Lessons In the Woods

Lessons In the Woods
Rachael

Marty didn’t bother stepping into the hall. Just raised his voice enough to carry.
“Sinclair. Hanshaw. In here.”
Roman moved first, no hesitation. I followed slower, bracing myself.

Mrty leaned against his desk, arms crossed, a yellow legal pad in one hand. His jaw was tight. “Coroner just called. Tox report’s back on the second Jane Doe.”
I stayed standing. Roman shut the door behind us.
Marty flipped the page on his pad. “Midazolam. Same as the first girl.” I didn’t mean to, but my breath slipped out louder than I wanted. That word had been burned into me since I first heard it over a phone line.
Roman’s voice came low, even. “Consistent method. Same precision.”

“Not just that.” Marty’s finger jabbed the page. “Both of them had other stuff in their system. Street drugs. Amphetamines in one, oxy in the other.”
I frowned. “Recreational?”
Marty nodded once. “Yeah. Not enough to kill them, but enough to show a history of use. These aren’t soccer moms out for a hike.”
Roman’s eyes flicked toward me. “Vulnerable targets,” he said. “He’s not choosing at random.”

It made sense. Two women who’d used before, maybe living on the edge. Easier to disappear. Harder for anyone to put their face on a missing poster the next day. My stomach turned because the logic was too clean.
“So what’s the angle?” I asked. “He drugs women who already have drugs in their system? He looking for an excuse? Camouflage?”
Roman’s mouth curved, not a smile exactly. “Or familiarity. He picks women he knows will take something willingly. Easier to earn trust if they’re used to pills already.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Trust. He doesn’t need to fight them, doesn’t need to force. Just hands them something, and they take it.”
The room tilted for a second. My phone buzzed against my thigh. I ignored it. Marty kept talking, something about the coroner’s exact timeline, but the vibration came again. Then again. I finally glanced down. Three missed calls. Travis.
I locked the screen fast enough my thumb hurt.
He’s the only one who calls from a blocked number.
Roman noticed. Of course he did. His gaze lingered half a beat too long, but he didn’t say a word.

Marty tossed his pad onto the desk. Roman leans against the doorway now. “I think we should go back to the park. See if we missed anything. Talk to hikers again, whoever.”

Marty nodded as I was deciding how to start a new missing person search for women with potentially questionable morals, such as myself. I moved when Roman did. My phone buzzed again in my pocket as we stepped out of the office, but I didn’t check. If I didn’t see it, I could pretend it wasn’t there.
The drive out of town cut along the ridge, sunlight spilling in stripes through the trees. Roman drove this time.

“You didn’t eat,” he said after a long silence. Not a question.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re running on coffee and stubbornness. Not sustainable.”
I leaned my head against the window. “Been working for me so far.”
My phone buzzed against my thigh, rattling on the leather seat. Restricted. Again.
I flipped it face down without answering. The screen went black, but his memories burned in my head anyway.

Roman didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His gaze stayed on the road, the wheel steady in his grip, but I caught the quick flex of his knuckles. A pale tightening, then release, like he’d swallowed whatever thought had risen to the surface.

That was Roman....silent, composed, but impossible to read. And maybe that was worse. At least with Travis, the anger had always been loud, obvious, something you could brace yourself against. Roman’s restraint made the air between us heavier, like the things he noticed but never voiced might matter more than what he did say.

The smell of the park felt comforting as we pulled in.
Earthy, pine, clean.....calming.
I slowed by a rusted fire ring as we made our way around the park, brushing a boot through scattered ash. “You don’t see tweakers out here,” I said. “Or the homeless.”
Roman moved up beside me, hands in his pockets like we were out for a stroll. “Exactly.” His voice carried that low, steady calm that always made people listen. “That’s why it works. He brings them here because it doesn’t fit. Using the place as a dumping ground to get attention.” His eyes cut toward me, a faint grin playing at his mouth. “And you noticed that right away. You’ve got instincts.”
The compliment caught me off guard, warming me more than it should have. I busied myself with the ash again. “Instinct or common sense.”

“Not everyone has either,” he said, and I could feel the weight of his stare. “I like that you do.”
“Could be a tourist, but hiking tourists aren’t usually drug addicts.” The pang of guilt hits me as I lump myself in the addict category.
“Good instincts again, Rachael.” Roman smiles, and I ignore the flutter in my chest and start toward the next campsite. The gravel crunched beneath my boots, as Roman followed close, his shoulder brushing mine once as if by accident....or not. I didn’t call him on it.

At the second site, he crouched low, fingertips ghosting over the dirt near a picnic table. He looked perfectly comfortable in the position, like he’d done it a thousand times. “See this?” He pointed at a faint line in the soil, barely noticeable. “Drag mark. Old, but clear enough. Someone pulled something heavy through here.”
I squinted. “Could be firewood.”
“Could be,” he agreed, flashing that grin again. “But firewood doesn’t usually leave scuffs that wide. You’d be surprised what you pick up on if you slow down long enough.” He straightened, towering over me, and brushed his palms on his slacks. “Think of it as tracking 101. Class is free today.”

I snorted, half amused, half annoyed by his smugness. “Great. You're going to start handing out grades, too?”
“Depends.” His gaze swept me head to toe in a way that felt more like an assessment than a leer, but still made heat climb my neck. “Do you want me to?”
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. “I’ll pass.”
But I smiled before I could stop it.

We cut across to a cluster of sites near the tree line. The ground was softer here, pine needles cushioning each step. Roman kept scanning, sharp-eyed, while I tried to imagine the killer dragging a body through this quiet. The thought made the silence heavier.
“Here’s what matters,” Roman said, breaking it. “He doesn’t dump them in the middle of a site. Too obvious. But he doesn’t hike them miles into the woods either....too much risk, too much time. He chooses the edges. Close enough to unload quickly, far enough no camper stumbles on them until he’s long gone.”
That made sense. “You’ve… thought about this before.”
His eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. “It’s my job to think about it.” Then, lighter: “Besides, I wouldn’t want you out here thinking I’m just along for the ride.”
I arched a brow. “And here I was, assuming you liked my company.”
He smiled, that slow, infuriating smile that made it too easy to forget we were talking about murder. “That too.”

I felt his gaze linger a moment too long before he bent to pick up a branch, snapping it clean in his hands. “Strength check,” he said, tossing the halves aside. “Think you could drag a body from the trailhead to here without anyone noticing?”
I grimaced. “Not without leaving a hell of a mess.”
“Exactly. Which means our guy’s careful. Strong enough to carry, smart enough not to pick routes near heavy foot traffic.” He tilted his head, watching me. “You’re following me?”
“Against my better judgment.”
“Good. Means I’m teaching you something.”

We worked the row of campsites methodically, Roman explaining small signs I never would have noticed. How pine needles bent in one direction, how moss clung thicker on one side of a tree. His tone stayed easy, almost playful, but he wasn’t guessing. He knew.
By the time we circled back toward the lot, my phone buzzed again. My thumb hovered, but I let it go dark. Roman glanced at the phone, then at me. He said nothing, just slid his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.
I shoved the phone away and kept walking.

Near the trailhead, Roman slowed, pointing to a patch of disturbed soil just off the asphalt. “See here? Someone cut across instead of taking the path. Looks old, but…” He crouched again, fingers brushing the dirt. “If I were moving something heavy, I’d use the straight shot. Less distance.”
“You’re saying this is...”
“Not evidence. Not yet, but let’s photograph it anyway.” He looked up, eyes catching mine. I took my phone out and took more pictures of the things Roman found today. “Send them to me and I will log and file.”
We checked two more sites before circling back to the car. By then, the sun had dipped, painting the sky in bruised colors. The park was empty, shadows stretching long across the ground.
I shoved my hands into my jacket, trying not to think about how easily those shadows could hide anything, or anyone.