Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

CONNOR

When Micah called and said he needed help, I'd headed straight here. I expected something to do with Quinn, hence including me, and the urgency, but this was something else. Firstly, there was no sign of Quinn, who was at the lawyer's office for something to do with his trust fund. Then, I met Wyatt down at the ranch house, and he'd chatted to me about how he was taking evidence bags up to the sheriff because Micah had found something, or someone had—he wasn't sure what was going on. He never once asked me what I was doing when I joined him in walking the path to the landslide.

The benefit of me acting as though I belonged.

However, I couldn't imagine Neil overlooking my presence as easily.

When I arrived at the chasm in the ground—which looked less scary in daylight—Neil was there with a group of people. It wasn't Neil who took my attention but a very pale Micah, who grabbed my hand and tugged me away .

"What's wrong?" When we stopped, I cut to the chase after Micah deemed the distance enough.

"There's a gun down there," he said under his breath.

I blinked at him, swiftly transitioning from interested to focused. I glanced back at Neil and the rest, who peered over the edge of the hole.

"A gun, where? In the hole?"

"It was in the well, and the landslide took down the side of it, and what if the watercourse took the gun from the well, and anyone could find it now." He stopped and rubbed a hand on his chest.

"They can see a gun?" I thumbed behind me, but Micah shook his head, so pale and shaky I rested a hand on his arm.

"No, but…"

"Start from the beginning."

"It's the gun that…" He glanced at me. "The one that was used to kill Callum Prince."

"Why do you…" I stopped when I realized what Micah having the gun might mean. "Shit."

Callum Prince. The depraved, psychopathic monster in charge of the Brothers of Chiron cult, the one where my cousin had gone and vanished. The one who had held Micah's sister Rachel prisoner when she was pregnant on two occasions. I knew Callum was dead. I'd seen the photos of his twisted, burned remains, all that was left of him and others, including kids after he'd torched the buildings in a murder-suicide pact.

But Micah had a gun used to shoot Callum?

Had he died before the fire? I wasn't sure there'd been the impetus to examine things in detail, given some of the high-profile kids who had been lured into being part of the cult. A ton of evidence had been suppressed, and I only knew that because I'd gotten hold of original photos.

But if Callum was already dead, shot before Micah had gotten Rachel out, and before the fire that destroyed everything, then who set the fire?

"Who was the last person to handle the gun?" I asked. Who'd killed Callum?

Who do I need to protect?

"Me," Micah met my gaze head-on, but I could see the lie in his eyes. He was protecting someone.

Rachel.

His sister had killed her husband. Micah was resolute in his decision to take the fall for the crime to protect his sister. I didn't care who'd killed Callum, just knowing he was dead helped my aunt and uncle come to terms with losing Natalie. I was sorry I hadn't been there because shooting him would have come right after torturing the fucker for what he'd done.

"How long has it been down there?"

"Since just before the first time you turned up, trying to track down Rachel." He forced a hand through his hair, on edge, so stressed he wasn't far from marching over and turning himself in before we even knew what they'd found. I remembered the time I'd headed up here clear as day, which was enough time for the constant flow of water to wash away skin cells, sweat, and any other trace evidence. I knew this all too well from my SEAL days—training missions where we had to retrieve weapons submerged in various conditions, always clean as a whistle when we pulled them out. The truth was that water was a natural eraser, and any evidence left on a weapon could be obliterated in days, if not hours.

"Okay, rationally, the gun has been down there a long time, so they'd be unlikely to find DNA."

"But if there is a match to the gun from a bullet at the scene, and it's found on our ranch where my sister and her kids live…" His hands were in fists again.

"You're overthinking this."

"It's a fucking gun!" Micah snarled and stepped back from me.

"Keep your voice down," I warned. "A lot of shit was buried about what happened at Chiron, I'll fix the rest."

"But, if it's washed out, if it was still down there, in the hole..." He let out a sharp exhale. "I want it to fall on me. You have to promise to protect Rachel if I'm arrested."

I touched his arm. " If anyone finds a weapon because subsidence pushed it out, I'll fix everything. You have my word."

He scrubbed his eyes and cursed. "I should have thrown it in the fucking river or, fuck, anywhere but on our property."

"Keep your head straight," I said, keeping my tone firm. "It will be a mess up there, but we have time. You need to stay calm and focus on the best-case scenario."

"And what the fuck is that?" Micah snapped and then shook his head. "Shit, sorry."

"Best case? The gun is long gone, and you have nothing to worry about."

"And the worst case?"

"They find it."

"Shit. Fuck! "

"I've got your back."

Micah didn't know it, but this extended family was under my protection, whether they liked it or not. They were my responsibility, and the thought of a mission of sorts brightened my day. I knew I'd fix whatever was found. I was so confident that I could almost feel the solution in my hands. There wasn't a single doubt in my mind—I would ensure everything turned out fine. It was what I did, and no one would get hurt on my watch.

I approached Neil and gave a polite nod. "Sheriff."

"Connor," he replied, just as polite but with a touch of tension.

"What have we got?" I asked and leaned over. A quick assessment revealed battered suitcases and not much else. The rain had started up again, tiny rivulets of water running into the hole.

"You need to step away," Neil said as he tugged at the crime scene tape and forced me to take a few steps away.

"What's down there?" I asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Neil said, his voice firm.

But I wasn't about to be brushed off that easily. I ducked under the tape in one smooth movement and reached the edge. I could see the cases scattered at the bottom of the hole. Without a second thought, I levered myself over the side and down the steep incline, my training as a SEAL kicking in, keeping light on my feet, and moving with all the athleticism and precision ingrained in me.

At the bottom, I did a quick check, not touching anything. No gun was in sight, but I was up close with old luggage and bones. Neil descended just as fast, more of a slip-fall than a graceful descent, fury etched on his face. He reached my side in no time, his anger radiating off him.

"You've crossed the line this time, Connor," Neil spat, pulling out his handcuffs. "I'm arresting you."

I raised an eyebrow, more intrigued than worried. "For what?"

"Tampering with evidence," he said, yanking my hands behind me and snapping the cuffs onto my wrists with a finality that brooked no argument. "You have the right to remain silent…"

"Jesus, Neil, I haven't tampered with anything that nature didn't already destroy," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. This wasn't the first time I'd pushed Neil's buttons, and it wouldn't be the last.

Neil's face reddened, his temper high, and he leaned in and lowered his tone. "You've just dived headfirst into an active crime scene, Connor."

"Someone needed to get the shit out of the hole," I defended.

"Someone who isn't you?—"

"—you're down here, too."

"I swear to god?—"

"And now it's raining."

"Jesus!"

The rain was heavier now, the hole's sides glistened with moisture, and some of the mud was beginning to slip. It wasn't dangerous yet, but we should consider getting out.

"How do you plan on getting me back up top with my hands cuffed?" I asked, all innocent, and his mouth fell open. I smirked, knowing my attitude only infuriated him more.

"I'll call a damn helo out here to drag you up by your feet." Neil's jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Tied up in handcuffs and ropes?" I raised an eyebrow.

His lips thinned. "If that's what it takes to get you out of here without you messing up more evidence, then yes, I will."

I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a whisper. "If you wanted to get kinky, Neil, you just had to ask. I'll even skip the beer."

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, and for a moment, I thought he might explode. Instead, he took a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his composure. He knew as well as I did that he had to take off the damn handcuffs and that whatever had been exposed by the landslip had been compromised by years of earth and erosion.

Ignoring his anger, I crouched by the nearest case, balancing easily enough despite my hands being cuffed. The luggage closest to me was closed and smothered with mud, the other slightly open with contents visible. I glanced at the opposite side of the hole, where the bones lay partially exposed.

"This isn't a game, Connor," Neil said through gritted teeth. "Step away from the evidence."

"I'm not touching it," I replied, scanning the case. "Just observing. Isn't it in your sheriff handbook that you can learn a lot from just looking? "

Neil stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Get. Up. Now."

I sighed again, pushing myself up to a standing position. "Fine, fine. But you'll need to uncuff me if you want me to climb back out of here."

Neil looked as if he were about to argue, but then he muttered a curse and reached for the keys. As he uncuffed me, I couldn't resist one last jab.

"Admit it, Neil. You enjoy having me around. Makes life more interesting."

He glared at me, but something else was in his eyes, almost like fire. "You're still under arrest, Connor. Just shut up and start climbing."

"How about we ask your deputy to throw down the evidence bags, and then we rope this stuff up and both get out of here before the rain makes the hole sink in on itself?" Neil's jaw clenched. "We're down here now, so we may as well get the job done."

He gripped my arm before I could crouch again. "Get the fuck away from the crime scene."

I bit my lip, forcing back concerns about potential guns and how I wanted to be here when whatever was here was collected. I couldn't resist one last comment.

"So, you don't want me in your hole."

He took a step back and rested a hand on his holster, and I swear I saw murder in his expression.

I guess that was my answer.