Page 86 of Adam's Rising

Clara Mae stood behind them now, holding her revolver like it was an extension of her arm. “Doesn’t matter where he got it now. This is a message.”

Adam ran a hand over his head. “Yeah. They want me to know they’ve got him.”

“Yes,” Clara Mae said.

Claire covered her mouth. “So, what’s next?”

“We find him,” Adam said. “And we don’t wait.”

* * *

By morning,a plan had formed.

Adam drove to the edge of the property where the old trapper’s cabin stood near the tree line. The building had been abandoned since long before Clara Mae bought the land. Rusty used to joke it was haunted.

Now Adam wasn’t laughing.

The door hung half-open. He stepped inside cautiously.

Nothing.

Just cobwebs and dust — and the unmistakable smell of cigarettes and sweat. Recent.

They’d been here.

A scuffed boot print marked the soft dirt floor. Size eleven, maybe twelve. Not Peter’s. Too big. And not fresh. Adam circled slowly, every nerve on edge.

Then he saw it — a strand of red thread, wedged in the splintered window frame.

Peter had been here. And someone had dragged him out.

Back at the ranch,Claire sat at the kitchen table, spreading out the old map of the valley Clara Mae had given them.

“If they were here, and they went east,” she murmured, “they could be in any one of these old mining shacks or hunting cabins.”

Clara Mae poured more coffee. “We used to have a forest ranger up here who mapped every back trail. I’ll see if I can find one of his old logbooks.”

Claire nodded, grateful. “Thank you.”

Before the older woman could leave the room, the phone rang.

Adam reached it first. “Hello?”

A pause.

Then static.

Finally a voice. “Wrong brother.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Adam slowly lowered the receiver.

Claire looked up, eyes wide. “What did they say?”

His jaw tightened. “They wanted Thomas… Rather,me.”

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