Page 94 of Savage Rancher
Then he turns.
His gaze sweeps across the ridge, across the cottonwoods, across the tall grass where I'm hidden.
I freeze, my heart stopping, my finger still on the shutter button.
He's looking right at me.
Fear shoots through my system, sharp and electric. I duck, peeking out just enough to raise my viewfinder to watch him.
No—he’s not looking at me. He’s looking past me, scanning the horizon, checking for threats.
But his hand moves to his hip, and I see the outline of a gun tucked into his waistband.
If he sees me, I'm dead.
If any of them see me, I'm dead.
I lower the camera slowly, carefully, my pulse roaring in my ears. I need to move. Now.
I start crawling backward through the grass, inch by inch, keeping my body low, the camera clutched against my chest.
A voice carries across the distance—one of the men calling to Cole.
"We're loaded. Ready to move."
"Good." Cole's voice is clear, cold. "Make sure the route is clean. No stops. No witnesses."
No witnesses.
The words echo in my head as I crawl backward, my elbows digging into the dirt, my breath coming in short, silent gasps.
I reach the cottonwoods and risk a glance back.
The van is pulling away, the trucks following. Cole is walking toward the barn, his phone to his ear.
I don't wait to see more.
I run.
95
JAKE
The truck hits eighty on the straightaway.
Luke's already in the back, geared up—sidearm, rifle, tactical vest, demolitions pack. He's checking magazines with mechanical precision. Mason's in the passenger seat, pulling up the map on his phone, his rifle next to him.
"Distance?" I ask.
"Twelve minutes at current speed." Mason's voice is flat. Operational. "North ridge access road is narrow. Single lane. No cover. Through the Circle H."
“No wonder they want to buy Emma’s property.” Luke stretches forward to hand over our comms. “They want the access.”
“And with her land, they can reroute deliveries if needed,” Mason adds. “Ten minutes.”
I push the accelerator harder. "Approach angles?"
"Two options." Mason points at the right. "Main access road, direct but exposed. Or we cut through the eastern ridge trail, slower, but gives us high ground."
