Mama bear rose onto her back legs. Her nose lifted as she tested the air. The big head turned, and the animal sniffed in the direction of the river. She’d caught the scent of a competing odor.
The area might be trying to become a suburb, but right in front of Bree was a sign that much of it was still untamed. This was not the first bear she’d seen. Until her parents had died when Bree was eight, she’d run half-wild in the woods of Grey’s Hollow. She knew enough not to run now. Fleeing would engage the animal’s prey instinct.
People who ran from bears got caught.
But as much as her brain knew what she needed to do, her body was primed for a fight-or-flight response. Unfortunately, both of those options sucked.
Bree raised her hands and spread out her arms, trying to appear larger. She took a slow, easy step backward, and said in a loud, mostly calm voice, “Easy, there. I won’t hurt you or your babies.”
Bree’s Glock felt like a peashooter, but it was all she had. Her can of bear spray was sitting uselessly in the back of her vehicle. A black bear could charge at thirty miles per hour. Her chances of stopping the bear with well-placed, meaningful shots during that panicked nanosecond weren’t good. And she did not want to shoot this animal. Bree’s heart sprinted in her chest, but she forced her feet to move like molasses. She could hear little but the desperate pounding of her own pulse in her ears.
The bear dropped to all fours, slapping the ground as her front paws landed. Huffing, the animal took two quick steps forward, then retreated.
Bree slid one foot backward, then the other. The bear swung her head in a low arc. Bree took another step back, putting one more precious foot of space between her and the animal.
Above, she heard a siren approach. The bear heard it too and pivoted in the opposite direction. She retreated at a run, with her cubs at her heels.
The breath left Bree’s lungs in one hard whoosh, making her light-headed.
She’d been lucky. So lucky.
On shaky legs, she turned to walk up the trail to the road. She’d wait for backup—and bear spray—before searching the riverbank. Rocks shifted under her feet. The ground gave way, and Bree plunged down the slope. Struggling to keep her feet aimed downhill, she smacked into a sapling and slid between the trunks of two larger trees. She landed in a heap at the bottom of the slope. Loose dirt and small rocks settled around her.
The rocky riverbank was just ahead. Bree got to her feet and brushed some dirt from her pants.
An odor drifted toward her on the breeze, unsettling her stomach, and she knew what had attracted the bear.
She walked onto the rocks that lined the waterway. She had a clear view of the entire bank all the way to the bridge high above. Ahead, something red peeked out from behind a boulder on the shoreline, then retreated.
Her stomach knotted.
She quickened her steps. Rounding the big rock, she stared down. Knowing what she was going to find didn’t make the discovery easier. In the rocks and mud at the river’s edge was the body of a woman wearing a red rain jacket and jeans. The bear had picked up the scent. Black bears will eat anything from bugs to grass to berries—to bodies.
She reached for her phone and called Deputy Collins. “I found her.”
Bree approached the body. The victim lay on her side, wet hair swirling in the water around her face, the body limply shifting position as the current lapped around it. Bree reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen. She used it to lift the hair off the victim’s face. She was small, blonde, and definitely dead.
CHAPTER TWO
Matt Flynn sat in the passenger seat of his sister’s minivan. An abandoned industrial park stretched out on one side of the street. Small, run-down houses lined the other.
“Thanks for coming with me,” his sister, Cady, said from the driver’s seat.
“I’m glad you called me. I wouldn’t want you in this neighborhood alone.” For many reasons. A former sheriff’s deputy, Matt had been to the area before. He’d busted a meth lab on the next block. But he also knew this was the neighborhood where Cady’s ex-husband’s family lived.
In the back seat, Brody barked once and pressed his nose to the window. The German shepherd had been Matt’s K-9 partner before a shooting had ended both of their careers. Matt had taken a settlement from the county, with the stipulation that his dog retired with him. Brody was his partner. Matt had refused to leave him behind to be used by the careless and corrupt former sheriff. Matt wondered if Brody recognized the blocks as they cruised by.
“I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow,” Cady said. “The caller said the dog was in bad shape, and it’ll be dark in an hour.” Cady ran a dog rescue. She often received anonymous calls about neglected or abused animals. “Usually, I just get one of the girls to go with me, but I thought you might be a better option tonight.”
“I’m happy to help, even though you’re no damsel in distress.” Matt said a silent thanks that his sister had plenty of street smarts and common sense. Not that she wasn’t capable. A former collegiate rower, Cady now taught kickboxing and self-defense. Nearly six feet tall, she wore faded jeans and a hoodie emblazoned with the logo for their older brother’s MMA gym. She didn’t exactly look fragile.
“I’d rather not get into distress at all, if I can help it.” Cady pointed to an overgrown lot. “This is it.”
A small house sat in the middle of a suburban jungle. Weeds and foliage grew over the front porch. Mold covered the peeling white siding.
She pulled over, adjusted her long, strawberry blonde ponytail, and reached for the door handle.
“Hold on.” Matt scanned the street. “Do you know who owns the house?”
“Yes.” Cady gave him a name he didn’t recognize. “I already spoke to him and got permission to remove the dog from his property. The house is supposed to be knocked down next month. Whoever is living here is squatting.”
Matt hoped that was all they were doing. If he and Cady ran into drug dealers, they could be shot on sight and their bodies dumped in the river.
He turned to the dog in the back seat. “Stay.” He didn’t want Brody stepping on a crack pipe, needle, or broken glass. The dog was strictly backup.
Brody wouldn’t like it, but he’d obey. Matt lowered the window to give Brody fresh air—and so the dog could get out of the vehicle if necessary. Then he opened his own door and stepped into the street. The hairs on the back of his neck shot to attention.
Someone was watching.
In this neighborhood, someone would always be watching. Criminals kept a close eye on their surroundings. Residents who weren’t criminals would be equally as worried about strangers.
The sun was dropping low, casting long shadows. Matt followed Cady to the broken sidewalk. A rusty chain-link fence encircled the property. Unlatched, the gate hung on its hinges. It squeaked as Cady opened it. They went through the opening, the foliage closing in on them and obstructing their view. A prickly shrub snatched at the legs of Matt’s jeans.
“Did the caller say where the dog was being kept?” He stepped in front of his sister in case any surprises waited for them.
“The back porch.”
Matt’s pulse thudded as they walked along the side of the house. He listened hard, but all he heard was the spring breeze in the trees and the distant rumble of a freight train. He held an evergreen branch aside for his sister, and they emerged into the rear yard. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, and fast-food wrappers littered the weedy ground. Glass shards crunched under Matt’s boots, and he was glad he’d left Brody in the van.