex’s face turned serious. “This was a professional shoot. A marksman.” Jessie felt her stomach sink. “If the help at Harlan’s compound knew that Stella Green was having an affair with Frank, then I’m pretty sure Korr knows as well.”

Jessie bit the inside of her cheek. She should have known Alex would draw the same conclusion she did.

31

Steam rose from the ancient coffee maker in the break room, the burnt smell hanging in the air. Jessie leaned against the counter, watching the dark liquid drip into the carafe with painful slowness. The station stood eerily quiet in the early morning hours. A brief lull before the storm that was a police department. Even one as small as Pine Haven’s.

Alex entered, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion that matched her own. Neither had slept much since Frank's murder. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, placing it beside Jessie's on the counter without comment.

"We need to think this through carefully," Jessie said. She had decided it was something they needed to discuss head-on. It wasn’t something they had the luxury of dancing around. "Before we start thinking of Korr as a suspect."

Alex's shoulders tensed at her words. "What's there to think through? We follow the evidence."

"The evidence is circumstantial at best," Jessie countered, her voice low despite the empty break room.

The coffee maker sputtered its final drops. Jessie poured two cups, sliding one toward Alex. He took it wordlessly, his eyes studying her over the rim as he sipped.

"I don't understand your reluctance here," he said finally. “It’s not like we’re going to arrest the guy. We just need to ask him some questions. Same as we would anyone else that might be part of the investigation. Besides, I’m pretty sure you put it together same as I did. Korr obviously has been trained to handle firearms. Personal connection to both victims. The man knows more about fire than anyone I’ve ever met. And it still doesn’t sit with me that he just happened to be inside the Historical Society the night of the break-in.”

Jessie looked away, focusing on a bulletin board across the room filled with departmental memos and outdated wanted posters. Her head told her Alex was right. But her gut wasn’t so sure.

Alex set his mug down with a little more force than necessary. "Is there some other reason you don't want to see him as a suspect in this?"

The question hung between them. Jessie felt a muscle tighten in her jaw.

"Let's continue this in your office," she said, pushing away from the counter. “I’m pretty sure your new boss keeps the same hours we do, and I don’t think either of us are ready to bring this to her just yet.”

Alex nodded curtly, grabbing his coffee and leading the way through the mostly empty bullpen. A lone officer looked up from paperwork as they passed, nodding in silent greeting before returning to the stack of forms in front of him.

Once inside his office, Alex closed the door and moved to his desk. Files from the investigation lay spread across the surface in organized chaos. Photos of the lodge, the crime scene at Frank's house, and medical reports from the autopsy formed a grim mosaic of the unfolding case. He sat down, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Jessie dropped into the chair, resting her coffee mug on the desk.

“Let’s break it down,” Alex said. He pulled a legal pad from under the stack of photos and began taking notes. “Knowledge of custom accelerants and burn patterns. That’s his wheelhouse. Frank was killed with a single shot fired from over two hundred yards away, and you even said that was a professional shot.”

Jessie crossed her arms. “We both know there are a lot of hunters around here that could have made that shot. But we’re missing one key part. Motive.”

Alex pressed. "Frank was sleeping with Korr's mother, possibly breaking up his parents' marriage. That's personal."

Jessie crossed her arms. "Then what about Harlan Ray? What's the motive there?"

Alex leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, maybe Korr blames Ray for something connected to his family? Korr seemed pretty angry with that man’s business practices.”

Jessie nodded. “You mean like half the town? I’ve yet to meet anyone with a nice thing to say about Harlan Ray or Marcus. I’m betting that man has a lot of enemies.”

“Had,” said Alex, with a sigh. Jessie arched an eyebrow at the detective, and he nodded. “I got the word after getting home last night. Harlan didn’t make it.”

Jessie was silent for a moment. “Well, this changes things.”

“It ups the pressure on us,” Alex said. “This is the type of thing the national news service will pick up on. The Ray family is going to start putting pressure on the mayor, who will push down on the chief, which means that I will be in her crosshairs until this is solved…”

As if on cue, a knock preceded the opening of the office door.

Chief Daniels stuck her head in. “Good. You’re both here. My office. Now.”

Alex took a deep breath, locking eyes with Jessie as they both rose and followed the police chief back to her office. Once inside, she gestured to the two chairs across from her desk. “Have a seat.”

Alex immediately leaned forward, his shoulders tense beneath his wrinkled shirt. "Chief, I want you to know we're pursuing every possible lead on the Ray murder. We've got forensics rushing the ballistics from Frank Lewis, and we're developing a theory that connects both incidents. I understand there's pressure from the mayor’s office, but⁠—"

Chief Daniels held up her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. Her stern expression softened into something neither Jessie nor Alex had seen from her before.

"Detective Thomas," she said, "I didn't call you in here about that.”

Alex blinked, thrown off rhythm. "You didn't?"

The chief leaned back slightly in her chair, the rigid posture she typically maintained giving way to something more human. "No. I heard about what happened at Frank Lewis' house. A suspect you were questioning shot dead in your presence. I called you both in to ask how you're doing."

The tension in the room quickly turned to surprise. Jessie watched Alex's face as he processed the unexpected concern, his defensive stance gradually relaxing.

"We're fine," he said automatically, then glanced at Jessie.

Chief Daniels studied them both, her dark eyes missing nothing. "Detective, Ms. Night, I've worked enough cases to know that witnessing a violent death isn't something most people just shake off. Even experienced officers."

She stood up and moved around to the front of her desk, perching on its edge. The deliberateness of the action wasn’t lost on Jessie. It removed the barrier between them.

"When I took this position, I knew my style might be a little foreign to you,” the chief continued. “But I made a commitment to run this department differently than what you might be used to. Part of that means understanding that my officers are people first, badges second."

Alex shifted in his chair. "We appreciate the concern, Chief, but really⁠—“

"Let me finish," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "You don't need to worry about pressure from the mayor’s office regarding Harlan Ray's murder. That's what I'm here for. I can handle Mayor Beaumont."

She folded her hands in her lap, her wedding band catching the light. "What I need from you two is good police work. And that means taking care of yourselves. If either of you need time or would benefit from speaking with someone about what you witnessed, I can arrange that. Discreetly."

Jessie hadn't expected this, certainly not from a woman who had come across as all starched uniforms and protocol.

"Thank you," Jessie said. "For now, I think we're both focused on finding who's responsible."

The chief nodded, studying them both. "I understand. But my door is open if that changes." She returned to her chair, pulling a folder from her desk drawer. "Now, what do you actually have? And don't give me the sanitized version you're planning to present at the briefing. I want the real picture."

Alex glanced at Jessie before answering. "We are narrowing our suspect list, and there is definitely someone we want to question, but the evidence is circumstantial. We're concerned about moving too quickly and spooking them."

Chief Daniels' eyes narrowed slightly. “That sounds promising. Is the suspect a local?”

"Yes," Alex replied. “We’re looking at potential connections to both victims."

The chief nodded slowly. "Then proceed carefully. I grew up in a small town like this. They have long memories, and false accusations can poison relationships for generations." She tapped a finger against her desk. "I'm giving you both latitude on this. I trust your judgment."

Jessie felt a weight lift that she hadn't realized was pressing down on her. This wasn't the administrative dressing-down they'd been expecting.

The chief smiled, a genuine expression that transformed her face. “Alright, carry on." She glanced down at her watch. "I have a meeting with the mayor in an hour. Anything I should know before I walk in there?"

"Just that we're making progress," Jessie said. "And that we appreciate the support."

Chief Daniels stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Sometimes that's all people need to hear. That someone competent is handling things." Her gaze fixed on Jessie. "Something tells me you understand that better than most, Ms. Night."

As they walked out of the office, Jessie noticed the slight shift in Alex's demeanor. The rigid tension had eased from his shoulders. He was more centered now. More focused.

"Well," he said quietly as they moved down the hallway, "that's not what I was expecting."

"No," Jessie agreed. “And that’s a good thing.” She glanced back at the chief's office, the door now closed as the woman inside prepared to run interference with the mayor. "Sometimes the best leaders aren't the ones who demand results at any cost."

They entered Alex’s office and he let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. About earlier. I just… This is my first big case as a detective, and I wanted to impress the new chief.” He looked down at his shoes. “I wanted to impress you.”

Jessie worked to suppress the shock on her face. “Alex, I’m pretty sure you’ve already done that. On both accounts.”

“Look, I should have approached things differently with Korr. I still think we need to speak with him… but I’m willing to follow your lead on how that happens.”

Jessie felt heat threatening to color her cheeks. “And I apologize for coming off so defensive. I respect your instincts and agree. It would be a dereliction on our part to not talk to the man.”

Alex smiled, a wave of relief washing over his features. “Well, in that case… first things first. We need to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Green. If Jack knew his wife was fooling around with Frank, then we need to know his whereabouts last night as well.”

“After you,” Jessie said.

“We’ll stop at the bakery,” Alex offered. “Pick up some sweets for them. It would be rude to show up empty-handed. Even for a questioning in a murder investigation.”

32

The line at Angela's Bakery stretched nearly to the door, the morning rush in full swing as locals queued for their caffeine fix and sugar boost to start the day. Jessie stood beside Alex, watching him study the display case with uncharacteristic intensity.

"I can't decide between the cinnamon rolls or the bear claws," he muttered, hands shoved in his pockets.

Jessie smirked. "Only in Pine Haven would a detective bring pastries to people he's about to question about a double homicide."

Alex gave her a sideways glance. "It's called being neighborly."

“Where I come from it would be called weird," Jessie countered.

"Everyone in Pine Haven treats everyone like family," Alex said with a shrug. "Until they prove otherwise." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Besides, people talk more when they're eating something sweet. Basic interrogation technique."

Jessie laughed. “Well, I’ll be sure to add that to my list. I’m sure it’s right up there with the ‘we know it all’ bluff and the tried but true good-cop bad-cop routine.”

Alex laughed and returned to perusing the goods in the display case as the line inched forward. Jessie scanned the bakery, cataloging the morning crowd out of habit. The usual assortment of retirees occupied the tables near the windows, nursing coffees and sharing sections of the local paper. A group of mothers with preschoolers huddled in the corner, trading war stories while their children colored placemats with crayons.

Jessie's gaze stopped abruptly at a table tucked against the far wall. "Speaking of treating family like family," she said quietly, nudging Alex with her elbow. "Look who's having coffee together."

Alex followed her gaze to where Eleanor Whitfield and Stella Green sat huddled in intense conversation. Stella's back was to them, but her posture was rigid, hands clasped tightly around her mug. Eleanor leaned forward, speaking in low tones, her face carrying the same stern expression Jessie remembered from the Historical Society.

"Well, that's interesting," Alex murmured. "Especially given what we just learned about Frank and Stella."

"Whatever they're discussing, they look thick as thieves," Jessie observed. "And neither seems particularly happy about it."

Eleanor's eyes darted up, scanning the bakery as if checking for eavesdroppers. Her gaze swept past Jessie and Alex without recognition; her attention too focused on her conversation.

A thunderous crash from behind the counter interrupted Jessie's surveillance. She spun around to see a barista standing frozen in horror beside a shattered coffee pot, dark liquid spreading across the tile floor in a steaming puddle. The young woman's face crumpled in embarrassment as conversations throughout the bakery fell silent.

"Oh no, Sammy, are you okay?" The bakery owner rushed forward with a towel. "Did you burn yourself?"

The commotion drew everyone's attention. Jessie instinctively stepped back from the counter, giving the staff room to clean up. She glanced over at Angela, concern etched in the older woman's features as she fussed over her young employee.

"I'm fine," the barista insisted, her face flushed. "I just… the handle was loose and I didn't realize…"

Jessie turned back to continue her observation of Eleanor and Stella, but found her view now blocked by the shifting crowd of customers. She edged to the side, peering around a tall man who had stepped into her line of sight.

When the view cleared, Eleanor sat alone at the table, both coffee cups still in place. The chair across from her was empty, its occupant nowhere to be seen. Jessie's eyes snapped to the front door just in time to see it swinging slowly closed, the small bell above it still tinkling softly.

Eleanor remained seated, her expression unreadable as she meticulously folded a napkin into precise quarters. Nothing in her demeanor suggested urgency or distress at her companion's abrupt departure. She simply sat, back straight, eyes fixed on some middle distance, lost in thought.

“Interesting,” Jessie whispered to Alex. “Stella vanished.”

The detective studied the scene before casually turning back to the display. “Maybe you should go over and say hi. See what kind of vibe Eleanor gives.”

“Good idea.” Eleanor's attention shifted to her, recognition dawning in her eyes as Jessie approached.

"Ms. Night," Eleanor acknowledged, her tone carefully neutral. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Good morning, Ms. Whitfield," Jessie replied, keeping her voice casual. “I was just picking up some morning pastries before they were gone and saw you sitting here. Thought I’d say hi.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you again.” Her eyes darted quickly to Alex before landing back on Jessie. “Are you two working on a case?” Her fingers began to work at the napkin, folding and unfolding it nervously.

“Oh, we are about to drop in on a friend and wanted to bring them something. You know… rude to show up empty-handed.”

Eleanor gave her a forced smile. “Look at you. Fitting right in I see.”

Jessie cleared her throat. “Look, I really just wanted to come by and say I’m sorry about Harlan. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.”

Eleanor's eyebrows shot up for a moment before the woman regained her composure. “No, you can’t. But you know what they say. Live by the gun…”

Jessie tried to hide her shock at the woman’s callousness. “Still, he was your brother. So, I’m sorry.”

Eleanor pursed her lips but didn’t respond.

“Oh, was that Stella Green I saw you sitting with? I wanted to say hi to her as well.”

The older woman’s brow furrowed as she looked up at Jessie. “Stella? No, dear, you must be mistaken. I’ve been sitting here alone this morning.”

Now it was Jessie’s turn to hide her shock. “Oh, well… it’s crowded in here. Morning rush and all. I must have been mistaken.”

Eleanor gave her a direct stare. “Well, no shame in making a mistake.” Jessie started to speak but Eleanor made it a point of studying her watch. “Well. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I really must get back to the Society. Robert is waiting for me to give him direction as to what collection we need to archive next. Busy, busy you know.” She stood and nodded to Jessie. “Please give my regards to Detective Thomas, will you?”

And with that, she was gone. Jessie returned to Alex just as he was accepting a large box from the cashier.

“Well, what did she have to say?” Alex asked, heading for the door.

“A lie,” Jessie replied. “That’s what she had to say.”

“Did you mention Harlan?”

“I did. And she wasn’t the least bit shook up about it.” Outside the door, she turned to Alex. “According to Eleanor, she was alone in there. Stella was never here. Let’s see how well your box of sugar works when it comes to getting to the truth.”

They reached the cruiser and Jessie stopped, taking out her phone. She pulled up a number and waited for an answer on the other end. “Will? Hi, it’s Jessie. What?” She rolled her eyes in Alex’s direction. “Oh, please. You know the hospital was all business… I would never just brush you off.” She waited for a beat, nodding her head impatiently at the reporter. “Okay, fine. I have a favor… yes, again… and if you help me, I will officially owe you one. I need you to look into something for me. Something involving Harlan Ray.”

33

As with most dwellings, the Green house looked far more welcoming without the presence of police cruisers, flashing lights, and paramedics parked out front. It was a cozy, two story traditional nestled between two towering pines. Alex balanced the bakery box carefully as they negotiated the three concrete steps leading to the front door. A worn welcome mat greeted them, its faded letters barely legible.

“Remember,” Alex said, reaching for the doorbell, “this is just a friendly follow up to the break-in.”

Jessie nodded as the sound of footsteps approached from inside. The door swung open to reveal Jack Green, his weathered face brightening with recognition. He wore a faded Pine Haven Fire Department t-shirt that had seen better days, and a pair of worn jeans. The small bandage above his eyebrow was the only visible reminder of their previous visit.

"Detective Thomas," he said, his voice carrying just the slightest edge despite his welcoming smile. "And Ms. Night. Wasn't expecting to see you folks again so soon."

Alex held up the bakery box. "Thought we'd stop by with something from Angela's to check how you're doing after all the excitement."

Jack's eyes darted briefly between them before his posture relaxed. "That's mighty thoughtful." He stepped back, holding the door wide. "Come on in. Stella's just putting away groceries."

They followed him through the compact living room where family photos covered nearly every available surface. Most featured Korr in various stages of life. As a gap-toothed child holding a trophy, a teenager in a high school football uniform, and in more recent shots, his smoke jumper gear.

They entered the kitchen, and Jessie noticed just how warm and inviting the space was. Stella Green stood with her back to them, unpacking a paper grocery bag. At their entrance, she turned, her eyes widening slightly before a smile spread across her face. She was a petite woman with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.

"Well, hello there," she said, brushing her hands on her apron. "Jack didn't mention we were expecting company."

"We weren't," Jack said, moving to the cabinet for mugs. "They just stopped by to check on us. Brought us something for my sweet tooth.”

Stella’s eyes tracked to the bakery box before she narrowed them at her husband. “Just one. You know what the doctor said about watching your sugar intake.” She looked up warmly at their guests. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Jessie said. “We managed to snag them just as they were coming out of the oven. Oh, I thought I saw you in there. I meant to say hi.”

Stella's hands paused momentarily as she folded an empty grocery bag. "This morning? No, I was at Farmer's Market as soon as they opened.” She patted the refrigerator door. "Have to get there early if you want the good produce before it gets picked over."

Jessie smiled. “My mistake. Must have been someone that looked like you.”

Jack set a coffee pot on the table alongside four mugs. "Just made a fresh pot. You two take cream or sugar?"

"Black for me," Alex replied.

"Same," said Jessie, settling into a chair at the kitchen table.

Jack poured four cups of coffee and opened the bakery box, revealing an assortment of pastries. "These look delicious. Stella, come sit down and have one while they're fresh. He selected a bear claw before looking back up at the investigators. “You two find out anything about who broke in here? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here. Any leads?”

Alex sipped his coffee. "We're making progress. Working through a couple of angles. Actually, we wanted to ask if you remembered anything else about the intruder. Sometimes details come back after you've had time to process."

Stella settled into the chair beside her husband, placing a hand on his arm. "Jack's been through so much. I wish I'd been the one to walk in on that person instead."

Her husband patted her hand. “Nonsense. What would you have done against that ruffian?”

Stella’s eyes threatened to well up and she blinked quickly, before reaching into the box. “I’d have given him a sharply worded piece of my mind, that's what.”

Jack laughed slightly and brushed a piece of her hair away from her face. Despite what she knew, Jessie found herself touched by the small gesture. This was a man who loved his wife deeply. It didn’t seem like the actions of someone who knew they had been betrayed.

“Well, I’m just glad it didn’t turn out any worse than it did,” Jessie said. “Has anything like this happened before?"

Stella's fingers nervously shredded the pastry she had picked out. "No, nothing like this. We've always felt safe here."

Alex leaned forward. "You said the intruder was in your study. Now that you’ve had some time, are you certain nothing was taken?"

Jack's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Nothing worth stealing in there. Old fire department records, family photos." He shrugged. "Maybe they thought I had cash stashed away somewhere."

"Do you?" Jessie asked bluntly.

Jack laughed. "On a retired firefighter's pension? Hardly."

Stella stood suddenly. "I almost forgot. Would either of you like some fresh fruit with your pastry? I got wonderful berries this morning."

As she moved to the refrigerator, Jessie noticed the slight tremor in her hands. The woman was nervous, and not just about unexpected company.

“Mr. and Mrs. Green," Jessie said gently. "I was wondering if you've heard about what happened to Ray Harlan and Frank Lewis last night." She watched Stella closely. The older woman’s frame stiffened just a bit as she turned slowly with a glass bowl of berries. Her face was pensive, and she didn’t look up.

Jack paused mid-bite and looked up at them. “Sorry, we typically don’t turn the news on until the evening. So depressing these days. What happened?”

“Mr. Harlan was assaulted in his home,” Alex said. He hesitated for just a moment. “Then, later the same evening, Mr. Lewis was murdered at his home.”

Jack dropped the bear claw loudly onto the saucer he was eating over. “What? That can’t be right. Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so,” Alex continued. “We’re still trying to piece everything together.”

Jack sat back in his chair, heaving a sigh of disbelief. “And Harlan? How is he?”

Alex exchanged looks with Jessie before continuing. “I’m afraid his injuries were too severe. He didn’t make it.”

Jack lifted a hand and slapped it loudly on the table. “I’ll be damned. I hate it ended this way for him.” He looked up and saw the incredulous look on Jessie’s face. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. That bastard ruined so many lives I don’t really give a lick that he’s gone. I just wanted the law to catch up to him one day. Figured he’d spend his last years rotting in a cell somewhere. And from what I hear, they were damn close to getting him. Well, maybe now that he’s out of the way, Junior can be next. Then this mountain can be rid of those Rays once and for all.”

There was anger and bitterness in his voice unlike any Jessie had heard before. The kind of hurt that took root in a person over a lifetime. Jack looked up, his eyes sweeping from them to briefly land on his wife.

And there it was.

A brief flare. Pain. A different kind. A kind of hurt that can only be inflicted by someone you drop all your guards for.

But as quick as it was there, it was gone.

Stella made her way to the chair, slowly, dropping into it, trying to keep the feeling at bay.

“Stella? Are you okay?” Alex asked.

Jack was on his feet and at his wife’s side, lifting her hand in his. “I”ll get you some water.” He spun, moving to the sink and lifting a glass from the drying rack sitting on the small side counter. He came back, offering the drink to Stella.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was weak as she waved him off. “I’m just… it’s so shocking.” She didn’t lift her eyes as she spoke. “Frank—what… are you sure?”

Alex kept his voice low and soft. “I’m afraid so. We were with him when it happened.”

The woman shook her head, her breath becoming ragged. “Was it… did he suffer?”

Alex looked briefly at Jessie before continuing. “It was quick.” Sometimes, a small lie was needed to prevent a bigger pain.

“Did… you know him well?” Jessie asked.

Stella shook her head, but her voice cracked when she finally managed to speak. “It’s just… so much violence lately. It’s overwhelming. No one… deserves this.”

Jack swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Do you think there’s a connection? Between what happened to them… and our break-in?”

“Honestly, that’s what we’re trying to determine,” Jessie said. “That’s why it’s so important that we know if there was anything taken from your home. Anything that might be missing. No matter how small.”

Jack shook his head. “Other than causing a mess, the thief didn’t take anything. I wish I could help you.”

Stella looked up at Jessie. Her face was ashen, and her hands were trembling. She held Jessie’s gaze before dropping her eyes.

“Stella?” Jessie said. “Is there something you need to tell us?”

The woman looked up at her husband. Her shoulders began to shake with emotions she could no longer contain. Tears streaked her face as she reached for her husband’s hand. “Jack… I… I am so sorry.”

Her husband frowned, confusion washing over him. “Stella, what is it? What’s the matter?”

His wife was shaking her head, her face pinched. “I know we weren’t supposed to keep it. Or anything. But… she was my friend.”

Jack’s posture changed. He stiffened, his hand slowly drawing back from his wife’s. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Stella. What did you do?”

“I didn’t think it would matter. It was such a small thing.” Her voice cracked. Her eyes were pleading as she looked up at her husband.

Jessie kept her voice professional but pointed. She had a feeling Stella knew something, and she intended to find out what it was. “Stella. What is it? We can’t help you if you don’t help us.”

“There was something taken. But it was so small. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else…” The older woman seemed genuinely confused. Her face had paled even more and a thin line of sweat had formed across her forehead. Eyes that suddenly looked older than their years found her husband's. “I know you said we couldn’t, but… I just wanted a memory. I kept the announcement. It was in your office. Along with the⁠—“

Jack cut her off. “What announcement?”

“It was her funeral notice.”

Jack's hand trembled as he ran it across his face. “Oh, Stella…”

His wife’s face pinched, and her breathing became more ragged. “I’m sorry. I just… I needed something else to remember her by. I didn’t get to be with her when she died. She should have had someone with her. It was the least she deserved.” Stella’s voice caught in her throat as she began to cough.

“Can I get you something?” Alex said, standing.

Jessie was at the woman’s side immediately. “Stella? Stella are you okay?” The older woman had her eyes closed, a grimace contorting her features as she leaned forward in the chair.

“She has anxiety,” Jack said, alarmed. He rushed from the room only to return with a small pill bottle. “She has medicine. She needs one of her pills.”

Jessie had two fingers on the woman’s neck, a look of alarm spreading over her features. “No, this isn’t an anxiety attack. Alex, she needs an ambulance. I think she’s having a heart attack.”

Stella was moaning, her fist clutched, grasping at her chest. Her blouse was soaked and she no longer responded to Jessie’s prompts. She looked up at Jack. “Call 9-1-1! Alex, help me lay her on the floor.”

The table scraped the linoleum flooring as Alex hastily shoved it to one side. They could hear Jack on the phone as they eased Stella to the floor. Jessie placed an ear to the woman’s mouth and then pressed two fingers to her neck before looking up at Alex, shaking her head, her eyes wide. “She doesn’t have a pulse.”

34

The doors that led to the intensive care units at Pine Haven Regional flew inward so hard that Jessie feared they had been ripped from their hinges.

Korr flew through the doors, faster than a man his size should have been able to move. He crossed the waiting room, zeroing in on the receptionist sitting behind a partition at the far end of the space. Her eyes grew large as the man ran towards her, his mop of dark hair plastered to his head, eyes blazing.

Jessie was in front of him before he could reach the hapless receptionist. She held a hand up, placing it on his chest as he approached. “Korr! She’s alright. She had a cardiac event but she’s with the doctors now having a stent placed. She’s going to be okay. The doctors said she got here in time.”

The big smoke jumper stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she was saying. “Jessie? When Dad called, he said… Oh God… he said she had a heart attack. That she was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

“Korr, she’s going to be okay. The doctors said her heart is going to be fine. She’s strong. She’s going to pull through this.”

Her words finally seemed to cut through the fog that had blinded Korr. Realization began to seep into the man’s eyes, displacing the fear that had shone through just seconds earlier. His shoulders slumped and just like that, the big, strong firefighter who leapt out of planes into the heart of danger was gone. Instead, Jessie saw a boy standing before her. One who wanted nothing more than to see his mother in that moment. To wrap his arms around her frail form and have her tell him everything was going to be okay.

Instead, as the tears he had been holding back finally fell, he slumped into Jessie’s arms. She led him to a chair along one wall and eased him down.

Then she sat next to him and let him cry.

Eventually, his sobs subsided, and his breathing began to return to normal. “I was so afraid. I thought she was gone.” His voice was small. Far away. He took a deep breath and looked up at Jessie. “Thank you. Dad told me you did CPR on her until the paramedics arrived.”

Jessie felt her ears begin to burn. “I did what I could. Like I said, your mother is a strong woman.”

He locked eyes with her. “Still. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” He looked around. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s downstairs in the intake office with Alex. Once they started work on your mother, he went to give them insurance information and fill out her medical forms.”

Korr was nodding along with her. “I just don’t get it. Mom’s never had a heart condition. I mean, of the two of them, she’s the healthy one.” His brow furrowed as he looked at Jessie. “Hey, what were you guys doing there? I mean, don’t get me wrong… I’m glad you were.”

“We were checking in to see how they were doing after the break-in. To see if maybe they had noticed anything missing now that they’ve had time to sit with the situation.”

“Makes sense. And what did they say? Anything gone?”

Jessie paused, not quite sure how far to take the conversation. “Your mother said there was a funeral announcement that was missing. I got the impression it was for a family friend.” There seemed to be enough secrets surrounding this case. She wasn’t about to add more.

Korr’s brows knitted together as he considered her words. “A funeral announcement? What would someone want with that? Do you know who it was for?”

Jessie shook her head. “No. We didn’t get that far…” Korr tensed, and Jessie could see what he was thinking written on his face. “Stella became upset and agitated talking about it. That’s when… it happened.”

The big man didn’t speak, just fixed his eyes on something straight ahead, all expressions fading.

“Korr. How much do you know about your parents' private life? Specifically, the time before you were adopted?”

His head turned to her slowly. “They’re my parents. I know everything about them. I know when and how they met. I know where their first date was. I know how my father proposed. I know that my mom is lactose intolerant and that my father is borderline diabetic and the only thing keeping him from tumbling over that line is my mother. What exactly would you like to know?”

She knew it wasn’t intentional, but Jessie sensed a combination of annoyance and a challenge in his voice. “Korr, were they ever… did they ever take a break in their relationship?”

She felt him flinch, his nostrils quivering ever so slightly. “What are you asking?”

Jessie swallowed, biting at the inside of her lip. She’d come too far to stop now. “Korr, there’s something I need to tell you⁠—“

They were interrupted by one of the nurses dressed in blue scrubs as she approached. “Are you the family of Mrs. Green?”

Korr stood quickly. “Yes, I’m her son.”

The nurse smiled. “She’s back in her room now and you’re welcome to see her. The doctor is waiting to speak with you.”

Korr turned to Jessie and she waved him on. “Go. I’ll stay here until your father comes back up. I’ll send him in to join you.”

The nod he gave her was stiffer than usual as he turned to follow the nurse out of the waiting room. Jessie sat alone, her mind focused on the news she had to deliver to Korr. She didn’t feel right about telling the man that his mother was having an affair with her high school sweetheart. It wasn’t her place to tell him. The thought of being the one to do so made her stomach knot. And at this point would it do any good? She frowned, sinking back against the hard plastic of the chair. How would Korr knowing help their case? She was beginning to question if involving him in the investigation had been a good decision.

She couldn't escape the feeling that she'd be crossing a line, inserting herself into something deeply personal that predated the current case by decades. And would that accomplish anything beyond pain? Would it actually move them closer to identifying who was behind the murders?

She rubbed her temples. The line between professional and personal was blurring, and in her experience, that never ended well.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke through her thoughts. She looked up to see Jack Green rushing into the waiting area. Alex followed close behind, his expression grim as he caught Jessie's eye over the older man's shoulder.

“Any news? Is she okay?” Jack asked, each word tripping over the one before.

Jessie stood, careful to keep her voice level. "She's stable, Mr. Green. Korr is with her now. The doctor just took him back."

Relief and anguish washed across Jack's weathered features. "Thank God. And Korr—he's okay?"

“He’s very worried about his mother. But he was happy to know she’s going to be just fine. Come on, I can show you where to go.”

She guided Jack to the nurses' station, watching as he disappeared down the same corridor that had swallowed Korr minutes earlier. Alex moved to her side, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. “Jack’s a mess. Barely holding it together.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Jessie replied, moving back to the seating area. "How much did he tell you?"

“He gave me the name of Stella's friend—the one who passed away. Bethany Snyder."

Jessie thought for a moment. “Why does that name sound familiar? Did he say how this woman could possibly be connected to this?”

Alex shook his head. "That's the strange part. He clammed up almost immediately after mentioning her name. But Jessie,” he leaned closer. "You should have seen his reaction just saying it out loud. His hands started shaking.”

“Could be that’s what triggered Stella’s heart attack. That or the news that Frank had been killed. There’s something between the two of them… not sure what it is, but I have a gut feeling this is all related somehow.”

Alex let out a deep sigh. “A dead woman from the past and a very live arsonist in the present. I don’t see it.”

“Me either. At least not yet. Did he say how she died?”

"Cancer, apparently. About five years ago." Alex ran a hand over his face. "But when I asked where she lived before that, or how Stella knew her, he practically shut down. By then he’d finished filling out all the medical forms and wanted nothing more than to get to his wife’s side. So, we came right up.”

Jessie processed this, adding another piece to the increasingly complex puzzle they were assembling. "So, we have a name now. Bethany Snyder. And a connection to Stella that Jack doesn't want to discuss."

"Exactly." Alex checked his watch. "I've already put in a request for any records on her. Should have something by morning."

Jessie nodded, her mind already mapping out potential connections. Names had power in cases like this. They were doorways to histories and relationships that suspects often hoped would remain closed.

Jessie’s phone buzzed and she looked at the screen before swiping at it with her thumb. She held the phone out between her and Alex. “Hi, Will, I’ve got you on speaker. I’m here with Alex.”

“Hey, Alex,” came the reporter’s cheery voice. “Jessie, I’ve got that info you asked for.”

“Lay it on me,” the investigator replied.

“Well, it took a bit of digging, but I was able to get a look at Harlan’s last will and testament. Had to cash in a few chips with the law firm handling the case, but one of the paralegals I know was able to get me what you asked for. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not even sure if she is a para⁠—“

“Will,” Jessie interrupted, “we’re kind of in a time-crunch here.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat. “So, the will wasn’t changed or updated in the last fifteen years. It clearly states that in the event of his death, Harlan left Marcus forty-nine percent of his company holdings, and the other fifty-one percent goes to… his sister. Eleanor. The estate holdings are valued at approximately thirty-seven million dollars.”

Jessie’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re sure?”

“Yep. My friend snapped a quick pic of the document and sent it to me. It’s all valid.”

Jessie stared at Alex, nodding along. “Thank you, Will. I really appreciate it.”

The man on the other end of the phone gave a quick guffaw. “Appreciation is fine… but you now owe me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make good on it.” The line went dead as Jessie stabbed at the screen.

“Wow,” said Alex. “Looks like we now have two more suspects in the running. An angry son who didn’t get control of a fortune, and the sister who has now inherited that control.”

“We still need a motive,” Jessie reminded him.

“I think we just found thirty-seven million of them.”

Jessie looked at her partner. “I’m going to go pay Eleanor a visit.” She frowned. “Or maybe I’ll pay Robert a visit. Maybe feel him out. Something tells me things aren’t as bad between Eleanor and her late brother as she’s been letting on.”

“Good idea. I’m going to stay here and see if I can take another run at Mr. Green. See if he is willing to come clean with any more information on our mystery woman.”

Jessie gave him a nod and headed for the exit. She had a feeling that whoever had killed Harlan and Frank was also the person that burned down the lodge.

And by extension had killed Officer Martinez.

She knew that time wasn’t on her side. Whoever was behind this was either escalating or cleaning house. She wasn’t sure which, but both possibilities weren’t good. They both pointed to the fact that yet another body could pop up at any minute. Jessie gritted her teeth at the thought.

No. She wasn’t going to allow that to happen. She would do whatever it took to prevent it. And that meant starting with the president of the Historical Society and her son. One of them knew something. And no matter what it might take, she was going to get them to tell her.

35

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor provided a steady backdrop to the otherwise silent hospital room. Korr sat in the molded plastic chair beside his mother's bed, watching the green line trace her heartbeat across the screen. Each peak and valley represented another moment she was still with them.

Still breathing.

Still here.

Stella looked impossibly small against the stark white sheets, her silver-streaked hair fanned across the pillow. The nurse had helped her change into her own nightgown rather than the standard hospital gown. A small comfort that Korr knew would mean a lot to his mother. Despite the tubes running from her arm and the oxygen cannula beneath her nose, she looked peaceful. Almost content.

Jack hadn't let go of her hand since they'd been allowed into the room. His weathered fingers intertwined with hers, thumb absently stroking the back of her hand in slow, rhythmic movements. The gesture was so familiar, so instinctual, that Korr doubted his father even realized he was doing it.

"You two are acting like I'm on my deathbed," Stella said, her voice stronger than it had been hours before. The hint of her familiar wry humor returning. "The doctor said it was a mild heart attack. I'll be home by tomorrow afternoon."

"Just because it was 'mild' doesn't mean it wasn't serious, Mom," Korr replied, leaning forward to adjust her blanket. "You scared the hell out of us."

"Language," she scolded automatically, then smiled. "But I appreciate the concern."

Jack cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving his wife's face. "Stella, the doctor said you need to take it easy. No more pushing yourself. That means that garden of yours can wait."

She rolled her eyes. "Jack Green, I've been tending that garden for thirty years. A little heart attack isn't going to stop me." Her fingers tightened around his. "Besides, the snapdragons are just starting to bloom."

The door opened with a soft whoosh, and a nurse entered, clipboard in hand. Her scrubs were decorated with cartoon characters Korr didn't recognize. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Mrs. Green needs her rest now." She checked the monitors then scribbled a few notes. "Hospital policy is that only one visitor can stay overnight."

Korr stood, his joints protesting after hours in the uncomfortable chair. "That'll be Dad, of course." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mother's forehead. “But I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"Bring me some decent coffee," Stella whispered. “I don’t even want to think about what this hospital brew will taste like.”

"No caffeine," the nurse interjected without looking up from her chart. "Doctor's orders."

Stella made a face that reminded Korr of when he was a child trying to get out of eating vegetables. Some things never changed.

"I'll bring you those magazines you like," Korr promised. "The ones with all the fancy gardens."

"That's my boy." Stella reached up, patting his cheek like she used to when he was small. "I'm fine, Korr. Really. Now go get some rest yourself. You look terrible."

Jack stood, embracing his son in a quick, fierce hug. "Thanks for being here, son. For everything."

"Call me if anything changes," Korr insisted. "Anything at all."

His father nodded, already settling back into his chair, reclaiming Stella's hand. It was as if letting go for those few seconds had been almost unbearable.

Korr stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The harsh fluorescent lights seemed suddenly too bright after the dimmed atmosphere of the hospital room. He stood for a moment, letting the emotional exhaustion wash over him. The adrenaline that had carried him through the past hours was finally ebbing, leaving him hollow and drained.

Familiar voices from the waiting area caught his attention.

Alex Thomas and Dr. Lindquist stood near the nurses' station, their heads bent close together in serious conversation. Lindquist held a manila folder, his fingers tapping nervously against its edge. Alex noticed Korr first, straightening as their eyes met across the corridor.

"Korr," Dr. Lindquist called, his professional demeanor slipping to reveal genuine concern. "I heard about your mother. How is she doing?"

Korr approached them, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Better. They're keeping her overnight, but she should be able to go home tomorrow." He studied the coroner's face. "Something tells me you didn't come all the way to the hospital just to check on my mom."

Lindquist and Alex exchanged a quick glance.

"Maybe we should find somewhere more private to talk," Lindquist suggested, gesturing toward an empty consultation room down the hall.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Alex,” Korr replied, his voice low but firm. He looked directly at the coroner. "It's about the DNA test, isn't it?"

The doctor nodded, clutching the folder tighter. "I received the results about an hour ago. I would have called, but when I heard you were here with your mother..." He trailed off.

"Just tell me," Korr said.

Lindquist took a deep breath. "The comparison was conclusive." He hesitated, his clinical detachment faltering. "The man found in the lodge fire was your biological father. The DNA markers leave no room for doubt."

In his mind, Korr had convinced himself it wasn’t possible. Even after the CT scan, he refused to believe. Because letting himself believe it might be true… even for an instant, meant casting doubt on everything Jack and Stella had told him his entire life. And now, hearing the confirmation felt like a physical blow. The clinical lighting of the hospital corridor seemed to waver, the sounds around him momentarily muting as if he were underwater.

"Korr?" Alex's voice brought him back. The detective had placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down."

"I'm fine." Korr shook his head, taking a step back. "It's just... strange. Finding and losing him in the same moment." He laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. "All these years, I thought he died when I was four. Turns out he did die—just not then."

A nurse passed by, giving them a curious glance. Lindquist lowered his voice.

"The Medical Examiner's office is officially releasing the body tomorrow. I have not officially filed the report that you are next of kin. That’s something I’ll let you think on and tell me how you want it handled. There will be plenty of time to amend the report later… if that’s what you want.” He awkwardly held out the folder. "This contains a copy of my findings. It might help you understand... in some small way.”

Korr took the folder. It seemed too small to carry the weight that Korr felt had just been dropped on him. "Thank you."

"I should get back to the lab," Lindquist said, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional flood that threatened to engulf them at any moment. "I'll call if I find anything else that might be relevant." He hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry, Korr."

As Lindquist walked away, Korr stared down at the folder in his hands. Inside was the clinical accounting of a stranger's death. A stranger who had given him life, then vanished from it so completely that Korr had spent three decades believing him dead.

"You want to talk about it?" Alex asked quietly.

Korr leaned against the wall, suddenly aware of how exhausted he truly was. "What is there to say? My biological father didn't die in that fire when I was a kid. He was alive all this time, somewhere, and now he's dead for real." He looked up at Alex. "The sick part is, I don't even know how to feel. Should I be grieving for someone I never really knew? Someone I thought was already dead?"

"There's no right or wrong way to feel," Alex offered.

Korr nodded, appreciating the detective's lack of platitudes. They stood in silence for a moment, the hospital's background noises swallowing the space between them.

"We're going to find who did this," Alex said finally. His voice carried a conviction that Korr found strangely comforting. "All of it. The lodge fire, Frank Lewis, Harlan Ray.” His voice hitched. “Officer Martinez. It's all connected, and we're putting the pieces together."

"I know you will." Korr straightened, tucking the folder under his arm. "And I still intend to help.”

Alex hesitated. "About that... I actually need to ask you something." The detective shifted his weight, uncharacteristically uncertain. "I hate to do this now, with everything that's happened, but it might be important."

"What is it?"

"I was hoping to ask your father some follow-up questions. About a woman named Bethany Snyder."

The name hit Korr like a physical blow. The folder slipped from his suddenly numb fingers, papers spilling across the polished hospital floor. His eyes locked onto Alex's, searching for some explanation, some indication that he had misheard.

"What did you just say?" Korr's voice was barely a whisper.

Alex bent to gather the scattered papers, clearly confused by the reaction. "Bethany Snyder. She was a friend of your mother’s who passed away. Your father mentioned her name earlier today." He straightened, handing the folder back to Korr. "Does that name mean something to you?"

The big smoke jumper’s face was suddenly devoid of all color. He swayed, his hand shaking as he reached for the folder Alex offered. "Are you sure that's the name he said? Bethany Snyder?"

"Yes," Alex confirmed, studying Korr's reaction. "Stella apparently kept a funeral announcement for her. It was one of the things taken during the break-in at your parents' house." He paused. "Korr, what is it? Do you know her?"

Korr's throat constricted, his chest tight as if another mountain had been placed upon it. When he finally spoke, the words seemed to come from somewhere outside himself.

"Bethany Snyder was my birth mother's name."

36

The Historical Society looked empty when Jessie pulled up to the curb, mid-afternoon shadows stretching across the Victorian building's manicured lawn. The only other car in the small parking area was Eleanor’s sedan. Jessie knew that Saturdays typically meant limited hours for visitors, but the "OPEN" sign hanging in the window indicated someone was still inside.

She sat in her Jeep for a moment, organizing her thoughts. Eleanor had lied about meeting with Stella Green at Angela's Bakery. That was a certainty. But the question that kept nagging at Jessie was why? What connection existed between those two women that required such secrecy? And now, with Will's information about Harlan's will, new questions emerged. If Harlan had just left Eleanor controlling interest in his company, was there ever really a family feud between them?

Jessie approached the front entrance and reached for the handle. Movement caught her eye through the glass. Robert appeared in the foyer, struggling with two large cardboard boxes stacked precariously in his arms as he made his way down the hall.

Jessie tapped on the glass, causing Robert to startle. One of the boxes began to slip, and he quickly readjusted his grip, nearly losing his balance in the process. His face registered first surprise, then annoyance as he recognized her. She could read his features as he debated whether to pretend he hadn't seen her. Finally, he shifted the boxes and made his way to the door and unlocked it.

"Ms. Night," he said, slightly breathless from exertion. “I wasn’t expecting you on a Saturday.”

"I can see that," Jessie replied with a smile. "But I was hoping to have a word with your mother. Is she in?"

Robert's eyes narrowed slightly. "She's in her office, handling some correspondence." He shifted the boxes again. "I'd offer to get her, but as you can see, I'm a bit occupied at the moment."

"Let me help you with those," Jessie offered, already reaching for the top box.

He pulled back slightly, the movement causing several papers to slip from between the boxes and flutter to the floor. "That's really not necessary. I've got it."

Jessie bent down to retrieve the fallen papers. County property records, she noted, before Robert snatched them from her hand.

"Tax receipts," he explained hurriedly, stuffing them back into the box. "Mother insists on keeping meticulous records for the Society, but I find it hard to organize them here with… people coming in and out of the building. I was just headed to my personal office upstairs where it’s less distracting.”

"Looks like heavy reading for a Saturday afternoon."

Robert's mouth formed a tight line. "I find organizing paperwork oddly therapeutic. I like to sort them while watching baseball." He adjusted his grip on the boxes again. "But I really should get these upstairs."

"At least let me take one," Jessie insisted, already lifting the top box from his stack. It was heavier than she'd anticipated, filled with folders and loose papers. "Which way?"

Robert sighed, recognizing defeat. "Up the back stairs. My apartment is on the third floor."

They moved through the silent building, past glass display cases filled with artifacts from Pine Haven's past. Robert led her through a narrow door marked "Private" and up a cramped staircase that creaked with every step. The space between the walls was tight enough that Jessie had to turn sideways in places to navigate with the box.

"Mother insists on maintaining the historical integrity of the building," Robert explained as they reached the second-floor landing. "Which unfortunately means preserving these absurdly narrow servant stairs."

They continued upward to the third floor, where Robert pushed open another door that led into a surprisingly modern apartment. The contrast with the Victorian building below was stark—sleek furniture, minimalist décor, and state-of-the-art electronics filled the space.

"Just through here," Robert directed, leading her past a small kitchenette and living area to a second bedroom that had been converted into a home office.

Filing cabinets lined one wall, while a large desk dominated the center of the room. A computer setup that rivaled some professional IT departments occupied one corner. The level of technological sophistication seemed at odds with Robert's buttoned-up, old-fashioned persona.

"You can set that down here," he said, placing his box beside the desk and gesturing for her to do the same.

Jessie complied, using the moment to scan the room. Unlike the living area, this space felt less curated, more lived-in. Papers and folders were stacked in various piles that likely made sense only to Robert. The wall above the desk caught her attention—a collection of framed certificates and medals hung in precise rows.

"So," Robert said, straightening his bowtie, "you said you wanted to speak with my mother?"

"Actually," Jessie replied, turning to face him, "I was hoping to ask you a few questions as well. If you don't mind."

Robert's posture stiffened. "About what, exactly?"

“It’s about your uncle’s death. I need to ask a few questions of family and close friends of the man. Just standard investigative procedure.”

Robert relaxed slightly. “I see. Well, I’m happy to tell you what I can. Though I have to admit I didn’t have much contact with the man. Mother and I weren’t very close with him.”

From somewhere below, Eleanor's voice carried up the stairwell. "Robert? Are you up there? The database is frozen again, and I need your help!"

Robert closed his eyes briefly, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "Of course it is," he muttered. Louder, he called back, "Coming, Mother! Just a moment!" He pointed at the stairs. “Do you mind? It will just take me a moment.”

“I completely understand.” Jessie pulled out her phone. “I’ll just step out and return a quick call if you don’t mind?” She walked out of the office and stood in the tight hallway.

As soon as Robert's footsteps faded down the stairs, Jessie went back into the office and moved to the box she'd carried up. She carefully lifted the top folder, confirming her earlier glimpse. These weren't tax records. Inside were copies of land deeds for properties throughout Pine Haven County, many bearing the Ray family name as either buyer or seller. Beneath those were handwritten notes detailing property boundaries and what appeared to be geological surveys.

Curious, she moved to the filing cabinet, which was unlocked. The top drawer contained more of the same. Meticulously organized property records dating back decades. She rifled through a couple and froze, her eyes locked onto one. Her hands trembled as she pulled it out of the file for inspection. It was old, the paper starting to fade in places. The letterhead was barely legible, but she could make out Ray Holdings, Inc. One of Harlan’s companies. It was a land deed, recording property that had been signed over to Harlan. She squinted at the signatures on the bottom of the form.

Two names had been recorded. Kevin J. Snyder and Bethany M. Snyder.

Jessie pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture of it before replacing it. She closed the file carefully and turned her attention to the wall of accolades.

The certificates were what one might expect. Academic achievements, professional recognitions for archival work, community service awards. But the medals... those were something else entirely.

Jessie stepped closer, examining the gold and silver discs hanging in perfect alignment. She recognized them immediately. Competitive marksmanship medals from regional and state tournaments. Five were first-place finishes. Three were silver medals for second place. All bore dates within the past six years. One in particular caught her eye.

A gold medal from less than eight months ago for long-range precision shooting.

She carefully lifted it from its hook, turning it over in her palm to read the inscription. "First Place, Appalachian Precision Classic, 300+ Yard Division."

A soft click from the doorway froze her in place.

“What are you doing?” Robert’s voice was ice.

He stood in the doorway, his earlier awkwardness entirely gone. In its place was something colder, more calculating. His eyes moved from her face to the medal in her hand, then back again.

"That was my most challenging win," he said conversationally, as if they were discussing nothing more significant than a bowling trophy. "Headwind. Adjustment for elevation. Distance." He smiled. "You need to account for so many variables to make that kind of shot consistently."

Jessie maintained her composure, though her heartbeat had accelerated. She was acutely aware of the distance between herself and Robert. She mentally measured the steps to reach him, calculating what his response might be if she rushed him.

"Just like you'd need to account for those same variables when taking a shot from the tree line at Frank Lewis' house," she said, her voice steady.

Robert shrugged. “It’s all just angles.”

Jessie swallowed. “Did you kill your uncle as well?”

“Does it matter at this point? Trust me, that man had it coming. I’ll bet the town will throw an annual parade to mark his passing.”

“But why? What is the reasoning behind all this?” She took a casual step forward.

Robert held up a hand, his posture stiffening. “Don’t take another step towards me.” He glanced quickly to his left before returning his gaze to Jessie.

She smiled at him. “You’re wondering if you can get to the stairs before I can get to you. Don’t try it. Let’s just talk this out.”

Robert shook his head. “Wrong. That wasn’t what I was wondering. I was thinking it’s a shame I didn’t become as proficient with knives as I did guns.”

To his credit, he moved faster than Jessie was expecting. Dropping a hand behind his back, he produced something small and dagger shaped. In an instant, it was flying at Jessie’s head. Instinct kicked in and she dropped to the floor at the last minute as the silver letter opener crashed into the wall behind her.

Jessie looked up to see that the man had vanished. She was up and on her feet, sprinting after him. “Robert, stop!” She exited the room and knew he had barreled down the stairs. She started down after him, aware of the fact that he could be hiding around the corner at the base of the stairs waiting to ambush her.

She hugged the far wall of the narrow staircase as she took the second landing. He wasn’t there, but she could hear his footfall as he made his way to the first floor. She followed at a dead sprint, knowing that if he made it out of the building, she might lose him. She pushed harder, leaping the last few steps to land with catlike precision on the ground floor. She paused, listening. To her right, rapid footsteps receded toward the archive rooms.

Jessie moved quickly but cautiously, aware that Robert knew the building's layout far better than she did. The narrow hallway opened into a wider space, the back entrance to the main archive room. She eased around the corner, her senses heightened, every muscle ready to react.

The sight that greeted her made her blood run cold.

Robert stood twenty feet away. The boyish, awkward archivist was gone. Replaced by someone else entirely. Someone with dead eyes who stood with his arm in the air, his hand clutching a glass container with a rag stuffed in the top of it.

"I didn't want this," he said, his voice steady despite his rapid breathing. "I just wanted justice. For all of them. All those families. My family.” He raised his other hand and held a lighter close to the cloth.

"Robert," Jessie said evenly as she calculated her options. "Whatever you're thinking, this isn't the way."

“It’s always been the way.” With shocking suddenness, the lighter flared and ignited the rag. The flame caught instantly, hungry and bright.

"Robert, don't⁠—“

But he was already in motion, hurling the makeshift incendiary device through an open doorway to his left. The entrance to the Society's most valuable archives. There was a crash, followed by a whoosh as the chemicals inside the bottle ignited. Orange light flared from the room, casting grotesque shadows across the walls. The acrid smell of accelerant filled the air.

Robert turned and ran, disappearing around a corner at the far end of the hallway. Jessie started after him, but a cry from behind stopped her.

"Help! Someone, please!"

Eleanor's voice, high and frightened, came from somewhere near the ignition point. Jessie hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reversing direction, racing toward the rapidly spreading fire. There was another crash as something heavy hit the floor, followed by a cry of pain from Eleanor.

The archive room was already consumed in flames, the blaze moving with unnatural speed along shelves of ancient documents and across antique furniture. Whatever chemicals Robert had concocted were causing the fire to burn hotter and faster than normal. Through the thickening smoke, Jessie spotted Eleanor on the floor near a toppled bookcase, her leg pinned beneath its weight.

"Hold on!" Jessie shouted above the growing roar of the fire. She navigated around the worst of the flames, the heat searing against her skin as she approached the trapped woman.

Eleanor's face was streaked with soot, her eyes wide with fear. "Robert… where's Robert?"

"No time," Jessie replied, dropping to her knees beside the older woman. The bookcase was heavy, solid oak. Worse, flames had already begun licking at one end of it, threatening to engulf it entirely. "I'm going to lift this. When I do, you need to pull yourself free. Can you do that?"

Eleanor nodded, her hands already positioning herself for the effort.

Jessie braced herself, getting as much leverage as she could against the bookcase. She ignored the burning pain in her palms as she gripped the heated wood. "On three. One... two... three!"

She heaved upward with everything she had, muscles straining against the massive weight. The bookcase rose a few crucial inches. Just enough for Eleanor to drag herself free, wincing in pain as she did so.

With a gasp, Jessie let the bookcase drop. Flames were rapidly consuming the room, cutting off their original path to the door. Smoke filled the space, making breathing increasingly difficult.

"This way," Jessie ordered, grabbing Eleanor's arm and helping her to her feet. The older woman's leg was clearly injured, unable to bear her full weight. Jessie wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her. "Stay low, breathe through your sleeve if you can."

They staggered toward the exit, navigating around fallen debris and advancing flames. The fire had already moved into the hallway, eating its way through the historically preserved woodwork with terrifying efficiency. Robert’s chemical mixtures weren't just accelerants. They had been designed to consume everything in their path.

Jessie guided them toward the main entrance, the most direct route out of the building. Eleanor stumbled beside her, coughing violently as smoke filled her lungs. They pushed through the foyer, now hazy with smoke. The front doors loomed ahead, their ornate glass panels reflecting the orange glow of the approaching fire. With a final surge, Jessie shouldered through them, where they were greeted by fresh air and the scream of approaching sirens.

They staggered across the lawn, putting distance between themselves and the burning building. Only when they reached the edge of the property did Jessie ease Eleanor down onto a decorative stone bench. The older woman collapsed onto it, gasping for breath between racking coughs.

Eleanor rolled onto her side, staring at the once beautiful Victorian building now engulfed in flames. It had stood for over a century and was now being engulfed before her eyes, along with all the history it contained.

“He… he left me,” she managed to get out. “My son left me… and he tried to kill me.”

Jessie stared at the burning structure as two fire trucks arrived. Behind them, she recognized Alex’s cruiser pull up and waved as he climbed from behind the wheel, Korr pouring from the passenger side.

The men raced to her side just as an ambulance approached, driving over the curb and onto the green space.

“What happened?” asked Alex.

“Robert Whitfield,” Jessie said, her breathing heavy. “He’s now our prime suspect. And he’s in the wind.”

37

Flashing emergency lights painted Pine Haven's town green as firefighters battled the blaze consuming the Historical Society. Charred paper, ancient wood, and the acrid bite of accelerant choked the air. Jessie sat on the edge of an ambulance's open rear doors, an oxygen mask clutched in her hand. She'd refused to use it, insisting she was fine despite the paramedic's concerned frown. Her lungs burned with each breath, but the pain grounded her, kept her mind sharp when she needed it most.

Eleanor Whitfield sat on a gurney beside her. A female paramedic was examining her injured leg while another checked her vitals. The older woman hadn't said a word since her declaration about Robert's betrayal. Her face remained fixed on the burning building, watching decades of history being reduced to ash. The stillness in her expression unsettled Jessie more than hysterics would have. She had the look of someone whose entire foundation had just crumbled beneath them.

"I really think we should transport her," the paramedic said to Jessie, after completing her examination. "That leg might be broken, and she's showing signs of shock."

Jessie nodded, turning to Eleanor. "They need to take you to the hospital to check your leg."

Eleanor's eyes remained fixed on the burning building. "My life's work," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the surrounding chaos. "Everything I preserved. Gone." Her fingers clenched and unclenched rhythmically on the thin blanket covering her lap.

"Mrs. Whitfield," the paramedic said again, gently touching her shoulder. "We need to get that leg X-rayed."

She didn't acknowledge him, her focus unbroken from the Historical Society. Flames had breached the roof now, shooting skyward as the century-old timbers provided fresh fuel. The firefighters seemed to have moved from extinguishing the flames to protecting adjoining buildings from sharing the same fate. The crowd of on-lookers stood silently on the green, watching in horror.

Alex approached, his notebook already in hand. He nodded to the paramedics before turning to Jessie. "Chief Daniels has officers setting up roadblocks on every route out of Pine Haven. Every available unit is looking for Robert's car." He glanced at Eleanor before lowering his voice. "I've got your statement, but we'll need to get hers when she's more stable."

"She's in shock," Jessie said quietly, watching Eleanor's vacant stare. "And her leg is probably broken. Beyond that..." She shook her head. "Her own son tried to kill her, Alex. That's not something anyone processes quickly." Jessie had seen similar expressions on the faces of soldiers who'd watched their comrades turn on them. It was a fundamental betrayal of trust that reshapes someone's world.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself," Alex admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, leaving a smudge of ash. "And he just... confessed? To both Harlan and Frank?"

"Not in so many words, but he didn't deny it either." Jessie’s mind flashed back to the confrontation. “He had the look, Alex. I've seen it before… that disconnect. Like he was talking about checking the weather, not murdering people." She paused, remembering the chilling nonchalance in Robert's tone. "His eyes were completely flat. No remorse, no hesitation. Just cold calculation."

Alex scribbled in his notebook, his pen pressing hard enough that it threatened to tear the paper. "Chief's going to have questions about why you were snooping in his apartment."

"I was helping him carry boxes upstairs. The deed I found was right on top, in plain sight." She paused, watching Alex's reaction carefully. "It had Bethany Snyder's name on it. The same Bethany that Stella and Jack were talking about."

Alex looked up from his notes. “About that… we got some more news back at the hospital. Bethany Snyder is the name of Korr’s birth mother.”

Before the shock could settle on Jessie’s face, Eleanor’s shoulders slumped and the woman began to cry for the first time.

Jessie gave Alex a curious look before dropping an arm around the woman’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Eleanor. We’ll find Robert. I promise.” What she couldn’t promise was what might happen after they found her son.

Between her sobs, Eleanor shook her head. “It’s not that… I mean it is… but, when you said Bethany’s name. I just… I can’t.”

Jessie took a deep breath. “You knew her, didn’t you?” Her voice was calming and filled with care. “Is that what you were speaking with Stella about this morning at the bakery?” The woman winced, but Jessie wasn’t sure if it was because of her words or the pain Eleanor was feeling in her leg.

“It was.” Eleanor’s voice was so low Jessie had to strain to hear her. She grasped Jessie’s hand. “Bethany was such a good person. She didn’t deserve the life she found herself in. None of us did.” Her eyes glassed over, and she began to cry again.

“Hey, can we finish this at the hospital? I’m not liking the way her vitals are all over the place.” The paramedic was watching the small portable monitor that was connected to Eleanor.

“Of course,” Jessie said, standing and moving back. “Eleanor, I’m going to come and see you at the hospital. We’ll be right behind you.” She stepped aside as two paramedics loaded the older woman into the back of the ambulance before hopping in beside her. Lights flashed and siren blazed as they pulled away from the fiery scene.

She turned to see Korr rushing to join them. His face was smudged with ash from where he'd been conferring with the firefighters, but his eyes were sharp and focused.

"Chief Silvers says it's definitely accelerant," he said. “Probably the same formula used in the lodge fire. The chemical signature is unmistakable. It’s burning too hot, too fast for a normal structure fire." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of soot. "You're lucky you got out when you did. Ten more minutes and that place would have been a death trap. The structural supports were already compromised when you brought Eleanor out."

"What about the archives?" Alex asked, his notebook poised. "Any chance they saved anything?"

Korr shook his head, jaw set in a grim line. "That's where the fire was concentrated. Everything in that section is gone." His eyes met Jessie’s.

“So much for any evidence that might have been in there.” Jessie thought for a moment, remembering the property deed she had photographed. It was potentially the only evidence they had.

She was about to bring it up when Korr’s phone rang. His brow furrowed as he checked the screen, then answered. "Hello?" His expression shifted immediately, concern replacing confusion. "What? When?" He listened intently, his body tensing with each passing second. The change was subtle but unmistakable. His broad shoulders squaring, spine straightening… bracing for impact. "I'm on my way."

He ended the call, his face having drained of all color. "That was the hospital. My mother signed herself out AMA—against medical advice. The nurse said she was agitated, insisting she needed to get home immediately.”

Alex frowned. “And your father allowed it?”

Korr’s eyes narrowed. “Apparently, it was his idea.” Something hard and determined settled into him. Jessie had seen that look before. It was the look of a man who had reached his breaking point. “I’m going over there. Something isn’t right.”

“I’ll drive you,” Alex said. His tone told them it wasn’t up for debate.

“And I’ll head to the hospital and see if I can finish my conversation with Eleanor,” Jessie said. “Let me know if you get a hit on Robert’s car.” She knew it wasn’t likely. He had a big head start on them and could easily be out of the town limits by now. She gave Alex a look that told him to be careful. There had been an edge to Korr’s voice that she didn’t like. It was the tipping point where patience gave way to action.

Korr turned toward the parking lot. “Then let’s go. It’s time I learned what my parents have been hiding from me my entire life.”

38

The cruiser's tires crunched on the gravel driveway as Alex killed the engine. Korr was out before the vehicle had fully settled, taking the three concrete steps to his parents' front door in a single bound. "Mom? Dad?" His voice carried across the quiet neighborhood as he tried the door handle. It gave way easily in his grip and he pushed the door open.

"Mom?" Korr called again, pushing the door wide. "Dad? Where are you?"

A weak, muffled groan answered from somewhere in the house. Korr bolted down the hall as Alex drew his gun and followed close behind.

"In... here." Jack's voice was strained, barely audible from the direction of the living room.

They rounded the corner to find Jack Green sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, one hand pressed against a bloody gash on his temple. His other arm was wrapped protectively around his ribs, face contorted in pain. The normally immaculate living room showed signs of a struggle—a lamp knocked over, cushions from the sofa scattered across the hardwood floor.

"Dad!" Korr rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside his father as he quickly assessed the older man's injuries. The head wound was superficial but bleeding profusely as head wounds tend to do. More concerning was the way Jack winced with each breath, suggesting possible rib damage. "What happened? Where's Mom?"

Jack's eyes were unfocused, his pupils dilated as a result of pain and shock. "He took her. That son of a bitch took Stella." His voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes.

Alex was already on his phone, stepping slightly away to call for backup and medical assistance. He kept his voice low but urgent, eyes scanning the rooms around him. Instinct told him there was no one else in the house with them, but that didn’t stop his training from kicking in.

"Who took her, Dad?" Korr gripped his father's shoulders gently, forcing eye contact. "Who took Mom?"

"Whitfield." Jack spat the name, wincing as the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through his injured ribs. "That archivist... Eleanor's boy. Robert. Same bastard who broke in before. I recognized the way he moved. I… I tried, son. I tried to stop him, but⁠—“

“Shh,” Korr said. “Don’t even think about that right now.”

Korr's face hardened into a mask of cold fury. Alex returned to their side, his expression grim when he heard Robert’s name.

"What happened exactly?" Alex asked, kneeling to examine Jack's head wound more closely.

Jack drew a shaky breath. "We'd just gotten home from the hospital. I was trying to get Stella to use the sleeper sofa down here... didn't want her climbing the stairs with her heart..." He paused, a spasm of pain crossing his features. "We were right here when he burst in through the back door.”

Jack's hand tightened around Korr's wrist, his bloodied fingers leaving crimson smudges on his son's skin. "I tried to stop him, but he hit me with something... Next thing I know, I'm on the floor and he's got Stella by the arm, dragging her out."

"Did he say anything?" Alex pressed, keeping his voice calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Anything that might indicate where he was taking her?"

Jack's eyes drifted closed momentarily before he forced them open again. "He didn’t say a word. Not a bloody thing. Was just quiet as a corpse the whole time… which is what he’s gonna be when I get hold of him.” The old man struggled in his son’s grasp, trying to force himself to his feet.

Korr braced him. “Dad, stop moving. Stay still. The ambulance is on the way.” He looked up at Alex. “Stay here with Alex. I’m going to find Mom and bring her back to you… How long ago did he leave?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes." Jack's voice had weakened further. "I tried to get to the phone, but I couldn't... everything kept spinning."

The distant wail of sirens filtered through the open front door. Alex rose to his feet. "I'll update dispatch. He couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Korr snorted. “Do you know how many ways there are in and out of the Rows? He could be halfway to Tennessee by now!”

Alex held up a hand. “Which is why we can’t just go rushing off after him. What he did here is reckless. He’s not running. He’s planning something. We just need to figure out what.” He could see the frantic look in the smoke jumper’s eyes as he debated what was being said. “Korr. I can’t imagine what’s going through your head right now. I’ve alerted the Chief, and she’s already called the state police. Roadblocks at all of the major intersections and highways are confirmed. That just leaves the small back roads and access roads leading out of Pine Haven. And no one knows those roads better than we do. We can find her. We just have to think before we act.”

Korr swallowed hard, his eyes racing about the room before settling on his father. "Dad, I need you to look at me." He waited until Jack's eyes met his. "You've been keeping things from me. Now Mom's in danger. I need to know everything. About why you let me believe my parents died in the fire the night you rescued me. I need to know what the hell is going on that's worth someone killing for. Why would Robert Whitfield kidnap my mother?”

* * *

The antiseptic smell of the emergency department had become sickeningly familiar to Jessie over the past few days. She'd spent more time in Pine Haven Regional than she cared to admit, watching people she knew—people from her community—being wheeled in on gurneys or sitting shell-shocked in hard plastic chairs.

Eleanor Whitfield lay on a hospital bed behind a partially drawn curtain, her leg elevated and immobilized in a temporary splint. X-rays had confirmed what the paramedics suspected—a clean break of the tibia that would require surgery. The immediate procedure had been delayed, however, as the doctors monitored her heart rate and oxygen levels. Smoke inhalation was a tricky thing. It could seem manageable one moment and turn deadly the next.

Jessie dragged a chair closer to the bed, its metal legs scraping against the linoleum floor. Eleanor's eyes were glazed, the combination of pain medication and shock created a strange detachment. "Eleanor, I need to ask you some questions about Robert."

The older woman's eyes drifted to Jessie's face, taking a moment to focus. "My son," she said, the words hollow. “The man who tried to kill me today."

"And we need to find him before he hurts anyone else," Jessie pressed. "Where would Robert go if he was scared? Is there a place he feels safe?"

A strange sound escaped Eleanor's throat. Not quite a laugh, but something adjacent to it. "Robert isn't scared," she said, her voice suddenly clearer. "He's never scared. That's what makes him so dangerous." She turned her head on the pillow to face Jessie directly. "He calculates. He plans. He executes. He’s always been like that. Even as a kid.”

“Eleanor, do you know what kinds of things Robert has done? Can you tell me?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t volunteer anything, and I don’t ask.” Her face turned melancholy. “I hoped it was something he’d grow out of. He’s so smart. That’s why I gave him the job… why I kept him so close. I needed to keep an eye on him. But he found it…”

The older woman’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, beginning to glaze over. Jessie placed her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder, rousing her slightly. “What did he find, Eleanor?”

Her gaze refocused on the investigator, and she frowned. “You know, he was always such a jealous kid. Always worried about what someone else had and he didn’t. ‘Why not me’, he’d say. ‘Why can’t I have a new…’” Her voice trailed off as she waved her hand in circles in the air. “He always wanted. And I was always so patient with him. Teaching him there was more to life than material things. And it worked. For a time. Until he found out about Harlan and the family business. A business I wanted nothing to do with, mind you.”

“So, he saw a way to get the life he’s always wanted. The fact that you were left controlling interest in a company worth a small fortune meant that he could finally live the life he thought he deserved.”

Eleanor slowly looked up at her, questioning Jessie’s words. “What are you talking about? Harlan wasn’t leaving me anything. He recently informed me he was changing his will. Which was what I always wanted. I told him if he left me that company I’d scrap it, sell it off in bits and pieces, and use the money made from it to undo all the horrors he’s done to the people of this mountain.”

Now it was Jessie who was confused. “But Harlan’s official will with his legal team still has you as his primary heir.”

Eleanor waved a hand. “Oh, he had only changed it a week ago. At least that was when he told me what he was doing. Who knows when he got around to filing it.”

Jessie grasped the woman’s hand. “Eleanor, did Robert know about the change to the will?”

“Oh, he knew. I told him.” She frowned in thought. “Looking back, I thought he’d be angry. But he wasn’t. Just quiet. Gave me the cold shoulder for a couple of days but that was it. Spent the whole day…” She stopped speaking. Here eyes growing wide.

Jessie gently shook Eleanor once more bringing her into focus. “Eleanor… what? What did he do?”

“He said he was doing something with the database and needed my password for our personal tax records. Only, that wasn’t what he was doing. He was going through the town's land archives that the mayor gave us access to at one point. He pulled up all the information about his father and what really happened. He put it all together.”

She started to drift, and Jessie leaned closer. “Hey! Keep going. What did he put together?”

Eleanor yawned. “What happened between his father and Korr’s birth parents.”

39

"Your birth father," Jack began, his voice steadier than it had been moments ago, "was a good man." He swallowed hard. "Or rather, he became one." His eyes took on a faraway look, as he watched old memories play out.

“Dad, time is not on Mom’s side. What do you know?”

Jack nodded slowly, wincing as the movement sent pain radiating from his injury. "It started in the seventies. Kevin, Edward Whitfield—Eleanor's husband—and I were all young men when Harlan Ray was building his empire. He had vision, ambition... and absolutely no moral boundaries." Jack's fingers trembled against the bloodied towel. "We were impressed by the money, the power. All of us from families that had never had much."

"What kind of work did you do for him?" Alex asked from his position by the window.

"They called us 'negotiators,'" Jack said, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "We convinced people to do things that would not be in their best interest. Like, sell valuable land to Harlan for next to nothing. Especially properties with old-growth white pine. That timber was worth a fortune back then, and the owners rarely knew its true value."

Korr's eyes narrowed. "Convinced how?"

"At first, it was just intimidation. Veiled threats." Jack couldn't meet his son's gaze. "But as Harlan got more powerful, his methods became more extreme. Accidents. Fires that started mysteriously close to property lines. Suddenly, selling seemed like the safer option."

Outside, the sirens cut off abruptly as emergency vehicles pulled up to the house. Alex moved toward the door to direct the paramedics.

"Edward Whitfield was the worst of us," Jack continued. "He had a talent for making people afraid. He enjoyed it. But Kevin, your father, he started changing after you were born. Bethany had been pushing him to find other work, saying what he was doing put you in danger." Jack's eyes grew distant. "She was right, of course."

"So, what happened?" Korr demanded, the muscles in his jaw working.

"Kevin and I had been talking about getting out. Finding legitimate work." Jack shifted, grimacing at the pain in his ribs. "But Harlan didn't let people walk away. Too risky. That’s why Kevin took out some insurance of his own. Documents proving what Harlan had been doing. Names, dates, properties acquired through coercion. He thought he could use it to buy his freedom."

Paramedics entered the room, equipment in hand, but Jack waved them back with surprising authority. "Give me five minutes. Please. My son needs to hear this."

The lead paramedic hesitated, glancing at Alex, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Kevin approached Harlan, thinking he'd negotiated his exit," Jack continued, urgency building in his voice. "Instead, Harlan sent Edward to eliminate the problem. Permanently. And doing that would also cement Edward's place at Harlan’s side. Which I believe was what he always wanted.”

"The night of the fire," Korr said, his voice hollow. "The night you found me."

Jack nodded, his expression haunted. "I wasn't supposed to be there. But Kevin had called me earlier. He’d gotten a call out of the blue from Edward asking to come over and talk about something. It was vague and set off alarms in Kevin’s head. We both knew what was about to happen. When I arrived, I heard shouting from inside. Gunshots." His breathing quickened. "I came through the back door and saw that Kevin had been grazed by a bullet in his thigh, but Edward was lying in a pool of his own blood.”

“All the voices I heard…” Korr’s words trailed off. “And then those two loud pops… yes, those were gunshots! I remember. Then the smoke… and you finding me.”

"Kevin was panicking," Jack said. "He knew what killing Edward meant. Harlan would never stop hunting them." He leaned forward, wincing at the movement. "That's when we came up with the plan. We'd burn the house down, make it look like everyone inside had died in the fire. We made sure it was burned to ash…. nothing inside to be identified. Bethany and Kevin would disappear, start new lives somewhere far away." Jack's eyes filled with tears. “You were the hardest part. Bethany couldn't take you with her. They knew if there was ever a chance Harlan would find them, she couldn’t risk you being hurt as well. They realized the only way to truly keep you safe..." His voice broke. "The only way was to let you go."

Korr's face had gone pale. "They gave me up."

"They entrusted you to me and Stella," Jack corrected gently. "Stella and Bethany had been friends since childhood. They knew we'd love you like our own—and we have." He reached for Korr's hand, but his son pulled back.

"You faked all their deaths," Alex said, connecting the pieces. "That's why there's no record of Kevin or Bethany Snyder after the fire."

Jack nodded. “I had taken on a role with the volunteer fire department at the time. So, I knew how to make an accident look… real. No one ever suspected.”

"Where did they go?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted. "That was deliberate. The less I knew, the safer everyone would be. Kevin gave me a phone number to call once, after six months, to confirm you were safe. Then nothing." He sighed heavily. "A week after the fire, Edward was reported missing by his wife.” He looked up, a sparkle in his eyes. “Like I said, she, Stella and Bethany were tight. She reported he'd gone hunting alone. Just enough of his belongings were found in the forest to make an accident plausible.”

"And Eleanor knew," Alex stated, not a question.

“She knew that her husband had crossed a line in what he had attempted to do to her best friend’s family. She never asked hard questions, and we never spoke about it,” Jack replied.

Alex closed his notebook. “Robert must have somehow pieced this all together. If he’s looking for revenge because of what happened to his father…”

Korr was on his feet, letting the paramedics in to begin their examination of his father. “Then my mom might not have a lot of time left.”

A thought struck Alex, and he made his way to Jack’s side as the paramedics placed a blood pressure monitor on his arm. “Jack, one thing… do you know what the significance of the Hayes photographs might play in all of this?”

Jack looked up, a bewildered look on his face as he stared at Korr. “I should have told you. I just… I didn’t want you to be in any danger. But that famous photo Hayes took and is so well known for… That man in it is your daddy, Korr. It was taken to commemorate the first big plot of land that Harlan acquired.”

Alex thought for a moment, then pulled up the image Jessie had shared with him. The blown-up image of the woman and child were grainy on his phone, but he placed the screen in front of Jack anyway. “And these two? And idea about who they might be? We found them in the background of the original photograph at the Historical Society.”

Jack frowned at the image before sadness crept over his features. He sighed deeply, his hands trembling as he took the phone from Alex. “That… that woman is Bethany Snyder. And the baby?” He handed the phone back and looked longingly at Korr. “That’s you, my son.”

40

Jessie raced across the parking lot to her Jeep. She had her cell phone in hand, mentally willing Alex to pick up.

"Come on," she muttered as the call connected and began to ring. The sound of sirens in the distance reminded her that Pine Haven's emergency services were being stretched to their limit. She and Alex may just be on their own.

The phone continued to ring as she unlocked her Jeep and yanked the door open. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. She cursed to herself as the call went to voicemail.

"Dammit, Alex." She ended the call and immediately redialed, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and she cranked the heat against the evening chill that had settled over the mountain town.

Again, voicemail.

“Dammit.” She shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space with more speed than caution. The tires squealed slightly as she braked and shifted into drive, heading for the exit.

Just as she was about to hit the main road, her phone buzzed. She glanced down to see Alex's name illuminated on the screen.

"Alex!" she answered, relief flooding her voice. "I've been trying to⁠—"

"Jessie," he cut her off, his voice tight with tension. "Robert took Stella."

She slammed the car to a stop, her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. "What? When?"

"About twenty minutes ago. Broke into the Greens' house, attacked Jack, and took Stella." His efficient delivery couldn't mask the underlying urgency in his voice. "Jack's injured but stable. Paramedics are with him now."

"Jesus," Jessie breathed. "Is Korr with you?"

"Yeah, he's here. He's..." Alex paused, searching for the right word. "He's holding it together.”

Jessie's mind raced, connecting the information from the end of her conversation with Eleanor with what Alex was telling her now. "Where are you?"

"Still at the Greens' place. The Chief has officers setting up checkpoints on all major roads out of town. State police are being called in. Robert won't get far."

"He's not trying to run," Jessie said, her certainty sending a chill down her own spine. "I think I know where he's going. Eleanor told me enough to start putting the pieces together." She put the Jeep in drive and pulled back onto the road. “You guys are on the way, so I’ll pick you up. Don't let Korr do anything stupid before I get there."

"Jessie, what did Eleanor tell you?"

"It's about what happened between Korr's birth parents and Eleanor's husband. This whole thing—the lodge, Harlan, Frank—it's all connected to something that happened decades ago." She accelerated through an intersection, heading toward the Rows. "Robert found out the truth and he's out for revenge."

"Yeah, Jack filled us in on some of that history." Alex's voice dropped. "It's worse than we thought, Jessie. Much worse."

"I'm ten minutes out," she said, weaving through the light evening traffic with singular focus. "Don't go anywhere until I get there."

"Just hurry," Alex said before ending the call.

Jessie tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. The Jeep responded with a surge of power as she raced through the quiet streets of Pine Haven, her mind already mapping out what Robert's endgame might be.

No matter how she spun it, she kept arriving at the same point. The only thing she knew with absolute certainty: time was running out for Stella Green.

She pulled up in front of the Green residence just as the paramedics finished loading Jack Green into the back. She climbed out to greet a pensive Alex while Korr paced back and forth, arms tight across his chest.

“Jessie,” the smoke jumper said as soon as he saw her. “Alex said you have an idea where this bastard might be with my mother.”

“It’s a strong, educated guess.” She turned to Alex. “Do you have any other deputies available?”

He shook his head. “Between the door-to-door canvasing that we’ve started and the road checkpoints, we are tapped out.”

Jessie was nodding as she headed back for the Jeep. “Then in that case, it’s just going to be us. Get in. I’ll explain on the way.” She nodded for Korr to hop into the back. As she pulled away, she glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “How is he?”

"Concussion, three cracked ribs. He's conscious but in pain." Emotion caused the big man’s voice to falter at the end.

“Jack told us everything about what happened the night of the fire and Korr's birth parents." Alex’s voice cut through the air.

Jessie nodded. “Eleanor told me what she knew of that night as well. And she gave me some more key insight into Robert’s mindset. Things are starting to make more sense to me now. I understand why he took Stella.”

“Tell me,” Korr said, his voice like gravel.

"Eleanor told me that she never wanted Robert anywhere near the family business," Jessie began. "She tried to give him purpose by making him Archives Director at the Historical Society. She thought the responsibility would focus him."

"Focus him on what?" Alex asked.

"On something other than his obsessions. Eleanor says Robert has always been... different. Always fixated on things. Always wanting what others had. In a material sense. He lamented the fact that they were poor to the highest degree. Always looking for ways to change their fortune. And then he found out who his uncle was. And it appears that was the tipping point. When he learned Eleanor wanted nothing to do with Harlan’s money or letting her son be involved, he changed.” Jessie glanced up into the mirror. “Eleanor says that's when his scheming began. That’s the only way she could describe it. He used his access to town archives to start putting together the records of Harlan’s business dealings… and learning how his father fit into them.”

“So, he knows that my father killed his father.” The matter-of-fact way Korr said that sent a chill up Jessie’s spine.

“One of the last things Eleanor told me was that he visited Harlan under the guise of learning about the company business. Apparently, he convinced his uncle that Eleanor gave the okay for him to be at the compound. Robert convinced Harlan that he could provide a private digitation of some of Harlan's old, analog records. Harlan believed him and gave him access. That was when he stumbled onto old records that detailed a lot of what his father, along with Korr’s father and Jack Green did for the company.”

Korr’s breathing quickened. “So, Eleanor knew about this? She knew her son was a ticking time bomb and didn’t do anything to stop him?”

Jessie held his gaze in the mirror. “She is his mother. She did what she thought she had to. She had no idea of the horrors he would be capable of once armed with that information.” She looked away, her eyes trailing back to the road before them. “You’d be surprised at what a parent can turn a blind eye to.”

Korr narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t excuse her actions in my book. And if something happens to my mother…”

“We’ll get her back,” Jessie said. “Just remember, he may not look it, but Robert is dangerous.” She took a hard right onto a gravelly service road.

Korr looked around, realizing where they were headed. “The compound? You think he took her there?”

“It’s the only place that makes sense to me. He isn’t trying to leave the town. In his mind, he has business to finish. Eleanor said he was obsessed with that place. The place where it all began.”

Korr thought for a moment. “It was the site of Harlan’s first big land deal. And his pride and joy.”

Jessie was nodding. “The first body we found—your biological father—was posed to replicate the figure in Hayes' most iconic photograph… the one that everyone knows. It made him and this land famous. I think that, in Robert’s mind, it represented everything that should have come his way. Fame. Notoriety. Money. And he believed all of that would have come his way had it not been for his father dying.”

“And he blames Korr’s father for that,” Alex said.

“Exactly.” Jessie down shifted as she headed up the steep grade that led to the Ray compound.

They entered the back of the property the same way they had when Harlan had been arrested. Only this time, the compound was eerily quiet and still. Jessie killed the engine and studied the property. Korr leaned forward, his eyes darting about the periphery of the land.

“I was certain Robert would come this way. The fire road would have allowed him to enter undetected,” Jessie said.

“Maybe,” Korr added, “if he had a decent four-wheel drive capable of making that climb.”

Jessie cursed herself, realizing the smoke jumper was right. She threw the Jeep in gear and gunned it for the front of the house. One lone officer gave them a startled look as the vehicle slammed to a stop. Korr was out of it in a flash and rushing into the house.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the officer asked, nodding to Alex.

“Has anyone else been here recently? Did you see any headlights? Maybe a car pulled into the drive and then back out after seeing you?” The questions came rapid fire from the detective.

The officer’s eyes were wide as he shook his head. “No… not a soul has been through here. Except you guys…”

Korr came back out the front door. “There’s no sign of anyone being inside. He’s not here… my mother isn’t here.” He grabbed a handful of hair with both hands, trying to fight the exasperation that washed over his face.

“I don’t understand,” Jessie said, shaking her head. “The lodge that was burned was the first big deal that Marcus put together on his own. Robert burned that down to make a statement. This is the first deal that Harlan made that lead to the creation of his company. It makes sense that this is where Robert would have picked if he wanted to erase all the evidence of a life he feels he should have had.”

“If he couldn’t have it, no one else should either,” Alex said. “Makes sense.”

Jessie took out her phone and stared at the screen as she paced the porch. “I mean, he was obsessed with the Hayes photographs. This is what led to his discovery about his own father and Korr’s family. And this… The Timber Creek Pioneer, was the most famous of all of them. It’s the one he modeled the victim at the lodge after and it’s the site of Harlan’s first big—“ her head shot up, eyes wide. “No… Dammit! Maybe this isn’t the one…” She turned and sprinted into the house, followed closely by Korr and Alex.

“Jessie, what—?” Alex said as he followed her into Harlan’s office.

She was pointing at the photograph on the wall. The picture of the young woman in profile, with the child at her feet. Then, she turned to Harlan’s large desk. “He hung this painting so that he would always have a view of it from his work desk. He said it was a one of a kind. It has to have some kind of value to him other than the material.”

Korr stared at the photograph, his brows furrowed deeply.

“Korr? What is it?” Alex asked.

The big man swallowed hard. “According to Dad, that’s my mother. I remember her hair… the way it fell across her face when she would bend down to pick me up…” He froze, his spine stiffening. “And that’s me at her feet. But… I don’t remember this particular scene. I don’t feel a connection to these people.”

Jessie’s eyes softened. Her heart broke for the man, but this wasn’t the time for introspection. “In talking to Eleanor, we assumed that Robert was up here looking for the will. That maybe he wanted to somehow find the original and alter it—or who knows. But what if that isn’t what he is looking for? What if he saw this… and in his mind it cemented the fact that Korr’s parents meant more to Harlan than his own flesh and blood? Eleanor said Robert worked for Harlan for a time. That would have been plenty of time for him to use what he found and track down Korr’s biological family.”

“He killed my father,” Korr said. “But then realized my mother had already passed. His eyes grew wide with shock. “So, he took the next best thing.”

“Your adoptive mother,” Jessie finished.

“But where did he take her?” Alex asked. “We’re right back where we started.”

“No, we aren’t,” Jessie answered. “Gerald Hayes made his fortune taking photographs of the mountain. He started with Harlan. But this photograph is the only one from his collection that doesn’t exist anywhere else outside of this room. Maybe, this compound wasn’t the first large piece of land he acquired.” She jabbed a finger at the photograph. “That is.”

Korr held his chin, eyes narrowed as he stared at the painting. “Dammit! Why didn’t I think of this?” He turned to face Alex and Jessie. “I know exactly where this is.”

Before they could answer, he bolted for the door.

41

Korr burst through the front door of the Ray compound and sprinted toward Jessie's Jeep. His movements were fluid but raw. An animal operating on pure instinct. He plunged straight into the tree line, disappearing into the gathering darkness.

"Korr, wait!" Jessie called, racing after him with Alex close behind.

But the smoke jumper was already vanishing between the pines, his silhouette swallowed by shadows. He navigated the terrain with the certainty of someone who had made the mountain their home. He moved on instinct as he pulled ahead of them.

Jessie and Alex plunged into the forest after him. The thick canopy above choked off what little remained of the day's light, plunging them into a premature night. Branches clawed at their faces, roots threatened to trip them at every step.

"Korr!" Alex's voice echoed through the trees, swallowed by the dense foliage without response. “How the hell does someone so big move like that?”

They paused, straining to hear any trace of the smoke jumper's passage. Nothing but the soft chirp of insects and the whisper of wind through the pines answered them.

"He knows this land," Jessie said, her breath forming small clouds in the cooling air. "He grew up on this mountain."

Alex drew his weapon, the metallic click unnaturally loud in the quiet of the forest.

They pushed forward, following what they hoped was Korr's trail. Broken twigs, disturbed undergrowth, the occasional boot print in a patch of mud—small signs that became increasingly difficult to spot as darkness claimed the forest completely.

The incline grew steeper, the forest floor transitioning from soft pine needles to rocky terrain that forced them to slow their pace. Jessie's lungs burned with each breath, the thin mountain air offering little relief. Behind her, Alex's breathing grew more labored, but he matched her stride for stride, determination overriding impending exhaustion.

They shone what light they had—Jessie’s cell phone and a small tactical flashlight Alex had—in front of them as they moved. Twenty minutes of hard climbing brought them to a small clearing where the path they'd been following abruptly split in two. One fork continued upward, climbing deeper into the mountain's embrace. The other cut sideways across the ridge, disappearing into a thicket so dense it seemed impenetrable even by day.

"Perfect," Alex muttered, sweeping his flashlight across both options.

Jessie studied the diverging paths, knowing their decision could mean life or death for Stella. No obvious signs indicated which route Korr had taken.

"We have to split up," she said, already moving toward the path that climbed higher.

Alex grabbed her arm. "Jessie, that's not⁠—"

"It's our only option," she cut him off. "If we waste time checking one and then the other, it could be too late." She met his eyes, her expression told him there would be no argument. "You know I'm right."

After a moment of silent calculation, Alex released her arm with a reluctant nod. "Be careful. If you find them, don't engage. Call me." He tapped his holstered weapon. "Robert's proven what he's capable of."

"Same goes for you," she replied, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.

They separated, each taking a different path. Jessie moved carefully up the steeper trail, her steps deliberate despite the urgency pounding in her chest. The forest closed around her, branches creating a tunnel that seemed to lead straight up into darkness.

The sounds of Alex's passage faded quickly, leaving her alone with the night sounds of the forest and the trip hammering of her heart. She kept her breathing controlled, her senses hyper-alert to any sign of human presence.

Five minutes of cautious climbing brought her to another, smaller clearing where the path briefly leveled before continuing its ascent. Something caught her attention, and she paused, listening.

Voices.

Faint at first. Unmistakably human. Two people, one voice raised in anger, the other pleading. The sounds drifted from somewhere ahead, carried on the night breeze.

Jessie crouched lower.

The voices grew clearer as she approached. Korr's distinctive baritone, strained but steady. Another voice, colder and more precise.

Robert Whitfield. Sounding nothing like the awkward archivist he'd pretended to be.

A faint, bluish glow filtered through the trees ahead. Artificial light, barely bright enough to create dim shadows. Jessie slowed her approach further, sinking to a crouch behind a massive pine at the edge of what appeared to be another clearing.

Peering around the rough bark, she took in the scene before her.

The clearing was small, perhaps thirty feet across, bordered by thick pines on all sides. A battery-powered lantern cast eerie blue light across the space, throwing stark shadows that seemed to dance with each slight movement of its occupants.

That was when she noticed the smell around her. Old earth, freshly exposed, underlying something burnt. Wood. Charcoal. And a faint chemical tinge that reminded her of the fire at the lodge. That was when it hit her. She knew where they were. Had it not been so dark, she might have recognized it sooner from the pictures Korr had shown them.

This was where Robert had practiced his fires. Where he had perfected the art of the burn.

She turned her attention back to the two men. Korr stood with his hands raised in a placating gesture, his face taut with barely controlled fear. Twenty feet away, Robert faced him, his back to Jessie's position.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Korr was saying, his voice steady despite the strain evident in the set of his shoulders. "She had nothing to do with what happened. Whatever our fathers did to each other⁠—"

"Nothing to do with it?" Robert's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "She knew. All these years, she knew exactly what happened that night. She helped hide the truth."

Robert shifted slightly, and for the first time, Jessie could see what had been blocked from her view.

Stella.

Jessie's blood ran cold.

The older woman stood perfectly still at the edge of the clearing. Her silver-streaked hair caught the blue light, creating an ethereal halo around her head. Her body was held in an unnatural position, one arm extended slightly outward, head turned to the side in profile.

Exactly like the woman in the photograph from Harlan's office.

As Jessie's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw the reason for Stella's stillness. A framework of metal rods encased her body, holding her immobile in the pose. The same type of apparatus they'd found on the burn victim at the lodge. The one constructed to withstand fire.

Near Stella's feet, Jessie could make out the dark shape of what looked like a portable gas container. The acrid smell of accelerant reached her nostrils even from this distance.

"You don't understand what they took from me," Robert continued, his voice now eerily calm. “Your father killed my father and cost me my birthright. And then you got to live this charmed life with these perfect parents while I grew up with a mother who could barely look at me without seeing my father's sins."

"My life wasn't perfect," Korr said quietly, taking a small step forward.

"Stay where you are." Robert's hand moved to his pocket, withdrawing something small that caught the lantern light. A detonator of some kind. "One more step and I finish what I started."

Korr froze instantly. "Robert, please don’t do this.”

Robert's voice rose in pitch. “There are no innocents here Korr. Not your father, not mine, not Jack Green. And certainly not her." He gestured toward Stella with a jerky motion. “Conspirators… all of them. They were content to let me grow up thinking my father had just abandoned us. At least you had the luxury of thinking yours were dead.” His eyes hardened. “All I’m doing is making that a fact.”

Jessie studied Stella's face, visible now as Robert shifted position again. The older woman's eyes were wide with terror above the gag that silenced her. Tears streaked her cheeks, reflecting the light like gemstones.

"What do you want?" Korr asked, his voice hollow.

Robert gave a cruel smile. “Vengeance. I’ve always mourned a life I never got to have. Now I want you to mourn the one you had.”

Korr stretched out his hand, imploring the man to stop. “Robert, please. She isn’t my mother. My mother died… you know that.”

Robert considered his words before shrugging his shoulders. “Next best thing.” He took a step towards Stella, never taking his eyes off Korr. “You know what the real head-scratcher is here? You should be happy I’m doing this. You had two sets of parents. And both of them lied to you your entire life. If you think about it, you have even more reason to hate these people than I do.” He smirked at the firefighter. “Do you know how easy it was to track down your father? He was living two towns away. Two towns. And he never bothered to check in on you. Dad of the year, that one.”

Jessie slid her phone out, careful to keep the light from alerting Robert to her presence. She pulled up Alex’s number but froze as Korr’s next words drifted to her ears.

“How are the few moments of terror you’re about to inflict going to teach them anything? The dead don’t learn lessons. If you want to hurt them…” he lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs, and stretched his arms upward towards Robert. “I was the child in that photograph hanging on Harlan’s wall. If you really want to torture my parents, to give them a pain they will never recover from… then let my mother go… and burn me.”

42

Jessie's blood turned to ice in her veins as Korr's words reverberated in her mind.

"Let my mother go... and burn me."

Robert stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the lantern's blue light. His head tilted slightly as he considered Korr's offer. The gesture reminding Jessie of a predator assessing its prey.

Stella's muffled cries intensified behind her gag, her eyes wide with horror as she struggled against the metal framework holding her in place. Every desperate movement she made was punctuated by soft, metallic clicks and scrapes.

"I'm the one you really want," Korr continued, remaining cross-legged on the ground, arms extended upward in perfect mimicry of the child in the photograph. "I'm the reason your father is dead. If my parents hadn't had me, maybe none of this would have happened."

Jessie's mind raced through options, each more desperate than the last. Backup was out of the question. She could attempt to distract Robert, but one wrong move might trigger whatever incendiary device he held. The distance between her and Robert—roughly forty feet of open clearing—felt impossibly vast.

"You're right about one thing," Robert replied, taking a measured step toward Korr. "You are the centerpiece of all this." His free hand reached for something at his feet. The gas canister Jessie had spotted earlier. “I have to admit, there is a certain… poetic justice to what you’re suggesting.”

The soft pressure of a hand on her shoulder nearly caused Jessie to jump out of her skin. She turned her head a fraction of an inch to find Alex crouched beside her, his expression grim in the faint ambient light. He held a finger to his lips and leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"Path dead ended. Doubled back to find you," he whispered, the words barely a vibration of air. He pointed to the opposite side of the clearing, then made a circling motion with his finger. The message was clear. He would flank Robert while she maintained her position.

Jessie gave a nearly imperceptible nod, and Alex melted back into the darkness before she could even register his movement. The brief interaction had lasted seconds, but in turning back to the clearing, Jessie discovered the scene had altered drastically.

Robert had handed Korr the container of fluid, and Jessie felt her stomach twist as she watched the smoke jumper uncap it. He maintained eye contact with Robert as he began to pour the contents over himself.

The acrid smell that hit her nostrils confirmed that it wasn’t just gasoline in the container. Korr's massive frame was soon glistening with the liquid, his clothes darkening as they absorbed the deadly substance. Jessie's hand moved to her ankle holster, fingers wrapping around the grip of her compact pistol. Alex wouldn't be in position yet. He needed at least another minute to circle the clearing undetected. But Korr was forcing the situation. Accelerating toward a confrontation she was sure he wouldn’t survive.

The sound of Robert's laughter sent chills down Jessie's spine.

Jessie steadied her breathing as she drew herself to her full height and stepped into the light. She moved confidently, her palms raised to show she was unarmed. Her eyes never left Robert's face.

Robert jumped at her sudden, unexpected appearance. "Stop right there," he hissed, his composure fracturing for the first time. He pivoted swiftly, placing himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Stella's immobilized form. The igniter in his hand moved to hover inches from the framework holding the older woman in place.

"Jessie, no!" Korr's voice cracked terror. The accelerant glistened on his clothes as he half-rose from his position. "Get out of here! Please!"

"I just want to talk, Robert," Jessie said, keeping her voice steady. She stopped advancing but maintained eye contact. "Before you do something you can't undo."

Robert's jaw worked beneath his skin, the confident mask slipping further to reveal something unstable beneath. His eyes darted to the tree line behind Jessie, then back to her face.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. "This is my form of justice.”

"Justice requires due process," Jessie countered. "What you're doing isn't justice. It's exactly what you claim to hate—taking matters into your own hands, deciding who lives and who dies. Just like the men who wronged your father."

A muscle twitched near Robert's eye. "Don't compare me to them." The words emerged tight, controlled, but beneath them simmered something volatile. "I've studied the evidence for years. I know exactly what happened."

"You know facts, maybe," Jessie took half a step closer. "But take it from me. Facts can be filled with gray areas.”

Robert's finger tensed on the device he held. "You were a fool to come here alone. What did you think you could accomplish? Talk me out of it?" His laugh was brittle. "I've been planning this for too long."

Jessie's eyes flicked briefly to Korr, who remained frozen in place, his gaze fixed on his mother.

"I'm not alone, Robert."

The words had barely left her lips when a twig snapped somewhere to their right.

Robert whirled toward the noise, the lighter still clutched in his hand. His eyes widened as Alex emerged from the tree line, service weapon trained steadily on Robert's chest.

"Pine Haven Police," Alex said. “Drop whatever that is and get on the ground.”

Robert's breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he found himself caught between two adversaries. He turned his attention to Alex. “She’s covered in a particularly volatile mixture of chemicals that burn very hot and very fast. You can shoot me, but—“ he held the small, silver igniter closer to the terrified woman, “—this is a piezoelectric igniter. The crystals inside generate a spark and a very intense flame if dropped and it hits the ground. She’ll light up like a roman candle. You willing to risk that?”

“No, please…” It was Korr who cried out. “Don’t do this. Alex. Jessie… just back off.” He looked at Robert, his eyes pleading. “Step away from my mother. I promise I won’t resist. Do what you want to me, just leave her out of this. No one is going to shoot you.” He shot Alex a pleading look.

Robert looked back and forth between mother and son. Slowly, he backed away from Stella and moved quickly to stand behind Korr, the igniter held over the firefighter’s head. “Toss the gun,” he said to Alex.

The detective hesitated briefly, but did as he was told, tossing the gun a few feet from his position. He stood, taking a small step forward, arms raised. “Let me help you. You do this, there is still no place for you to run to. Stop all of this right now and I’ll drive you out of here. You have my word.” Again, he took a small step forward.

“Tempting,” Robert said locking eyes with him. “But who said I was looking to run?” He smiled and turned to face Jessie. He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment, when Alex had diverted his attention, but it was enough for her to slip around behind Robert and Korr. She was in a crouch, the small pistol from her holster trained on him.

Robert whirled to face her, confused. He held the igniter over Korr and sneered. “I told you what would happen if you shot me. You won’t be able to stop me from burning this man alive.”

Jessie’s voice was calm. “No. I can’t reach you from this distance. But I’m hoping Alex can.”

Robert frowned, and before he realized what was happening, he felt the bullet from her weapon slam into his shoulder, shattering the bone. The report from the gunfire cracked like thunder, echoing across the night.

With a grunt, he flew backwards, the igniter flying into the air.

Alex moved at the same time, hurling his body forward, his hand outstretched. He slammed onto the ground with a thud, the igniter landing harmlessly in his hand.

Korr rolled away from them, putting as much distance between himself and his friends as possible. For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

“You okay?” Jessie said to Korr.

He looked down, patting himself. “I’m not on fire… so yeah.”

Jessie looked over at Alex who lay on his stomach, staring at the small device in his shaking hand. “Looks like those old football instincts are still alive and well in you.”

There was a groan and a scraping sound as Stella struggled against her metallic bonds. Jessie ran to her, holding up a hand. “Don’t move, Stella. We are going to get you out of there, but don’t want you to risk hurting yourself.”

Korr started to run towards his mother. “Mom…” He stopped abruptly when Jessie stepped between them.

“Don’t,” she said. “We have no idea what could happen if the chemicals you are each covered in comes into contact with one another.”

Her words cut through the anxiety that had flooded him, and he skidded to a stop. He looked past them and his eyes suddenly widened as he pointed.

Jessie spun in time to see Robert pulling himself upright. He had managed to crawl to the small lantern that lit the area and now stood. The arm Jessie had shot dangled uselessly at his side, yet despite the unimaginable pain he must have felt, he managed to lift the lantern with the other hand, holding it aloft.

“Wanna know the one good thing I learned from working for my mother as an archivist? Always have a backup. You’re all going to burn.” He cocked his arm back just enough and prepared to throw the lantern in their direction.

A second shot rang out, shattering the night. The bullet from Alex’s gun hit the lantern square in the center. Whatever was inside covered Robert in a spray of broken glass and foul-smelling liquid. In an instant, the man was covered in white fire that burned so hot it swallowed his screams before they could form in his throat.

One minute, he was standing before them, the next, he was on his knees engulfed in the immolation he had so meticulously planned for others.

Jessie watched in shock as the flames stayed centered on the man, not spreading beyond his own footprint. She glanced over at Alex. The detective was still lying on his back, his gun extended in one hand, the other still cradling the silver igniter he had caught.

It seemed like an eternity before anyone moved. Slowly, Jessie moved to Stella’s side and began working at the metallic constraints that had turned her into a living statue. The only light she had to work by was the flickering flames that now outlined Robert.

Alex stood next to Korr and had the big smoke jumper strip down to his boxers, throwing aside the clothing that had been coated in chemicals. He draped his jacket around the smoke jumper’s body and then went to help Jessie free Stella.

“Thank you,” Jessie said.

Alex nodded gravely. “It’s what partners are for.” He looked around at the scene. “Though… I don’t suppose you’d like to write this one up for the chief?”

Jessie smiled. “You know, this might be the one time you’re on your own.”

43

The unmatched beauty and tranquil peace that surrounded Pine Lake wasn’t enough to completely erase the memory of the recent events from Jessie’s exhausted mind. Blizzard lay sprawled beside the couch, his massive white form rising and falling with each contented breath. Jessie sat cross-legged on the sofa, a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table before her, while Korr occupied the armchair opposite, his large frame making the furniture seem almost comically small.

"Still can't believe it's over," Korr said, staring into his coffee mug as if the dark liquid might hold answers to questions he hadn't yet formed. "Feels like I've been holding my breath for days."

Jessie nodded, understanding the sensation all too well. "Cases like this don't end cleanly. They tend to linger." She studied his face, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slight downward pull at the corners of his mouth. The man before her had weathered a storm that would have broken most people. "How are you doing? Really?"

Korr's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Honestly? I don't know." He set his mug down. "It's like someone dumped out the puzzle box of my life and now I'm looking at pieces that don't match the picture I thought I knew." His fingers drummed against his knee. "I grew up thinking my parents died protecting me. Turns out my father committed murder, my mother aided and abetted, and the people who raised me, the best people I've ever known, built their lives on a foundation of lies." He caught himself, looking suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry. Didn't mean to unload on you."

"Don't apologize," Jessie said. "If anyone understands complicated family history, it's me." She let that hang in the air between them.

"What about you?" Korr asked, visibly gathering himself. "You were right in the thick of it. That clearing, Robert with the detonator—" He shuddered slightly. "Not exactly a typical day at the office, even for you."

"Nothing a week of sleep wouldn't cure," Jessie replied. Deflecting always came easy. She dropped her hand to scratch Blizzard behind the ears. The shepherd leaned into her touch without opening his eyes, a picture of contentment. "But we both know that can’t happen, right, boy?"

Blizzard's tail thumped once against the floor in confirmation.

"How are your parents?" Jessie asked, carefully steering the conversation away from herself. She'd spent enough time in situations like this to recognize when someone needed to talk more than she did.

A shadow crossed Korr's face. "Both on the mend. Mom's agreed to stay in the hospital a bit longer for more tests. The doctors are watching her heart closely after everything she went through." His voice softened. "Dad hasn't left her side, not even to shower. I practically had to force him to change clothes yesterday." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It's strange seeing them like this. Vulnerable. Human. Growing up, they always seemed so... solid. Unshakeable." His fingers laced together, knuckles whitening with pressure. "They told me that as soon as everyone's back home, we need to have a talk. Said there are things they need to tell me."

He looked up, meeting Jessie's eyes. "I have a feeling it's about more than just my biological parents. There's something else they've been keeping from me. I can see it in how they look at each other when they think I'm not watching. There’s this silent communication, like they're preparing for something difficult."

Jessie kept her expression neutral, careful to give no clues as to what she was thinking. Some truths were not hers to share. "Your parents love you, Korr. Whatever it is, remember that."

"I know." He sighed heavily, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "It's just... I thought I was done with surprises." He gave a rueful laugh. "Turns out, my entire life might be one giant reveal after another. Makes me wonder what else I don't know about myself."

"Whatever you discover," Jessie said quietly, "it doesn't change who you are. The choices you've made, the man you've become, that's yours. No revelation can take that away from you."

Korr studied her for a long moment. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

She offered a small smile but no explanation. "Just something I've learned along the way."

Silence settled between them, comfortable rather than awkward. Outside, a car drove past, its tires crunching on the gravel of the road. Blizzard's ears twitched at the sound, but he remained otherwise still, content in the presence of trusted humans.

"What about everyone else?" Korr asked finally, reaching for his cooling coffee. "Alex? Eleanor? Marcus Ray?"

"Alex is buried under a mountain of paperwork," Jessie said, smiling slightly. "You know how he is. Methodical to a fault. He's documenting everything in triplicate, determined to make sure no technicalities exist in the investigation." She traced the rim of her mug with one finger. "He's taking Martinez's death hard, though he won't admit it.”

"Not his fault," Korr said firmly.

"I know that. You know that. Getting Alex to believe it is another matter entirely."

Jessie leaned back against the couch cushions. "Marcus is going away for a long time. The federal case against him and the Ray business empire is just getting started. Tax evasion, fraud, environmental violations—they're finding new charges daily. His lawyers are working overtime, but even they're looking overwhelmed. The irony is, he might have gotten away with most of it if not for Robert's vendetta bringing everything to light."

"And Eleanor?" There was a note of genuine concern in Korr's voice.

Jessie's expression grew more somber. "She's applied for funding to rebuild the Historical Society. Says she wants it to rise from the ashes, better than before." She remembered the hollow look in the older woman's eyes the last time they'd spoken. "She didn't talk about Robert. I can't even imagine what she's going through, having raised someone capable of..." She let the thought trail off.

"That kind of betrayal changes a person," Korr said quietly. "She lost everything. Her son, her brother, her life's work—all gone in the span of a few days."

They lapsed into silence again. Blizzard shifted position, stretching his long legs before settling back into a contented doze, his fur catching the late afternoon light.

"What about you?" Jessie asked, her eyes meeting Korr's. "What comes next for Korr Green?"

He drew a deep breath, his chest expanding. "My career as a smoke jumper is over." The words seemed to cost him something vital to say aloud. Each syllable bathed in pain. "After finding out about my inner ear condition, I can't in good conscience continue. Too much risk—to myself, to my team."

His hands flexed open, then closed into fists on his knees. "I've already submitted my paperwork. Rick wasn't happy about it, tried to talk me into taking a desk position with the crew, but..." He shook his head. "That would be like being forced to watch the game from the sidelines. Always close, never part of it again."

"I'm sorry, Korr. I know how much it meant to you." Jessie recognized the particular grief in his voice. The mourning of an identity that had been suddenly stripped away.

He shrugged; a gesture too casual to be genuine. "It is what it is. The doctors say the condition has probably been there all my life. Pure luck nothing catastrophic happened before now." His jaw tightened briefly. "Or maybe not luck. Maybe instinct. Looking back, there were times I felt... off during jumps. Moments of disorientation I wrote off as adrenaline or fatigue." He raised his eyes to meet Jessie's gaze directly. "Believe it or not, I'm thinking about law enforcement." A half-smile tugged at his mouth, more genuine than before. "I might be grounded, but I still want to help people. Figure I learned from some of the best these past few days."

"You'd be good at it," Jessie said, and meant it. She'd seen his focus under pressure.

"That's what I'm hoping. I thought about forestry, park service—plenty of ways to stay in the mountains—but after everything that's happened..." He gestured vaguely. "Perspective changes, I guess. I want to be where I can make the kind of difference you and Alex make."

“Whatever you decide, I’d be happy to write you a letter of recommendation," Jessie offered. "Though I'm not sure how much weight my opinion carries.”

“More than you know, I bet.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer than strictly necessary. A current passing between them. "I was thinking, when things settle down a bit, maybe we could⁠—“

The buzz of her phone interrupted whatever he had been about to say. Jessie glanced at the screen, a slight frown creasing her forehead when she saw the name attached to the number. She held up a finger to Korr as she answered.

"Hello?"

Silence stretched for a beat, then two. When the voice on the other end finally spoke, it was so quiet Jessie had to press the phone harder against her ear.

"Jessie. I'm in trouble. I need your help."

Jessie's spine stiffened, the casual atmosphere of the room evaporating instantly. "Lady Maya? What's wrong?"

The woman's voice was uncharacteristically small, frightened in a way that set alarm bells ringing in Jessie's mind. “I need you up here right now." A pause, then, so softly it might have been the wind. "And Jessie? Come alone."

The line went dead.

Jessie lowered the phone slowly, her mind already racing.

"What is it?" Korr asked, already half-rising from his chair.

Jessie stood, drawing in a deep breath. "Looks like that week of sleep is going to have to wait."

Coming Soon: Book Seven in the series is now available for pre-order!

Edge OF Night- Jessie Night Thriller Book Seven

Also, if you’d like to stay up to date on all new releases, including the third book in this exciting new series, join the author’s mailing list, at:

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ember Scott is an author of thrillers and mysteries living in the great state of North Carolina. He is a lover of dogs, mountains, lakes…and some people.

He loves to create tale about very bad people that do very bad things and ultimately get their comeuppance.

If you like fast paced thrillers that are built around unforgettable characters, then this is the author for you.

He can be reached at:

emberscottauthor@gmail.com