Page 119 of The Darkest Chase

Rolf lets out a soft whine and lays his head on my knee, just like he did with Talia the other night. I smile faintly, scratching between his ears.

“It’s funny, old man,” I murmur. “I never minded being alone with these thoughts before. Before her, I mean.”

I should not be missing Talia right now.

How the hell have I gotten this attached?

No clue, but there’s no denying she’s under my skin with her soft ways hiding a free spirit, with her shyness, with her determination and her creative fire.

And I’ll only ruin her in the end.

I can’t help myself.

Can’t help wanting to touch her again and again until she’s infected with my darkness, a pale and beautiful thing tarnished like ancient copper.

Get your head back in the game, you miserable fuck.

I lead Rolf on another quick circuit of the crime scene, letting him sniff around in case anything pricks his interest, considering he was a drug dog once.

There are days when I wish I had Rolf’s senses.

Everyone teases me about how I track like a wild animal, but an animal can do what I can’t with scents. They can tell what came first, what came second, what came last, and piece together a more complete story than I ever could.

All Rolf tells me is that there’s nothing too interesting around here. He takes a few sniffs and then immediately loses interest.

I take him down the hill then and do another slow walk where we found the body, expanding out in circles while I scan for his camera—just on the off chance this really was an accident and the camera just fell and wedged itself somewhere we overlooked.

I check every crevice, every pile of leaves, every rock heap.

Nothing.

I even look up into the trees, just in case the camera’s dangling from a branch by its strap, waiting to spill its secrets.

No such luck.

Which tells me the victim definitely caught something on film that someone else didn’t want him seeing.

By the time I hike through the woods with Rolf to where the cook site had been during my stakeout with Talia, I’m fairly certain who those someones are.

The site’s been completely cleared out, well before the Jacobins usually pack up and move on.

I can piece together a scenario in my head.

Brian Newcomb wanders out into the woods, looking for a little wildlife to shoot. While he’s camped out for the night, a noise alerts him that he’s not alone.

He slips out and starts taking photos of the Jacobins at work, thinking he’s found some hillbilly moonshine operation or a backwooded cult, something worth documenting.

He doesn’t realize he’s been spotted by Eustace Jacobin, this tall shadow sailing up to him in the dark of night, her footsteps silent.

Not until it’s too late.

Not until she’s already pushed him and stolen his camera and left him for dead, right before screeching at her little brood of minions to pack it up and relocate.

They’ll be more careful now.

Craftier. Harder to track down.

One more problem Redhaven doesn’t need.

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