Page 40 of Outlaw Ridge: Ryker
She paused a second, eyes shifting back toward the cabins. They were spread out along the curve of the creek, built for privacy and views, not neighborly proximity. From this spot, tucked behind the rental and closer to the water’s edge, no other porch or window had a clean view of where the tarp lay.
“Doubt we’ll get any witnesses,” she muttered.
Ryker nodded. “Still have to canvas the area.”
He gestured toward the cabin’s back porch. Emma followed his motion and spotted the wreckage, plastic casing, exposed wires, shattered bits of a security camera scattered like confetti across the wood planks.
Her chest tightened.
“Camera’s busted,” she said. “But if it was live-streaming to a security company…”
Ryker finished her thought. “We might still get the feed.”
They moved the last few feet toward the tarp, and Emma’s breath caught as she crouched. Not at the body, at the mask.
It was Ryker’s face.
Her stomach twisted, the reaction cold, hard, and fast.
The detail was sharp, his jaw, his eyes, even the slight furrow in his brow. And in the center of that face, right between the eyes, was a single bullet hole.
She blinked once, hard, to steady herself. But the punch of it landed anyway. Not because she believed it was real, she didn’t.
But becausesomeonewanted her to feel exactly like this. And it was working.
The wind shifted, catching the edge of the tarp and peeling it back just enough to reveal more.
Emma stiffened.
She saw the chest beneath it, tan fabric, patches, neat lines. A uniform. Military.
Ryker moved closer, crouched beside her. He didn’t speak for a second, just stared. Then his voice came rough and low.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “That’s the same uniform I wore. Same rank insignia. Same unit patch.”
Emma’s fingers curled into fists as her gaze dropped to the exposed torso.
This wasn’t a mannequin. This wasn’t plastic or foam or the sick illusion of death. This was aman.Flesh. Real.
And not just any man.
He was close in build to Ryker, broad shoulders, long legs, a strong frame that hadn’t softened even in death. His hair, dark and cut close, was nearly identical in shade and length to Ryker’s.
Whoever had done this had gone to meticulous lengths. The face mask. The uniform. The body.
Hayes approached carefully, stopping just short of the tarp. He scanned the area around the body, his gaze sharp and methodical.
“I don’t see any explosives,” he said. “No wires, no triggers. But I’ve already called the bomb squad. Just in case.”
Emma nodded, eyes still locked on the body. “Could be something underneath him.”
She didn’tthinkthere was, but with what they’d seen at the oil field, caution wasn’t optional.
Ryker pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly snapped several photos, wide shots, close-ups of the mask, the uniform, the placement of the body.
Then he pulled on gloves, his jaw tight.
“I’ll lift the mask,” he said, already kneeling.
