Bulletproof Christmas. Barb Han

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      A sudden burst of cold air brought his focus back to the camp twenty-five yards in front of him.

      There were other possibilities for why Dex was in this part of the county, possibilities that heeded consideration. Thinking of his parents always reminded him of domestic violence. Dex could be a hothead or a common criminal in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He might’ve brought a girlfriend here, killed her and dug her grave. She might’ve already been dead and he dragged her limp body into a shallow grave.

      Icy tendrils wrapped around Rory’s spine at the same time that anger spiked through him.

      Facing the unexpected usually kept him on his toes, reminded him he was alive. This time was surprisingly different. It lacked the excitement that normally accompanied an adrenaline rush of this scale.

      Since there hadn’t been activity at Dex’s camp, Rory decided to go in and see if he could gather more intel. Boots was asleep and there was a chance he wouldn’t bark since he’d already met Rory. The winds had picked up and the howling would mask any noise the little dog made.

      What else could he use to distract the dog? Considering he didn’t own a pet, nor had he ever, he didn’t exactly carry around dog biscuits. Rory would have to have been willing to commit to one spot for a while in order to have his own dog. But he did have something. He could break off a small piece of a peanut-butter power bar and give it to Boots.

      Dex not returning was starting to weigh on Rory. Why would the man leave the camp without taking his backpack and his pet?

      Investigating could be tricky and could compromise Rory’s position. What if Dex returned? What if the animal barked? Rory could be caught or shot.

      Did he have another cover story? There was no good sell for being out there alone and checking out the campsite for the second time.

      What if the dog didn’t bark? Could Rory slip in and out without leaving a trace while Boots slept? All he’d need would be a few minutes and he was confident he could get answers.

      He had to consider all possibilities.

      Rory crouched low and eased across ten yards of terrain without making a sound. The howling wind played to his benefit because he could come in at an angle so the dog wouldn’t easily pick up his scent. Of course, the wind chill was cutting right through his hunting jacket, which he wore in order to give off the impression he was passing through on a hunting trip. It was prime deer hunting season and that would play to his advantage. Of course, most recreational deer hunters were already locked down in a bunk on their deer lease.

      Stealthily, he moved along the perimeter of the campsite.

      This time, he looked for any signs that a heavy object, such as a body, had been dragged out. But then, if Dex was a murderer—and that was a big if—he might’ve already done away with the remains. The campsite could be part of his cover—girlfriend stormed off just before midnight after an intense fight. She doesn’t return. Body is never found. With all the animals out searching for a meal, her remains could be scattered across the land.

      It wouldn’t be the first time such a tragedy had occurred. Rory had come up against similar situations and worse in his ten years as a tracker. And even though his work brought him face-to-face with everything from hardened criminals looking to hide—and willing to kill whomever stood in the way of freedom—to profiteers seeking to make a quick buck on the black market, a trade that was unfortunately thriving, to traffickers—human and animal—he’d always brought them to justice.

      In his life, no two days were the same and the variety kept his blood pumping. Most of his meals were cooked and eaten out in the open. There was something about food heated over an open fire that made it taste so much better than anything he’d ever tasted from an oven.

      He could admit that life on the fringe had lost some of its appeal recently and that probably had to do with the beating heart in his chest, making him think about things he knew better than to want or expect, like a real home.

      This life was uncomplicated. He didn’t spend his time glued to an electronic device like people in town. He didn’t answer to anyone or have to spend time with anyone he didn’t want to see, which also sounded lonely when he put it like that.

      Taking in a slow breath, he inched forward.

      Out on the range, a person’s mind could wander into dangerous territory if he wasn’t careful. Being alone with his thoughts for long periods used to clear his mind but not lately.

      Inevitably, his thoughts would wander to Cadence. Conversations with her had always been enjoyable and especially with her spunk. Her smile was quick and genuine.

      His heart acknowledged that she was dangerous and he knew deep down she could do a whole lot better in life than be dragged down by the likes of a man like him. He might’ve walked away first but she would’ve eventually. She would’ve figured out they were no good for each other. And his heart might not have recovered. For the hundredth time in the past five months, he reminded himself this was the only choice and that he’d done her a favor.

      He’d catch the poacher who was running the show—if that man wasn’t Dex—which would shut down the heart of the operation. And then get back to Wyoming, where he’d taken personal leave. He was needed on the SJ Ranch as soon as he tied up this loose end. If he was going to show his hand, he’d admit that the possibility of seeing Cadence again caused all kinds of uncomfortable feelings to surface.

      For now, he’d deal with what was right in front of him, the camp. He’d managed to inch close enough to see that there was no cooler. Was Dex gone?

      Rory palmed the makeshift dog treat. Improvising was the name of the game out in the wild, where he’d learned to make do with what was on hand.

      Boots opened his eyes and lifted his head as Rory dropped down next to him. Rory was no dog whisperer but he knew his way around animals. Another survival tactic. One he enjoyed.

      “Shhhh, it’s okay, Boots.” He held out the broken pieces of power bar on his flat palm as he surveyed the area. Dex could show up any minute.

      And then his gaze landed on the object that Dex had been hiding...a rifle with a scope pointing south, the direction of the Butler home.

      Hold on. From this vantage point on the land, could he see as far as the estate? It would depend on the power of the scope.

      Rory emptied his hand of the treats, dropping them next to the dog’s mouth. Boots wagged his tail as he happily went to town on the bits.

      Rory pulled his night goggles down from his forehead and secured them over his eyes. Another quick scan of the area and everything looked copacetic. Of course, the goggles only allowed him to see fifteen feet around. Pitch-blackness circled the camp like a heavy fog.

      He gave another pass to the area in order to make sure he and Boots were alone.

      Dropping down to check the angle of the scope, he removed his goggles.

      A curse rolled up and out.

      Dex had a perfect angle.

      The rifle was aimed at the Butler estate all right.

      Rory would recognize that bedroom window anywhere.

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