Blood stained the left sleeve of his expensive snow gear—fresh, bright against the white. An open wound around a bruise sat on his cheekbone, visible even in the dim light.
“Don’t shoot,” he called back. “I’m just hunting.”
Then he raised his rifle, a .308 bolt-action rifle.
So she raised her hands too.
THIS WOMANwas going to get him—them—killed. Jericho had nearly grabbed Harley and clamped his hand over her mouth when she’d shouted out “Sheriff’s department.” What, she was going toarrestthe man?
But Jerichodidn’treact, just froze, stared at the man. He kept his voice low, tight, and then he patted his leg for Orlando to sit beside him.
The dog obeyed.
“Little far off the normal hunting trails,” Jericho said quietly, noting the way the man kept scanning, assessing. Military training, maybe. Or something less official. A fresh cut darkened his cheekbone—someone had put up a fight. “And nothing’s in season right now,” he added.
Orlando tensed at his side, a low growl lifting.
“Down, boy.”
Although with Harley standing beside him, maybe that was a command for himself too. Because he was trying to stand back, to not panic, to let her be ... well, who she was. Capable. Smart.
But, of course, Jericho saw himself standing in front of Mars, his life flashing before his eyes.
This time, Sully wasn’t here to drag him away.
The man emerged into a shaft of sunlight. Tall, probably mid-thirties, wearing expensive Arc’teryx gear that looked too new. He wore a scarf, half concealing his face, but Jericho didn’t recognize him. That wound though ... Jericho filed it away. It would leave a scar.
“Sorry to startle you,” the man said then, and he smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Professional. Practiced. He lowered the gun, and Jericho caught sight of scraped knuckles. “Got turned around out here. Was just trying to find my way back to the road.”
“You’re pretty far from it. About a mile west.” Jericho gestured behind him. “You’re on Bridgeman land.”
The man’s expression flickered—not surprise this time. Frustrated. Like he’d been close to something and lost it.
Yes, down, boy.
“Didn’t realize. No signs posted.”
Jericho stepped just slightly in front of Harley. “Look, we don’t want trouble.”
Behind him, Harley keyed her radio. “Team Three to Base. We’ve got an individual up here, claims he’s hunting.”
C’mon,Harley!He wanted to grab the radio from her, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man.
“What’s your name?” Harley asked. Wow, she had brass.
“Keith Smith.”
Sure it was.
“Listen. You say the road is west. I’ll just head that way.” He moved away from them.
Jericho caught the slight favor of his right leg.
Except, just like that, the guy took off into the trees. Not quite on their path, but away, southeast.
Orlando barked, but Jericho grabbed his harness.
“Stop!” The word burst from Harley as the man vanished into the spruce.