Page 54 of Tormented Hearts

Then, without a word, they kept walking.

They stopped for lunch near a spot in the earth where a spring bubbled. While he set more water to boil, Sinead squatted by the spring, wetting a handkerchief and wringing it out over the back of her sunburned neck.

As he ate his meager spaghetti and meatballs in a pouch, she devoured the other portion of tortellini.

Though they had little to say to each other, the silence was far from uncomfortable. When they got back on the trail, he focused on keeping them both safe even as his brain recognized they were close to the coordinates.

Their final destination. The end goal.

That meant they had a long day’s walk down the steep side of the mountain to reach a road. From there, he would call one of his teammates for a lift back to the ranch…

Where he and Sinead would part ways.

The thought gave him a pang in the middle of his chest, and he covered the spot with his hand.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He glanced over at her walking at his side. “Fine. Why?”

“You grabbed your chest. I thought you might be having a heart attack.”

He stopped walking and cocked his head. “How old do you think I am? Besides, I’m at my peak game. My health is perfect. This body is a machine.”

Her lips twisted in amusement, but he caught the way her eyelids drooped lower over her smoldering eyes.

The cabin came into view twenty minutes later. It was tucked into the mountain where the trees thinned out. The weathered logs were silver with age, and the roof was sagging but intact. A stone chimney still stood straight and tall despite the age of everything around it.

He was just lifting a hand to point to their discovery when Sinead let out a cry. “Is that it? Is this what we’ve been searching for?” She stumbled forward, but he caught her arm to hold her beside him.

“I’ll check it out first. Stay by this tree.” He sent her a look to ensure she was going to listen to him. When she nodded, he hurried toward the small door, his pulse thrumming fast and hard in the old familiar drum he used to get during ops.

With his hand curled around his weapon, Hawk threw her another glance and rushed forward. The old door was locked with an iron hinge and an ancient, rusty lock. There were no windows, and only one way in.

He tucked his weapon along his spine and returned to Sinead. “Unless someone locked themselves in from the outside, it’s safe.”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Good. I’d hate another surprise.” She threw a look at the trees as if she’d never fully trust them to be safe again.

He eyed her. “Want to go inside?”

She bit down on her full bottom lip and then let the plump flesh slip free of her teeth. “I’d like to go in.”

He reached for her hand again and they walked up to the door. She paused, head tipped to study the roof and the rough-hewn logs. “I can’t believe this cabin is standing on the coordinates. You’re sure?” She searched his eyes for verification.

“Yes.” He showed her his map and their pin on the destination.

“Well, how do we get past this?” She touched the lock with a fingertip.

“I have just the thing.” He shrugged out of his pack and let it drop to the ground. After rummaging through one pocket, he closed his hand around the small toolkit.

He located a pair of heavy-duty metal cutters. It took a couple tries, but finally the lock snapped.

Sinead worked fast to remove the lock. They pushed through the door, its hinges groaning in protest. They stepped into a single room coated in a thick layer of dust. The silence seemed to be part of the walls, as untouched by time as the structure.

Sunlight cut through gaps in the roof, striping the floor in pale bars. Dust motes hung suspended in the air, stirred up by the breeze that wafted in with them.

She spread her hands. “Where do we start?”

“We search for anything that will tell us who lived here.”