16

Noah had stalked slowly closer and closer to the woman who appeared to be levitating in the middle of the field. He'd recognized her instantly and pulled his phone. But his thumb only hovered over the button. After a moment of not pushing it, he made a conscious decision not to call his new SAC.

He considered mashing the button, just to prove he could do it. But she didn't see him and wasn't forcing him to do—or not do—anything. In fact, she didn't even seem to realize he was here. So he let his finger hover as he waited.

When she didn’t seem to spot him or his indecision, he crouched down and began heading her direction. He couldn’t get low enough to disappear into the grass while he moved. If he wanted to lay on his stomach and remain absolutely still, he might stay out of sight, but he needed to move closer. So all he could do was stay low and hope the blond of his hair didn't stand out too much against the gold of the wheat-like grass.

Interestingly enough, even when he was right next to her, she still didn’t seem to notice him.

He’d started his day by checking out the long, winding front drive to the big house. Westerfield had told him about the property. There were no known maps. At least, that’s what Westerfield had said. Noah thought there was something about his new SAC’s words that hinted he might be concealing something.

But he’d been told enough to understand that if he went out the back door of the big house and walked the property, he should run into other homes—or the remains of them. According to what the FBI knew, all the homes were burned-out shells or were shuttered when the family left. According to what they believed now, some of the de Gottardi/Little clan might have returned. So Noah had his eyes open for anything dangerous he might encounter.

He was still fighting to shake his memory of the evil selkie-beings and the mind-blowing craziness he’d encountered in the Caribbean. The worst of what he’d seen were water creatures, so he knew he should feel safe from them here in landlocked Arkansas—but the memory had him checking every creature and every human face for something more. Luckily, all he’d seen here were a few vultures and a handful of coyotes in the distance.

The property itself filled him with a reverent sense of awe. What this family had endured and what they were was pretty impressive. And the architecture… while unassuming, it was solidly crafted, with hand-carved pieces and the kind of detail that didn’t exist in modern works. He would have loved to have seen this place back in its better days.

As Noah got closer, he saw agent Pines seemed to have found something at her feet. He now realized that she was standing on the raised foundation of what had once been a house. Behind her, the tilted pile of brick came into view, and he recognized the remains of a chimney. It, too, must have weakened in the fire and shifted over time.

Once again, his thumb moved toward the button on his phone—and once again, he decided not to push it. Maybe he didn’t because Westerfield was the kind of man who would send one agent after another. The kind who wouldn’t tell his agents everything. Westerfield seemed like the kind of man who would operate solely on the need-to-know basis. Noah didn't like the feeling he got about the new boss.

After his encounter with Christina Pines, Noah was quite confident that he did not know all he needed to. He was growing more and more confident that his new SAC was most likely overbearing and possibly judgmental.

For a moment, he wondered if he'd even fully—legally?—agreed to this assignment. Probably he had, if only implicitly by accepting the ticket and the badge. Still, he didn't hit the button on the phone. Not yet.

When at last he was close enough, he switched the phone from his right hand to his left and flipped the strap on his holster, revealing the butt of his gun. He could only hope he was a quick enough draw if he needed to be.

Slowly, he stood up. When she still didn't seem to notice him from where she was crouched down to find something on the floor, he called out.

Christina Pines popped up lightning fast, the gun in her hand aimed directly at him. Though some of the immediate tension in her stance drained as she recognized him, she didn’t lower the weapon.

All of this indicated what he'd suspected—that she hadn't spotted him until now. He held up the phone as though she might see the screen from the distance. She likely couldn’t read it, but maybe she could see that he hadn’t yet called her in.

“Why didn’t you tell Westerfield you found me?” she demanded, still clutching her gun. At least she let the barrel drop a little toward his feet. Noah didn’t move.

He truly couldn't answer that question. There were so many reasons why he should and so many others why he shouldn't. The pros and cons had been weighted so closely, it had been hard to tell. In the end, the pros were just a little in her favor.

He still might push the button. His thumb was ready. So he only shrugged as she finally holstered the gun and walked easily to the edge of the foundation. She stood to her full height, towering over him by a good several feet, though when they’d met face to face, she’d clearly been shorter than him. She looked for a moment as though she was making her own decisions, and he waited her out.

“I found the trap door,” she said almost too casually. “You have two options. You can call agent Westerfield, tell him I’m here, and then do your best to bring me in and shut me down. Or you can help me figure out what’s going on at this compound.”