Chapter 3

Chapter Three

S hane couldn’t remember where he’d read it, but a saying was going round and round in his mind: “Dread it, run from it, but destiny arrives all the same.” He squinted into the dim afternoon light as he pulled up to 818 Beaver Trail Road. A rusted farm gate stood open, the dirt road beyond it stretching out before him like a path leading to hell. Deputy Kuno was there guarding the entrance and stood aside, letting him through.

Shane eased his truck down the road, gravel crunching under his tires, and braced himself mentally for the scene ahead. He wished so badly that Taylor was in the seat next to him. The last few months without her by his side had been torture. She was only a deputy, but, if he was being honest, she was probably an even better detective than he was. It was something about her sense of selflessness that gave her that extra edge on putting the pieces together. It was something she’d been born with. Since high school, Taylor had been rescuing anyone or anything that came into her path, pushing her own needs beneath the surface.

The fact that she’d almost died because she was too stubborn to see to her own health hadn’t sat well with him, and he hoped that it had been enough to really make her think and realize that she had issues.

She wasn’t fooling him. He was no professional, but he had it already figured out. The way that Taylor was wired was because of some kind of crazy, unacknowledged need to heal her own wounds. She gave the care and attention to others that she couldn’t give to herself—or even accept for herself—that for whatever reason, she didn’t think she’s deserving of.

It was pure bullshit the way they all took advantage of her. Her family always pulling on her for this or that. Keeping her dad alive. Keeping Lucy out of trouble. Catering to Anna’s needs. Even Sam expecting her to take on his kid who had her own issues—that one really took the cake. And now a baby when she wasn’t even recovered from the crap that landed her in the hospital in critical care. It really pissed him off.

He glanced at his phone. Mira had tried to call a few times. He was going to have to explain to her that, just like if she was leading a search, he wasn’t going to be available until it simmered down a bit. She was a lot like Taylor in that she was completely dedicated to her career, but she was harder.

Taylor tried to act tough, but deep down she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She was soft, malleable.

He took the curve too fast and threw up gravel trying to slow down. His imagination created a picture of Taylor sitting in the rocking chair, her new baby against her chest. He’d met Lennon on her one-month birthday, and she was probably the most beautiful baby he’d ever seen. A mix of her dad’s blonde features but with Taylor’s deep brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to look deep into your soul with an intensity that locked you in.

Someone needed to step in and take all Taylor’s responsibilities up. Let her heal so that she could come back to work, where she wanted to be, in his opinion. He didn’t care what Sam said—he’d only been in the picture a few years.

Shane had known Taylor nearly all her life. Like, really knew her.

Taylor would never accept any of his psychobabble, even if he was brave enough to try to point it out. No, their relationship worked well because they didn’t go deep. He wasn’t going to screw that up. But, hell, he missed her. Especially now, with a homicide case in his lap.

He pulled up in front of the house. Before he could even get out of his truck, he heard the sheriff’s truck screech to a halt behind him.

Sheriff Dawkins stepped out, his face as stony as ever, but his mouth was a grim line as he took in the quiet horror that awaited them. Shane met him in front of the porch, giving a quick nod to Deputy Gonzalez, who was already setting up yellow tape and ordering the few deputies on site to secure the perimeter.

“What do we know?” Sheriff Dawkins asked, his voice clipped. He motioned to another deputy, barking at him to keep everyone clear. Despite Dawkins’ attempt to hold his composure, Shane could see the flicker of dread in his eyes.

Shane scanned his notes on his phone, his voice low. “Nancy Hurst came by half an hour ago to drop off her two grandkids. No one came to the door, so she peeked in and saw blood on the floor. She called it in, and dispatch sent Gonzalez over for a welfare check. He saw the blood himself and kicked down the door. Found two bodies inside and two more out back in the shed. All four cold and starting to stiffen.”

The sheriff cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening. “They go to church with us. Willis and I go fishing at least once or twice a summer. Is it them?”

Shane nodded, feeling sorry for Dawkins. “Yep. Nancy Hurst identified them at the shed. The other two … are their adult son and his wife. Hurst’s daughter. She’s in pieces.”

Right on cue, a shrill, keening wail pierced the stillness, shattering whatever calm they had left. They turned to see Nancy Hurst, her face a mask of anguish, being led into the back seat of a patrol car by Deputy Gonzalez. The young officer looked pale, barely holding himself together—probably his first time at a scene like this. He hadn’t been with them but about two months, hired as a replacement for Grimes. Hell of a way to break in a new man.

He approached them.

“Where’re the kids?” Sheriff Dawkins asked, his eyes darting toward the patrol car that held the Hurst woman, her cries still audible, clearly devastated at what she’d found.

Shane pointed toward a white van parked a little way off. “They’re in there with Wesley Wright from Family Services. Got a counselor on the way. The kids haven’t seen anything. Haven’t been told anything either, far as we know.”

The sheriff’s face softened, though his eyes remained troubled. “What a shit show. Two innocent kids lose their whole family on Christmas. Life doesn’t get much crueler.”

When no one replied, Dawkins turned to Gonzalez. “Gilmore County Sheriff is sending some of his deputies over. I want a door-to-door canvassing, and every home checked, in case our suspect is hiding out.”

“The homes around here are pretty spread out,” Gonzalez said.

“I don’t care if they’re a hundred miles apart, just do what I told you to do.” Dawkins looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Search the fields, hills, and trees between, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Gonzalez said, nodding hard as he scurried off.

Shane drew in a steadying breath, then motioned for the sheriff to follow him inside. The house smelled of pine and something delicious cooking, an eerie contrast to the scene that lay within. He stepped carefully past the forensic team, who were setting up cameras and collecting evidence in grim silence. They’d made it in record time, coming from Jasper.

He and the sheriff moved into the living room, where Seth Colburn lay face up on the floor, his head and neck marred with bullet wounds. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling as if still in shock. Shane felt his stomach tighten but forced himself to remain detached, to look at the scene with a trained eye instead of the revulsion he felt creeping in.

There was a gun rack hanging over the fireplace, heavy with a few long guns. Shane went to it and examined, noting the thick layer of dust on tops of the firearms. The guns wouldn’t have been used in the killings. They obviously hadn’t been touched for ages.

They walked through the bedrooms, stopping in the primary. The bed was made up neatly, a cozy quilt that looked like something his mom would make. He went to a nightstand, opened it and found a semi-automatic 380 pistol and a Walther Kurz 9 mm. They were loaded but did not have rounds in the chamber. A box of 38 caliber bullets was deeper in the drawer.

In the kitchen, they found Erin, wife of Seth Colburn. She was curled up, wedged between the fridge and the wall, knees pulled to her chest, her face barely recognizable. Shane swallowed hard, picturing the fear she must have felt—seeing her husband murdered, running away, only to meet the same fate. The scene painted in his mind was one of complete terror.

“Looks like she tried to hide when she realized she was cornered,” he murmured to Dawkins, nodding toward the living room.

They went back out and around to the back of the house and walked over to the shed where a handful of more forensic officers were working. No one was touching the bodies yet and Shane was glad for that. He had to take his own set of photos, too.

On the ramp leading up to the shed door was a huge bundle with a man’s boot sticking out of it. Someone had placed a big rolled carpet on top of the body in a clumsy attempt to hide it.

“I’m assuming they couldn’t get Willis inside,” Sheriff said. “He’s a big fellow.”

Shane nodded.

They could see inside and had a direct view of Jane Colburn, her body at an awkward angle as though someone just threw her inside and didn’t try to move her again. Her left elbow rested against an antique-looking, red gasoline can, and her feet lay atop a grass bagger that was attached to the riding lawnmower next to her.

The sheriff’s face was hard, but his eyes flickered with sorrow. “Damn it all. They were good people. Just going about their lives …”

Shane’s phone buzzed, a sharp break in the silence. He checked the message, then looked up at Dawkins. “Their youngest daughter, Raya, just got here. Kuno stopped them at the gate.”

The sheriff straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go talk to her.”

They headed that way. The late afternoon sun was slipping behind the trees, casting long shadows across the property as they walked down the driveway, then the dirt road, and approached a black truck idling near the gate.

Kuno stood near it, too, with his German Shepherd at his side. The dog had gone through training and got casual clearance to accompany Kuno on patrol. He wouldn’t be let anywhere near the crime scene, but he looked content sitting and waiting at his master’s side .

Inside the truck sat Raya Colburn, eyes wide and hollow, her face pale, surrounded by her long, brown hair.

A bearded man sat in the passenger seat, his hand resting protectively on her knee.

Dawkins approached his side, requesting identification through the passenger window.

“Name, please?”

“Ronnie McGill,” he replied, slipping his ID out of his wallet and handing it over. “What’s going on?”

Shane circled around to Raya’s side, motioning for her to roll down the window. She looked up, her gaze flicking nervously between him and the sheriff.

“Ms. Colburn, there’s an investigation in progress,” Shane said gently, but firmly. He watched her reaction, looking for any hint of understanding or alarm.

Raya’s brow furrowed. “Did something happen … down at the Wilson’s place?”

Shane shook his head, his voice grave. “No, it’s at your parents’ home. Where were you today?”

When she didn’t answer, Ronnie leaned over, responding for her. “Hi. I’m her fiancé. We were headed to Vegas. Planned to get married today but we had an issue with the truck running hot, then the engine light came on, so we decided to turn around. I was going to have Willis take a look under the hood.”

Shane exchanged a quick look with the sheriff, who nodded back.

“Ms. Colburn, I’d like to ask you some questions about your family,” Shane said, nodding at Dawkins to stay with Ronnie. “If you’d come with me to a cruiser over here, please.”

Raya hesitated, glancing toward Ronnie, but she followed Shane, climbing out of her truck and trailing behind him to Kuno’s cruiser. She slipped into the passenger seat of the vehicle. Shane observed her carefully, noting the strained look on her face. He’d seen shock look a hundred different ways—and she appeared to be one of those who slipped into a calm, silent state. He always found those easier to deal with than the ones who were hysterical.

He'd have to take his turn with Nancy Hurst soon.

Shane sat down, glanced out the window at the growing police presence, then turned back to Raya. “Before we start, I need to let you know I’ll be recording our conversation.” He set his phone on the console and hit the record button.

She nodded silently, folding her hands in her lap. “Is … is someone stealing cars again?” she asked, almost as if she were trying to piece together a reason for all this chaos. “Did they take my Camaro?”

Shane’s heart sank. “No, this isn’t about a stolen vehicle.” He paused, watching her closely. This was the hardest part, and he hated it every time. “Your parents were found murdered on the property.”

Raya looked past him, her eyes distant, staring out the window as if she hadn’t heard him or couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Shane considered pressing her but decided to give her a moment to process and work through the instant shock.

“I know this is difficult,” he said softly, his voice gentle.

She turned to him, her eyes blank.

“But how? Why?” she finally said, her voice barely audible.

“That’s what we’re going to find out. And I need to ask you some questions to help me understand what happened.”

Raya nodded, still staring into the distance. “Okay.”

“Let’s start with this. Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt your parents?” he asked.

She shook her head, a tiny movement. “No … I mean, they got along with everyone, as far as I know.”

“Do you have other siblings? ”

“An older sister in Atlanta, and a brother who lives nearby,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“When was the last time you saw your parents?” Shane asked, trying to read her expression. He wasn’t ready to tell her about her brother, yet.

“I went shopping with my mom yesterday. She let me pick out movies at Target for my Christmas gift. Ronnie and I collect them.”

“What about your brother? When did you see him last?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a while. He’s always busy with his wife and kids. We were all supposed to have dinner together today, if I hadn’t decided to go get married.”

She stopped talking, lowering her head.

“Well, can you narrow down when you think you saw him last?”

“I guess on Thanksgiving,” she said.

“Okay. Good. Now, when did you leave for Vegas?”

“Last night,” she murmured.

“And you haven’t been back until now?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry to tell you, Raya, but your brother and his wife were also found deceased.”

Raya turned her gaze to the window, watching the deputies as they moved around the property, her face hidden. Shane didn’t have siblings, but he could only imagine what it would feel like if he did, and someone told him they, along with his parents, were gone. All in one stroke.

“I know this is a lot to process, but I’m going to need you to come down to the station for an official statement,” he said, glancing over at her. “But for now, let’s go back to your fiancé. I have to take some photos of you both, and then you can go home. I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to go to where your parents and brother are, as it’s a restricted crime scene. ”

“Oh—okay. What do you need photos for?”

“It’s just routine in a case like this,” he said.

As Raya climbed out of the truck, Shane’s phone buzzed again. It was probably Mira, wondering what time he was picking her up for pizza. He wouldn’t be picking her up at all.

He looked down, reading the incoming text. It wasn’t Mira.

It was a brief message from Taylor, a small lifeline in the middle of the darkness that surrounded him now. A reminder that he was right, he knew her better than anyone.

Tell me how I can help. Please. Don’t leave me out of this.

Shane approached Nancy Hurst, who stood by her car, clutching her coat tight around her shoulders as if it could shield her from the surreal and horrific scene that was now her reality. Her face was pale, the lines of age and worry deepened, and her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, held a hollow sort of grief that Shane had seen too many times.

Sometimes he hated his job.

He took a steadying breath and softened his voice, showed her his badge that hung on a lanyard around his neck.

"Mrs. Hurst," he said gently, "I’m Detective Weaver, can you tell me how you came to have the kids today?"

Nancy blinked, her gaze dropping to her hands, which trembled slightly as she wrung them together. “Jane and I both wanted them for Christmas Eve,” she explained, her voice a strained whisper. "We agreed I’d take them last night so they could stay over and have breakfast, then open their gifts. Then I’d bring them over here for a late lunch, so they could spend the rest of the day here and open more presents. I just ... I just wanted them to have a good Christmas."

She paused, her face crumpling.

He waited, giving her the space to gather herself.

She swallowed, took a shaky breath, and went on. "When we got here, I knocked, but no one answered. I thought maybe they were just in the back or busy, or maybe down at Raya’s trailer ... but there was no answer there either. I tried calling Erin ... it went straight to voicemail." Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. "I—I had this awful feeling. I can’t explain it. So I drove back up to the house.”

Shane nodded, his voice calm. “What did you do when you got back here?”

“I don’t know why but something told me to tell the kids to stay in the car.” Her voice broke, and she swiped at her cheeks. She fell silent, a shudder running through her, and Shane waited, allowing her the silence to process the memory. Her gaze was distant, fixed somewhere beyond the present, back in that moment of dread and fear. "I went up to the door and knocked again. Then I tried the handle, but it was locked," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "So I walked around, tried to look through the window ... and that’s when I saw ... I couldn’t tell what it was at first. But there was ... there was something on the floor. It looked like blood."

She choked on the last word, her hands trembling harder now. "I ... I panicked. Called 911. I knew something was wrong. I knew it."

Shane felt a knot form in his chest. Scenes like this one never got easier. "And after that? Did you ... look anywhere else around the property?”

Nancy shook her head. “Not by myself, but when the deputy came, I ... after we found Jane and Willis, I followed him inside, and that’s when we ... when we found Erin and Seth.” Her voice broke completely, and she let out a sound—a keening, heart-wrenching sob that seemed to tear through the quiet. “My poor Erin …” She pressed her hands to her mouth, shoulders shaking as the sobs poured out of her, each one more anguished than the last.

Shane felt rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do, the usual words of comfort catching in his throat. He raised a hand, hovering it over her shoulder for a moment before finally placing it there, a small gesture of support that felt so woefully inadequate.

“Nancy,” he said softly, waiting until she looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a portrait of grief. “Are you planning to take the children home with you once Wesley gives the okay?”

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Do you ... do you think he’ll let me?"

Shane offered a small nod. “I don’t see why not. Especially since you kept them from ... from seeing anything inside.” He hesitated, then asked gently, “Do you have someone who can help you break the news to them?”

Nancy’s face crumpled again as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "How am I going to tell them, Shane? How am I supposed to tell those babies they ... they’ll never see their parents again?” Her voice cracked, and the agony in her eyes was like a punch to his gut.

“We can arrange for a counselor to help with that,” he assured her. “Why don’t you go over to the van, check on them? See if they need you.”

Nancy nodded, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. She took a shaky breath, glanced at Shane one last time, then turned and made her way to the waiting van, where the children sat, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had shattered their world.

Shane watched her go, a feeling of helplessness washing over him. Two young lives, forever altered, marred by a loss they couldn’t yet comprehend. They would never have a normal Christmas again. He clenched his jaw, a wave of empathy and anger swirling within him. The image of Nancy’s haunted face stayed with him, a reminder of the ripple effect of violence and the devastation left in its wake.

He squared his shoulders, steeling himself against the sorrow, and turned back toward the house. There was still work to be done. But as he moved forward, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought that the hardest part of this case—the lives shattered, the grief laid bare—was only just beginning.

The Avengers.

That was where the quote had come from.

“Dread it, run from it, but destiny arrives all the same.” That was his thought as he climbed the porch to return to the brutal crime scene that awaited.