One big, career-defining, impossible-to-ignore discovery.
I set down the camera and crouched again, my trowel scraping carefully along the edge of the exposed bone. The adrenaline zipping through me was better than caffeine.
Behind me, the wind kicked up a plume of dust, carrying scents of eucalyptus and sunbaked stone. I adjusted my hat and squinted at the trench wall. The stratigraphy was inconsistent with my research. The layering didn't sit right, as if the entire structure had been disturbed or softened, maybe from the torrential rain that had hit this region last year.
I stepped into a lower section to get a better look. Crouching, I slid my trowel from its holster and gave the soil a tentative scrape.
The surface crumbled faster than expected.
Shit! A chunk of clay the size of a backpack dislodged and tumbled away, disintegrating as it hit a lower section. I froze, breath trapped in my chest, watching as a crack zigzagged up the trench wall.
The earth groaned beneath me, a deep, guttural sound that I felt in my bones before I heard it.
A crack opened across the surface, and I threw myself backward as a massive chunk of ground dropped away.
Chapter 3
Mitch
* * *
I tossed my duffel onto the bed, and the springs groaned like they damn well remembered me.
Last time I'd slept in that bed, I'd gone to sleep with a bloody nose and a busted lip, thanks to Frank's temper and an open gate that he’d blamed on me.
I had been just sixteen years old.
The next morning, I’d packed my gear and moved out to the old lodge. Frank had never come looking, not unless he needed something fixed or someone to yell at.
Cassidy and my brothers hated that I wasn't around after that. Turns out, when I’d stopped being Frank's punching bag, he’d found new ones.
Not that I knew that until it was too late.
The shower was the usual bush engineering... a temperamental beast that spat either ice or hellfire, with precious little between as I scrubbed with the harsh soap until my skin was red. Steam crawled up the cracked mirror as I dried off, but I didn't need a reflection. I knew what I'd see: shoulders wound tight, beard getting wild, and in my eyes, a darkness I couldn't hide from.
Finding Frank dead didn't scare me. Finding him alive did. Because I wasn't sure I had it in me to walk away from him a second time.
I dressed in faded jeans and a fresh shirt, and when I stepped into the hallway, laughter spilled from the dining room that stopped me cold. The kind of real, warm laughter I'd forgotten existed in this place, reminding me of the rare nights when we'd all crammed around that oversized table, stealing bites off each other's plates, arguing over chores, and pretending we were normal.
That had been before Mom disappeared.
And before Frank had gutted us one by one.
Before my heart had turned into a live grenade I didn't know how to defuse, I followed the laughter, one heavy bootstep at a time, like I was bracing for the blast.
The dining room wasn't just where we ate, it was the pulse of the homestead. A long timber table dominated the space, but none of my siblings were seated. Declan and Kayden stood with plates in hand, wolfing down food with the urgency of men headed for a cattle muster.
Cassidy passed me a plate piled high with meat pies and sausage rolls, ranch food that didn't need cutlery.
"Eat," she said. "You still look like shit."
"Jeez, thanks, sis. It's good to see you, too."
I bit into a homemade pie and swept my gaze across my siblings. "Tell me what you know about Frank's disappearance."
"Haven't seen or heard from him in six days." Kayden didn't bother looking up from his plate.
"We didn't figure out he was gone until he missed a few meals." Cassidy shrugged. "We don't eat dinner around this table like we used to when you were around."