Page 12 of Outlaw Ridge: Ryker
Emma’s grip on the binoculars tightened as she stared down at the ring. That one small detail had sliced straight through her composure, sharper than she expected.
Ryker’s voice cut in gently, steadying. “Remember, the mannequin had his wallet. This could be another taunt. The ring doesn’t prove it’s Ethan.”
She knew Ryker was right. Whoever was behind this was two steps ahead, and smart enough to use what mattered most to her as bait.
He took the binoculars back from her, eyes scanning the body again as he moved a few careful steps to the right. Not close, still well outside any danger zone, but just enough to adjust the angle.
“I want to see if the mask’s the same,” he said. “And if there’s anything written on it like the last one.”
Seconds passed in silence.
Then he made a low sound, not quite surprise, not quite disgust. Something in between. Ryker handed the binoculars back without a word.
Emma raised them again, heart pounding.
The mask… it was indeed the same. That unnervingly accurate replica of Ethan’s face. The slightly parted lips. Closed eyelids. The unnatural stillness.
But this one didn’t have a message scrawled across the chin. NoEmma Bonetti is a killerwritten in furious block letters.
She adjusted the zoom, and that’s when she saw it, the thickness of the mask. Not just a latex cover or a Halloween prop. The material was layered. Bulky near the temples and jawline, like something had been fitted underneath.
“I see why Hayes didn’t want to touch it,” she murmured. “That mask looks rigged.”
Beside her, Ryker said nothing. But the tension in his stance told her he was thinking the same thing. Someone had taken the time to make sure they didn’t just leave a body with a message.
They left an actual threat.
Emma glanced back toward the patrol cruiser. Jesse and Hayes had retreated inside, likely for warmth or cover, or both. She couldn’t blame them. The wind was sharp enough to slice, and the sleet had picked up, needling down like frozen pins.
She opened her mouth to say something to Ryker, maybe suggest they get back to the cruiser and wait for the bomb squad.
But a gunshot tore through the air.
Her instinct took over. She dropped, hitting the frozen dirt hard, her hand already pulling her weapon. Ryker dropped down beside her in the same instant, his body pivoting toward the sound, eyes scanning the field like a hawk.
They were about twenty feet from the cruiser. Too far to make a run for it without drawing fire.
Another shot rang out, this one even closer. The round slammed into the ground not two feet from where she’d just been standing, kicking up a spray of sleet, dirt, and jagged stone.
Emma’s heart pounded against her ribs. This wasn’t some misfired shot from a nearby hunter. Someone was trying to kill them.
Emma kept her body low to the frozen ground, her knees pressed into sharp gravel, the cold biting through her jeans. Her heart was hammering in her ears, but her voice came out calm, controlled.
“Can you see the shooter?” she asked.
Ryker shifted beside her, slowly lifting his head just enough to scan the area. “No visual yet. But I think the shots are coming from behind the second oil pump, far end of the field.”
She followed his line of sight. The rigs loomed against the sleet-streaked sky, black metal bones groaning in rhythm. The second pump was half-shrouded by mist and distance, its base thick with rusted piping and brush.
It made sense. High enough vantage. Just enough cover.
Her finger hovered over the trigger. She could return fire, maybe force the shooter to duck. But then her mind snapped to the road, not far beyond the ridge. If someone happened to be driving by, if a bullet went wide…
She clenched her jaw. No. That risk was too high.
More shots rang out.
Dirt exploded inches from her hip. Ryker cursed under his breath, flattening lower beside her.
