He thought he was checking out illegal logging in the Idaho mountains-until he found a German Shepherd locked in a frozen cage, staring at him like it had been waiting for exactly one person

crisp edges of recent boot prints already softening in the wind.

Atlas sat beside it and looked toward the trees.

Grant felt the old part of himself come awake, the part that counted exits and angles before anger had time to form. Someone had walked within thirty yards of his cabin while he slept. Someone had left a message meant either for him, the continue reading …