And yet she stood there, motionless, eyeing a rifle she’d once used to hunt a three-hundred-pound mountain lion.
She could not shake off her aunt Sarah’s words from their last encounter. The blame and disappointment that weighed heavily on Rachel’s shoulders seemed to seep into every corner of the room, casting shadows on the vibrant patterns of the single woven tapestry that adorned her bed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to ground herself amidst the emotional turmoil.
“Focus,” she muttered under her breath.
She paced back and forth, her boots echoing against the wooden floor, replaying the events leading up to this crucial moment in her mind. As she sifted through the information, she felt the pieces finally click into place like the tumblers of a lock aligning.
But they never fully aligned.
A piece was missing.
Had always been missing.
In her pursuit, she had only ever focused solely on the tangible evidence left behind at the crime scene—the bloodstains, the shattered window, the scattered belongings. But it was what wasn’t there that held the key to solving the case. The absence of her parents’ bodies, the lack of any witnesses, and the eerie silence that had lingered in the air like a dense fog. It was as if they had vanished without a trace.
Something…or someone deliberately concealed these details,she thought, her hands clenched into fists as anger bubbled within her.
Her room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced in the corners as the last rays of sunlight fought their way through the small, dusty window.
Her parents had disappeared. Assumed murdered.
By who, though?
And who had hidden the clues?
Someone…
Who knew what law enforcement would look for?
Someone on the inside?
She felt a cold chill go down her spine.
Frowning, she turned and approached her laptop on the slim, round kitchen table.
She opened the laptop, took in a steady, shaking breath. But then she summoned resolve. Summoned the disapproval in her aunt’s voice.
She would see this through.
Her parents deserved it. An abandoned room. A shattered window… bloodstains on the glass. It all came back to her, haunting her. She could remember ten-year-old Rachel trembling, shaking horribly.
That same feeling ofknowingdeep in her gut that something terrible had happened.
She was a tracker, after all.
A hunter.
It was time to find out who’d killed her parents.
