CHAPTER ONE
Wyatt Davis stepped onto his porch, coffee in hand, ready to start the day.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The morning was quiet, save for the rhythmic tap of a woodpecker somewhere in the trees. Sunlight slanted through the branches, still weak, not yet warm.
His Dodge Charger sat at the edge of the gravel driveway, streaked with dirt from the last rain. Hopefully, it would start today.
It had been acting up—stalling, slow to turn over. He’d mentioned it to Sam a few days ago, and Sam had laughed, told him to get rid of the thing before it left him stranded. Wyatt had shrugged it off, but the truth was, he liked knowing his car was there when he needed it. He liked being able to get up and go.
Now, standing on the porch, he hesitated. Something was off.
It took him a second to place it.
The trunk.
It wasn’t latched all the way.
His stomach tightened. He always locked his car. Always.
Setting his coffee on the railing, he stepped off the porch. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked toward the car,hands sliding into his jacket pockets. Maybe he hadn’t shut it properly last night. Maybe the latch had loosened somehow.
A breeze rolled through the trees, and something shifted in the air. Faint at first. A hint of something metallic.
Then it hit him.
Blood.
Wyatt’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his steps steady as he reached the car. His fingers found the trunk lid. Hesitated.
Then he lifted it.
The smell thickened instantly.
His eyes locked on the inside of the trunk, his breath stalling.
A shoe. A pant leg. Unmoving.
His pulse slammed into his throat. His brain took half a second to catch up.
A body. He caught a glimpse of dark denim. A wrinkled shirt.
Wyatt slammed the trunk shut.
His phone rang.
The sound cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Sam.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, exhaled slow, answered.
“I know you said your car is giving you trouble,” Sam’s voice was easy, casual. I’m rolling past your place, heading to deal with Nettie Deardorff. I could really use someone with me. Want me to grab you?"
Wyatt’s fingers tightened around the phone. His pulse was still hammering, but his voice came out even.
"Yeah." He swallowed. "Give me a minute."
He hung up and stared at the car.