Victoria didn’t answer. She just kept her eyes on the road, pretending the shiver that went down her spine was from the air conditioning.
The turnoff came exactly where the suspect said it would be. The faded fence post leaned toward the road as if it was trying to collapse into the weeds, a chipped smear of yellow paint catching the afternoon light.
Victoria slowed, scanning the tree line. There — a break in the growth, narrow enough to miss if you weren’t looking for it. She took the turn, the tires crunching over packed dirt.
Beside her, Isabel straightened in her seat, that restless energy she carried sharpening into focus. “We should park in the woods and approach on foot,” she said, already scanning the tree line for cover.
Victoria glanced at her, catching the spark in her eyes. Tactical. Smart. “Agreed,” she said, keeping her tone even. The begrudging respect was immediate and deep — she had to give credit where it was due. Isabel wasn’t just bold—she was thinking ahead.
A hundred yards in, she eased the car off the road, maneuvering it behind a thick stand of pines. The engine ticked as she killed it, and the forest’s quiet pressed in — a faint wind, the distant call of a bird. Nothing else.
She popped the trunk and got out, the heels she’d worn to the precinct already feeling like a liability. Reaching into the back, she pulled out a pair of black, worn-in tactical boots. The heels went in the trunk with a solid thud, and she stepped into the boots, lacing them tight. The ritual calmed her, settling her into the state she needed.
When she straightened, Isabel was already watching her, her hand resting lightly near her holstered weapon.
“We observe the front entrance first,” Victoria said, her voice clipped and sharp with purpose. “Look for signs of movement. Once we’re sure of what’s in front, you take the back, I take the front.”
Isabel gave a tight nod, drawing her sidearm without a word. Victoria did the same, the weight familiar and grounding in her grip.
They moved forward together, soundless through the trees, until the clearing came into view.
No vehicle in front.
The cabin sat squat and still in the clearing, its porch half in shadow. The front steps sagged slightly, and the porch light was dead. No smoke from the chimney.
It looked empty.
Fresh tire tracks cut into the dirt out front — recent, judging by the sharp edges and lack of debris.
Could be clear. Could be nothing.
She didn’t let the thought ease her guard. She motioned Isabel to the left, the signal to take the back. Isabel dipped her chin in acknowledgment, slipping into the shadows along the cabin’s flank.
Victoria advanced on the front, keeping her body angled and weapon steady. She reached the first window and eased up just enough to peer inside.
No movement. No figures. Chairs were overturned, one on its side in the corner and another lying flat near the table.
She dropped low, the wood siding rough against her shoulder, and called out, her voice loud and commanding. “Phoenix Ridge PD! Open up!”
Silence.
In the same motion, she was up and driving her boot hard into the door. The frame splintered, the door swinging inwardwith a bang. She swept the muzzle of her gun across the room in smooth arcs — left, right, corners clear.
From the back, she heard the echoing crash of Isabel kicking in the rear door.
Their eyes met across the empty space — no words, just that quick exchange of understanding.
They moved in opposite directions, clearing the small rooms with the same efficiency until they both ended up back in the main room.
Empty.
“Shit,” Isabel muttered, the word sharp in the stale air.
Victoria’s eyes roamed the space. It wasn’t just empty — it had been disrupted—items strewn, drawers open, chairs toppled. Someone had left in a hurry, or someone had searched it afterward.
She holstered her weapon and pulled her phone from her pocket, pressing speed dial.
“Collins,” she said when the line picked up. “Cabin’s clear. We’re going to do a sweep for any clues before we head back.”
