slipped back to the shack, holding up his phone as a flashlight as he made his way back inside.
She moved quietly after him. Maybe she could see something that he would miss, something that would prove the brother’s death was nothing more than a suicide so they could put this all to rest.
As she walked toward the shack, she stopped. No. She couldn’t pry. She couldn’t get any more involved with this. If she went in there and did find something, there was a high probability that she would slip up and say something that would give away her background. He couldn’t know anything about her position in the FBI.
She walked around to the back of the shack to where an old push lawn mower sat. There, on the ground beside it, was a puddle of dried blood. Pine needles had collected at the edges, making the pool look like some kind of macabre artwork.
She opened her mouth to call out to Trevor, but stopped. No. She couldn’t tell him.
From the state of the body in the house, there was little possibility this blood belonged to the dead man. If someone had shot him out here and moved him, there would have been drag marks or some indication that the body had been staged. Though she hadn’t spent long in the room with the dead man, she had noticed the blood leaking out of the wound at his temple. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the trail as it twisted down his ravaged features and leaked onto his dirty collar, staining it a ruddy brown. He couldn’t have been moved postmortem. No, the blood pattern didn’t match.
Which meant this blood had to belong to another person. And based on the volume of it on the ground, they were possibly dealing with more than a single death.
Crap.
She stared at the dried blood. Kneeling down, she scooped up a handful of the sharp, dried pine needles that were scattered around. What she was about to do could end up going all kinds of ass-backwards, but it had to be done for her, for her investigation and for her chance at getting her future back. There was nothing she wanted more than to rise in the ranks, and sometimes that meant that sacrifices had to be made.
She threw the needles atop the blood and stepped onto them. She kicked away at the dried blood, earth and needles until there was nothing.
It felt wrong to destroy evidence, but at the same time a sensation of freedom filled her. It was refreshing to break the rules and to make her own in name of the greater good.
Walking around to the door of the shack, she poked her head inside. Trevor took a step deeper into the shadows around the dead body. He knelt down and moved aside a piece of discarded cloth on the floor. He chuckled.
As he stood up, she saw a gun in his hand. He wiped the grip and the barrel down with his shirt, as though he was stripping it of any possible fingerprints.
There was only one reason he’d wipe the gun down—he was trying to protect the person who had pulled the trigger. Maybe that person was him.
Hell, he had probably come in here and killed the brothers in an attempt to get rid of them once and for all. Then he had waited for her to arrive before he rode up on his Harley like some kind of badass playboy.
He’d probably wanted her to see the man’s body first. He’d wanted to come off as innocent. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and act the hero.
And she had allowed the bastard to set her up.
Trevor walked up the front steps of the ranch house and waited as Sabrina parked her car and made her way over to him. He had told her that she could have the rest of the day off. She didn’t need to come back to the main house with him—she could return to the old foreman’s place, which was hers now—but she hadn’t accepted his offer. Instead, she had only said that she had work to do.
Actually, it was the only thing she had said. The words had rung in his ears the entire ride back to the main house. There had been something in her sharp inflection that told him she was angry about something, something he was missing—and that there was danger afoot—but for the life of him, he didn’t understand.
It was like he was married all over again, his life awash with unspoken anger and resentment. The memory of standing at the front door of his apartment, watching as his wife bedded another man on their once-pristine leather sofa, made a sickening knot rise in his belly.
Once again, just like before, he was forced to be an unwilling participant in things unspoken.
Hopefully this time he would be able to stop his life from falling to pieces in front of him.
She came to a stop beside him, but she was putting off a distinct “don’t touch me” vibe.
He must have crossed some invisible barrier when he’d pulled her into his arms back at the shack, but it hadn’t been his intention to make her feel uncomfortable. He had just been trying to help, to lend a shoulder to a woman in need, not to tick her off.
“Did you talk to Chad yet?” she said, glancing down at her watch like she was checking just how much time he’d had before she arrived.
He shook his head. Truth be told, he had been hoping she would keep driving instead of turning off on the little dirt road that led back to the ranch. It would have made sense, her running away after seeing the Cussler brother rotting in his chair.
And if she had kept driving, he could have had the real conversation he needed to have with Chad without worrying about what she would hear. Now he’d have to play it cool until he could get his brother alone and he had the chance to find out exactly what he knew. No doubt, Chad would have dealt with that man’s remains as he had and left them out there for the Cussler family to handle.
They didn’t need to draw undue attention. They needed to fly under the radar and off the grid for as long as possible.
He cringed at the thought of having to move again.
Getting out of Adana had been a nightmare after Trish’s death. When they made their move to Montana, they sent misinformation on the dark net to make it seem like they were moving east to Thailand. They had no doubt that Turkish mobsters were just waiting for their chance to kill the rest of the family.
As long as nothing came out, they’d be safe for a while. It was the reason they had chosen this speck on the map. Plus, they’d have the cover of the United States and the amnesty that it offered if anything blew back on them. He and his family had done so many covert ops for the former president that they would always have government backup.
Or so he hoped.
Chad came sauntering out of the kitchen, a hot dog in his hand. He glanced from Sabrina to Trevor and gave him a raise of the brow as he stuffed the rest of the hot dog into his mouth, leaving a blob of mustard on his lip.
“I see you’re already living the high life, brother,” Trevor said with a laugh. “You want me to go in and get you a Budweiser, too? Nothing says American like a hot dog and a beer.”
Chad swallowed the bite. “Not all of us developed a taste for world cuisine. You can’t tell me that dolma is better than a good hot dog.” He wiped off the speckle of mustard at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do
