Page 58 of Collateral Damage
His eyes shift to the deer, half-buried. "Can you walk?"
I try again. The pain makes my vision blur. "I’ve twisted it. I’ll need to ice and elevate it."
He doesn't hesitate. He just scoops me up like I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. "Hold on to me."
I wrap my arms around his neck as he starts back toward the cabin, moving fast despite my weight and the deepening snow. Snow falls on both of us, catching in his hair, melting against the skin of his neck where my face is tucked. He doesn't slow down until we reach the porch.
There’s genuine anger in his voice as he carries me into the kitchen, grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and slams them down beside me. “Ice it. I’ll be back after I check it out. Do not go outside again.”
The door slams with a finality that leaves no room for disagreement.
Silas
I stand on the porch for a heartbeat staring at the scarred wood as if I can see through it—through the grain and the layers of paint—to make sure she's actually staying put this time.
Mad doesn't even cover it. My chest feels tight, constricted like someone's wrapped steel bands around my ribs.
Carrying her just now was a catastrophic tactical error. If someone were positioned in those trees with even basic marksmanship skills, we would have been the easiest target in the state. Two lives taken with one round because she couldn't stay behind a locked door.
The thought makes my jaw clench hard enough that my teeth ache.
I turn back toward the tree line, my hand hovering near the grip of my sidearm as I crunch back to the spot where she fell.
I kneel beside the fawn, my movements methodical despite the anger simmering in my gut.
Pinned beneath the deer's body is a scrap of high-visibility orange fabric fluttering in the breeze. I yank it free. It isn't just debris. It's heavy-duty nylon, the kind used for hunting vests.
Could've been caught under the deer when it fell. Could've blown here in the storm. Or someone put it there.
A message. Or a marker. Or nothing.
I scan the trees again, my vision tunneling.
I need to sweep the perimeter, but I can't leave Ava alone with an injured ankle and a door that won't hold against a determined breach.
Gut in knots, I check the surrounding snow for tracks, boot prints, disturbances. The wind's already filling in anything that might've been there. Fresh snow falls steadily, covering whatever evidence there might be. No clear signs either way.
I bag the fabric in my pocket and stand, scanning the tree line in quadrants. Left to right. High to low. Looking for movement, broken branches, anything out of place in the natural pattern of the woods. Snow stings my face, limits visibility to maybe thirty yards.
Nothing.
I move in a perimeter sweep, keeping the cabin in sight, checking sight lines, and approach vectors. The snow's too disturbed here from our movement to read anything useful. It's already filling in my boot prints from minutes ago.
I move to the first tree, keeping low. My back's to the cabin, and I don't like it, but I need to clear this section.
The wind cuts through the pines, branches creaking overhead. Snow falls in thick curtains, clinging to my eyelashes.
I stop. Listen.
Nothing but the storm.
I push forward to the next tree, boots breaking through the crust with sharp cracks. Too loud. Way too loud.
A shadow shifts in my peripheral.
I spin, hand on my weapon, pulse spiking hard.
It moves again. Dark shape against the white, maybe thirty yards out.
