CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The neon sign buzzed a tired welcome as Rachel Blackwood's boots crunched over the gravel parking lot of the Lone Star Motel. The orange glow flickered, casting erratic shadows that danced across her weary face. She hauled her duffel bag over one shoulder. The lightweight pack resting with a comfortable sag. As a rule, she packed simple.

Dead ends had led to a decision she hadn't enjoyed, but it was time to retire for the evening. There was simply nothing left to be done at one AM after an entire day chasing leads.

Her room key, clicked in the lock, granting entry to a space that promised rest if not comfort. The door creaked on its hinges, a mournful sound that echoed Rachel's internal unrest, and she tossed her bag onto the threadbare carpet and sank onto the edge of the bed, her body craving sleep even as her mind continued to roll like a storm inside her.

Her phone was already in her hands before she registered the motion. Muscle memory, she supposed. She punched in her security code, digits blurred by the speed of her movements.

Notifications flashed up, two names among them: Miguel Ortiz and Lucy Thompson. Rachel's index finger hovered, then stabbed at the screen with precision.

No updates.

She sighed, flopping back on the bed and shooting off a quick text to Ethan.

Still nothing.

It was nearly two am. The glowing, red lights on the clock next to the bed winked at her.

They needed to find Miguel Ortiz and Lucy Thompson—the two other members of that group of five. Fifteen years ago, Scott Hawkeye had been friends with the first two victims.

Now, three of the old friend group were dead, and two had moved away years ago.

Would tracking Lucy and Miguel down be of any help?

A married couple, judging by the certificate she'd found registered with the county clerk. They had left town a decade ago. For Texas, it was as good as being off the grid.

They needed a lead. A cop was now dead, his partner in critical condition.

And they'd recognized the deputy.

She saw her phone buzz. A message from Ethan.

No go on the tread marks. Belonged to a service vehicle. Accounted for.

She sighed, shaking her head and rubbing a hand over her face.

The mattress groaned beneath Rachel as she shifted for the umpteenth time, her limbs restless.

She lay there on the precipice of exhaustion, her body aching for surrender.

Sleep wouldn't come—she knew herself enough to determine that.

Rachel swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor a shock against the soles of her feet. She strode across the room. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a silver glow that carved the room into a monochrome landscape.

She needed air. A new perspective.

The air felt too close, and she was too cooped up in this room, too cooped up inside her own head.

Rachel felt like a caged lion, pacing and pacing and waiting to be released. She'd muted the calls from Dawes—and yet the phantom of the sheriff still pestered her behind her closed eyes.

Her gaze wandered beyond the glass, where the world seemed suspended in a state of quiet anticipation. And there he was—Ethan, a solitary figure on the terrace next door, his silhouette etched against the night sky.

She paused.

She watched as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the railing, his profile softened by the darkness. There was a steadiness about him, a rootedness that Rachel found herself gravitating towards.

Rachel slid the terrace door open, the cool desert air brushing against her skin. She stepped out, the rough texture of the concrete beneath her feet a stark contrast to the room's worn carpet. The night was a canvas of dark blue, stars scattered like a handful of thrown diamonds across its expanse. Ethan turned to her, his face half-lit by the weak glow from a distant streetlight.

"Can't sleep?" His voice had a friendly lilt, but she could detect the undercurrent of shared fatigue.

She answered with a nod, succinct, the motion sharp and unembellished. Her silhouette melded with the darkness, two weary hunters pausing in their solitary pursuits.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she clipped the word, letting it hang between them, an unvarnished truth.

The desert air was a blade, slicing through the warmth of day now lost. Rachel leaned on the terrace railing, her gaze fixed on the void beyond. She felt the vibration in her pocket, the hum of an incoming message breaking the stillness.

She glanced down, frowned. Just another notification of Dawes' voicemail.

Persistent.

Now that the dam had burst, he seemed intent on catching her ear.

She slid her phone back into her pocket, blocking out the intrusion. Dawes could wait. This moment of respite was more vital. She felt Ethan's eyes on her, but she didn't turn to meet his gaze.

"Quiet, but pretty… I never get tired of the stars," Ethan murmured.

Rachel tilted her head back, following his gaze. She hadn't noticed the sky until now – hadn't seen the blanket of stars that stretched out far and wide in the unpolluted sky. They shimmered and winked thoughtfully in the abyss, an eternal play enacted by celestial bodies. It was dizzying – the sheer scale of it all. The vastness of the universe contrasted sharply with their shared solitude.

"I guess... it's one of the few perks of this place," she replied, her voice softening as she let herself be captivated by the cosmic display above them. The desert was harsh, deadly even, but it also offered them moments like these—quiet, under a tapestry of stars.

"Makes you feel small, doesn't it?" Ethan asked, his voice barely a whisper in the night air. There was an odd comfort in his words, an acknowledgement of their shared insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

"It does," she admitted. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt up her arm. His hand was warm against hers, grounding her amidst the infinity above.

"Never was much for stargazing," she confessed after a moment. "Too busy looking for tracks on the ground to bother with what's up in the sky."

Ethan chuckled quietly beside her. "Guess that's why you're such a good ranger then."

The compliment hung in the air between them, warming Rachel more than any fire could have done. She offered him a small smile, grateful for his understanding.

They lapsed into silence again.

Ethan had an awed look in his eyes as he smiled his dopey grin at the sky. And Rachel found her own lips turning in a smile at the expression of jot on her partner's face. She looked up once more, following his gaze to the sky.

"Doesn't look like this back in Austin," she acknowledged, her tone softening as her gaze swept across the cosmos overhead.

Ethan chuckled lightly. "Guess that's the upside of being somewhere so desolate."

Rachel turned towards him. His face was bathed in soft, ethereal moonlight, making his features appear softer, almost dreamlike.

"What was it like growing up with so many?" she found herself asking, her gaze drawn back to the stars. Her voice held an unmistakable note of curiosity tinged with longing—a contrast to her usual curt style. It wasn't unlike looking at an old photograph and wondering what it would have been like to be part of that world.

She knew how he'd grown up… and he knew her story.

She'd been orphaned. An only child, raised by an aunt who now thought very little of her. It had been a lonely childhood, and if she was honest, it had been a lonely life.

Rachel swallowed, the vulnerability of the moment catching up with her and making her regret the impulsive question. But Ethan showed no discomfort, only a small, smiling curiosity as he took in the question.

"Weird you out at all?" Rachel added when she started to feel a twinge of embarrassment at the drawn silence.

"What's that?" he asked. She noticed that his Southern accent grew more pronounced when the two of them were alone.

"Being alone," she said. "Like this."

"Not alone here."

"You know what I mean. You come from a big family, don't you? Is it weird not being around them?" she glanced at him, then looked away again.

Ethan chuckled, a soft sound that echoed faintly in the expanse of the desert night. "Yeah," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of nostalgia. "I mean, big families can be pretty chaotic."

"But good?" she probed, her tone implying more than just simple curiosity.

He paused for a beat before answering. "Good... Yeah," he said with conviction. "I don't have much to compare to. Asking me if having a big family is good is like asking..." he trailed off, searching for an analogy.

"A fish if water is wet," Rachel supplied, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Ethan laughed again, this time louder and more genuine. "Exactly!" he agreed.

Rachel nodded, turning her gaze back to the horizon. The desert was a sea of darkness, with only the star-studded sky providing any semblance of light.

"Sometimes it's tough, though," Ethan added after a moment of comfortable silence. His voice had dropped down to a murmur, barely audible over the soft whistle of wind that whipped around them. "We were always tight on money... and privacy."

"But you wouldn't trade it?" Rachel asked.

A long pause followed before Ethan responded, his tone thoughtful. "No... no, I wouldn't."

"I bet it wasn't lonely."

"Yeah," Ethan replied, leaning back against the rail, hands resting loosely by his sides. "A whole tribe of us."

"Must've been... well, it must have been something," Rachel ventured, the words escaping like steam from a pressure valve. She was a lone wolf by nature, but intrigue gnawed at her, a hunger for understanding the pack dynamics that shaped this man beside her—her partner.

"Chaotic. Loud." A smile crept into Ethan's voice, a sound that painted pictures of crowded dinner tables and shared laughter. "But we always stuck together."

"Sounds nice," she admitted, though the concept felt foreign—a language she recognized but had never spoken fluently.

"Sometimes more than others."

Rachel nodded, absorbing his words, letting them fill the spaces between her own fragmented memories of belonging. She returned her gaze to the darkened landscape, the vastness echoing her thoughts—endless, searching, restless.

Ethan tilted his head to the stars, a map of memories in the endless sky. "We fought like hell," he said, voice gritty with truth. "Small house, big hearts trying to fit in."

"Sounds familiar," Rachel muttered, though her battles had been solitary.

"Mom kept faith at the center," Ethan continued. "Prayers before dawn, grace at every meal. It was our compass, you know? When everything else went sideways."

"Guidance?" she asked, the word unfamiliar on her tongue.

"Exactly." He turned, eyes finding hers in the half-light. "There's strength in believing... in something greater."

She nodded, and she wasn't sure when she did it. But her hand slid over the terrace's cool railing, closing the gap between them.

Skin met skin. His warmth seeped into her, an unexpected comfort against the chill of desert night air. Ethan's fingers curled around hers, a firm but gentle clasp. In that simple touch, Rachel felt the unspoken pledge of solidarity. The subtle shift of his thumb, a rhythmic caress against her knuckles, spoke volumes—words unnecessary, a language all its own.

The divide between their terraces was nothing more than a line drawn in concrete; it had no bearing on the space they now shared emotionally. With a steadiness she rarely afforded herself, Rachel leaned into that unseen boundary, her movements deliberate, bridging the scant inches until her head found the broad support of Ethan's shoulder.

His body angled just so, accommodating her without a word, as if he'd been expecting her. The solidness of him under her cheek was grounding, more reassuring than any bulletproof vest or backup call. It was human warmth, human connection, something she didn't know she craved until this very moment.

Ethan's breath was steady, a quiet counterpoint to the distant whisper of the night. Rachel let out a slow exhale, allowing the tension woven through her muscles to unravel, strand by strand. Here, in this fragment of time, supported by the man beside her, she could allow herself this respite, a temporary shelter from the relentless drive that fueled her days and haunted her nights.

As she settled more firmly against him, a blanket of silence draped over them, a shared solace in the midst of chaos. And for once, Rachel wasn't alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But tomorrow… tomorrow, they needed a break in the case.

Someone had to know something about Miguel Ortiz and Lucy Thompson.

Three of their friends were dead.

For all she knew, they were next.