Redaction (Rachel Hatch Book 12) by L.T. Ryan & Brian Shea

Author:L.T. Ryan & Brian Shea [Ryan, L.T. & Shea, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Mind Media
Published: 2024-12-12T00:00:00+00:00

Rain lashed the forest with relentless force. Each step through the muck was a battle against nature itself, as boots sank into mud, the squelching sound swallowed by the downpour. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the sharp tang of ozone. Thunder rumbled overhead, a distant promise of worse to come.

Flashlight beams cut jagged paths through the trees, casting fleeting shadows that twisted in the storm.

“Here!” Tuck’s voice barely rose above the hiss of rain.

Hatch moved quickly, her Glock resting steady at her hip, each step deliberate as she knelt beside him. She caught something out of the corner of her eye, a discoloration in the foliage at her feet.

A dark smear stood out against the wet leaves and torn earth.

Blood.

"Beats a damn candy wrapper,” Tuck said.

Hatch examined the scene, eyes narrowing. “Looks like he took a bad fall.” She pointed to a jagged branch, its tip stained a dark red. "Wound's worse than we thought."

“Maybe he’s slowing down?”

“Maybe. If so, that means we might have a better chance of closing the gap.”

The hillside had turned into a slick slope of mud and debris. The rain, now a torrential wall of water, cascaded down and turned the forest floor into a treacherous battlefield. Rufus strained against his leash, his nose to the ground, catching faint traces of the fading scent.

Hank walked beside the hound, murmuring soft words of encouragement that were lost in the storm.

"Still on it,” he told the others, “but this rain isn’t helping. Won’t be long before we lose it altogether."

Hatch remained quiet, her focus sharp. The group kept a safe distance from the handler and his K9 partner, giving them room to work. Every so often, Rufus paused, his body tense, then pushed forward again. Time slipped away in the deluge, blurring time and space.

Then Rufus stopped. The bloodhound circled beneath a towering pine, nose twitching but uncertain. His usual confidence faltered, replaced by frustration.

"Scent's gone," Hank called out, shaking his head. Defeat tinged his voice.

The team gathered under the thick canopy, seeking brief shelter from the downpour. The rain drummed overhead, the weight of it seeping into every bone and muscle.

Tuck turned to Hatch, rainwater running in rivulets down his face. "Your call. We're losing light. Losing the trail. Where do you think he’s headed?"

She imagined herself in Bishop’s shoes—wounded, hunted, desperate for an escape.

“If it were me,” she said slowly, “I’d get off the trail. Find cover. Regroup.” She scanned the surrounding woods, then her eyes landed on a distant flicker through the trees. The faint glow of the town lights shimmered. “Somewhere with resources.”

Tuck tracked her gaze and bobbed his head slowly, rubbing at the salt and pepper stubble dotting his chin. "Makes sense."

Hank knelt beside Rufus, patting the dog’s side. The hound seemed eager but weary, his eyes still locked on the fading trail. "Ain’t much more we can do tonight," Hank said, the rain dripping from his cap. "Not in this."

Tuck sighed, frustration clear in his voice.

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