Page 8 of Silent Bones
Callie looked at him. “But?”
He straightened, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Moose don’t come into camps. Bears do, but not like this. And grizzlies…” He gave a faint, strained laugh. “Not up here. Not unless one took a wrong damn turn.”
McKenzie blew out a slow breath.
Jake gave a dry shake of his head. “We get calls every year. Big tracks in the mud, a trash can knocked over, a shape someone thinks they saw in the mist.” He looked back at the trail. “But this…” His jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”
The wind shifted, carrying the damp scent of blood.
Callie felt it in her chest, that low, crawling unease that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with instinct.
She closed her hand carefully around Stephen’s phone.
Behind them, Ozzy Westborough rose from where he’d been crouched, peeling his gloves off finger by finger. His earbuds dangled silent now, the faint ghost of rock gone.
He walked over, stopping a few feet away. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth drawn tight. Callie met his eyes. “What’s your gut tell you, Ozzy?”
Ozzy exhaled, a slow, careful breath. “Massive trauma. Blunt force. Deep lacerations. Could be a bear. A sick bear. Could be…” He stopped short of making any other assumptions. “Again, we won’t know until I get the bodies back to the M.E.”
Callie gave a small nod, feeling pressure behind her eyes.
McKenzie rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You want me to check if Noah has been assigned?”
She nodded. “Yeah. And see if SAR can spin up some drones. For all we know, Stephen might have run into the wilderness and got lost.”
He gave a tight salute, turning away, the radio already coming up to his shoulder.
Jake shifted beside her; gaze still fixed on the trail. His shoulders were tense, his hands fisted loosely at his sides.
Callie glanced at him. He didn’t look at her.
They stood at the trailhead in silence: detective, ranger, coroner, deputy, all staring into the woods where the path disappeared around a bend. Stephen Strudwell was somewhere in that maze of trees. Alive, they hoped. But hoping wasn't finding him.
3
The lake never lost its magic. Hammered silver under the morning sun, mist curling off the surface like breath. Coming back to the Adirondacks hadn't been easy, but mornings like this reminded him why he'd stayed. Something about this place mended what needed mending.
Noah Sutherland tightened the straps on the roof rack, the canvas tent bag thudding softly as he secured it. Behind him, the sound of sneakers scuffed over gravel, followed by the scrape of a duffel bag being dragged across the driveway.
He smiled faintly as he watched Mia wrestle a duffel bag half her size toward the back of the Bronco.
“Careful, kiddo,” Noah called. “That bag’s not going to carry you, you know.”
Mia shot him a grin over her shoulder, ponytail swinging. “I got it!” she announced, dragging the thing another foot before plopping it down with an exaggerated huff.
Ethan was crouched near the cooler, busily inspecting the camping stove like it was a piece of alien tech. “Do we really need this?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “We can just make a fire, right?”
“That’s the idea, champ,” Noah said, ruffling his son’s hair as he passed. “But if it rains, you’re going to wish we had backup.”
The Bronco’s tailgate was already down, camping gear lined up like a military operation: tent, sleeping bags, food packs, fishing rods, a half-deflated soccer ball because Mia had insisted, and two beat-up folding chairs. They were bubbling with quiet excitement, and for once, Noah let himself feel it, that rare hum of peace.
From next door, the sound of a screen door banging open echoed across the narrow stretch of lawn.
“Hey, Sutherland!” Ed Baxter’s voice carried across the yard, cheerful and gravelly. “Don’t forget the marshmallows! And maybe a good set of earplugs if Bigfoot comes sniffing around the campsite!”
Noah laughed, turning toward his neighbor. Ed was standing on his porch in battered jeans and a T-shirt that readI Believeunder a cartoonish Sasquatch silhouette, cradling a mug of coffee.
“You ever get tired of that joke, Ed?” Noah called back.
