Page 9 of Captive at Rescue Ridge

Shit.Where was a cell tower when you needed one?

He immediately walked the perimeter of the area to see if the driver had crawled out and was lying nearby, injured from the impact.

After clearing the area, he returned to the sedan.

At least the camera on his phone worked. He took pictures of the Louisiana license plate before taking a few steps back to photograph the scene. Next, he surveyed the interior of the car. A grocery bag had tumbled onto the passenger floorboard, spilling protein bars and fruit onto the carpet mat. There were roughly a half dozen bottles of water, too.

Were these survival items for someone on the run? From what? The law? An ex? A husband? A stalker?

Why come here unless the person had some tie to Saddle Junction?

Could he find out who the car was registered to? Figure out at least one answer to his mounting questions. The papers should be in the glove box. He didn’t want to leave his fingerprints in case this turned out to be a crime scene, so he was careful as he opened the glove box.

It turned out to be empty. Not one service receipt. Not an insurance card, though many of those were digital now instead of paper copies. The lack of paperwork inside the glove box pushed the theory someone was on the run.

Was it Annalee?

Once he got cell service again, he would text the pictures to Travis so the sheriff could run the plates. In the floorboard of the backseat, he saw something familiar. The Black Hat. Careful not to mix his fingerprints with hers, he picked up the hat and gleaned a strand of hair. Long. Red. It was the color of autumn.

He snapped a picture of the hat before setting it on the backseat. This proved he wasn’t losing his marbles, in his own mind at least. A single strand of hair might not convince the others he’d seen Annalee, but it was enough confirmation for him.

Dammit. He wished he could call the sheriff. Being out of range also meant he wouldn’t know if Owen or Hudson had responded to the panicked texts Chloe had sent in the group chat.

But right now, he had a missing driver and evidence that pointed to that driver being Annalee. All kinds of questions flooded him about what the hell she would be doing showing up incognito. Not to mention what had caused her to run away from The Sky’s The Limit, crash her vehicle, and then disappear. What kind of trouble could she possibly be in that would bring her back here?

Based on the tire tracks, she must have stashed the vehicle fifteen feet back. When he’d followed her earlier, he hadn’t seen any vehicles leave the parking lot. It would have been easy for her to duck behind a car until he went back inside.

Again, why show up? Why run?

The timing of her appearance coinciding with Owen’s disappearance struck him as odd. His imagination might be playing tricks, but it was impossible not to suspect the two events were somehow connected.

But how?

As far as he knew, Annalee and Owen hadn’t communicated. Owen would have said something to Archer. His twin had had a bird’s eye view of the wreckage she’d caused years ago.

Setting those thoughts aside, he refocused on the scene. Based on the crash site, concern that she might be lost in the woods with a concussion, or worse, struck. Or had she been dragged from the vehicle? Had she come to Saddle Junction for refuge or escape? Had she reached out to Owen?

More questions flooded him, but right now, he needed to shelve them and search for Annalee.

The sound of twigs snapping to his left sent a cold chill racing up his spine. The tracks sounded human and like someone was running toward the vehicle. His suspicion that Annalee was being chased resurfaced.

The safe thing to do would be to hide and wait. There were other possibilities besides Annalee coming back. The jealous boyfriend, ex, stalker—whatever—could have hurt her and was running back to destroy evidence before the crash site was discovered by the law.

Until Archer knew what he was dealing with, he needed to move the hell out of sight.

Repositioning so that he could monitor the site while staying out of view, Archer put a safe distance between him and the vehicle. For the second time today, he wished he’d brought his shotgun along.

Since wishes were as useful as trying to bribe a bobcat with a dollar bill, he tucked them away and crouched down low, ready to pounce and subdue whoever came bursting through the trees. Based on the direction of the twig snaps, the person was bolting toward the driver’s side. He’d positioned away from the headlights’ beams and behind a pair of mesquites. This way, he could react to the person before they could get to the driver’s seat, close the door, and lock him out.

If this was Annalee, he would demand answers. If this was her boyfriend, spouse, stalker—whatever—Archer would sit on the individual until the person revealed her location and he confirmed she was physically fine and had a safe place to go after leaving here.

Now, all he had to do was wait. Based on the nearness of the ruckus moving in his direction, he wouldn’t be waiting long.

Annalee bolted through the trees.Branches slapped her in the face and torso, but she had to suck it up or risk being caught. Someone or something had found her, and she wouldn’t get out of these woods alive if she didn’t push. Physically, her stress levels shot through the roof, and it was about more than the current predicament. A volcano had been brimming inside her for too many years and was finally erupting.

An adrenaline spike kept her moving despite the bile rising in her throat. Her body hurt. Her heart ached, and she felt sick. Best to let this storm of emotions roll through her than attempt to fight the emotional equivalent of scorching lava and ash. Fighting would only make the fire burn hotter.

Besides, she was most likely about to be caught anyway. At least she would know the identity of the asshole who’d murdered someone and was trying to erase the evidence before she died. Annalee wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not as long as air filled her lungs.

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