THE WILDER HUNT

CHAPTER FOUR

Harper Lane rarely felt out of her depth. Crime scenes were puzzles, and she’d learned to keep her pulse steady while everyone else spiraled. But standing beside the shattered window in Leah Wilder’s apartment as detectives swarmed around her, Harper realized something she hadn’t felt since her first year on the job:

Fear.

Not her own.

Everyone else’s.

Leah’s hands shook so violently Harper finally made her sit down on the couch, the only piece of furniture untouched by the intruder. Mara and Ruiz moved through the apartment like restless shadows, their voices edged with something Harper didn’t quite recognize—urgency, maybe. Or dread. Hard to tell.

“You said he used your cousin’s voice?” Harper asked Leah gently.

Leah nodded. “Not exactly. Wrong tone. Wrong… something. But close enough that I almost opened the door.”

Harper felt a tightness at the base of her spine. “A mimic?”

“Or someone with a recording,” Mara said. “Someone planning their entrance down to the breath.”

Ruiz didn’t speak. He stared at the broken glass on the floor, jaw set, knuckles white. Harper could practically see the pieces shifting in his head. Ruiz didn’t jump to conclusions. He built them like structures. One beam at a time.

“Whoever this guy is,” Harper said softly, “he wasn’t here to steal anything. And he wasn’t here to search. He was here to see you scared.”

Leah swallowed. “He succeeded.”

Harper made her a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. “We’re not leaving you alone again. Ever.”

When Mara’s phone buzzed and she stepped into the hall to answer it, Ruiz followed—too quickly for it to be routine. Harper watched the door close behind them and something inside her twisted.

They were hiding something.

She didn’t know what.

But she felt the shift.

Like pressure building before glass cracks.

And then she saw Leah staring at the window again with hollow eyes, and Harper pushed everything else down.

There were priorities.

And then there were people.

Today, they were the same.

Elias Wilder had never felt so hunted.

He walked a quick, tight path between the trees along the waterfront, hood pulled low, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. The morning had fractured into something sharp. His phone buzzed every few minutes—unknown number, unknown number, unknown number—but he refused to check them now.

If he looked, he knew the messages wouldn’t stop.

Threats.

Warnings.

Commands disguised as advice.

He’d been getting them for weeks.

He’d told no one—not Jonah, not Leah, not anyone. Being a Wilder meant keeping your own problems nailed down tight. That’s how their uncle and guardian had done it.

How they all learned to do it.

But Jonah had sensed something anyway. Jonah always did. That’s why Elias hadn’t answered his calls last night, even though Jonah had tried three times.

Something was wrong.

And now Jonah was dead.

Elias realized he’d stopped walking. His breath misted in the air, too fast. His pulse hammered against his ribs like it wanted out. He wasn’t sure when the trembling had started. Maybe while Mara and Ruiz were calling his name down the street when they’d finally reached him after leaving Leah’s apartment. Maybe the moment he learned his brother’s body had been found. Maybe long before that.

He closed his eyes.

Someone had killed Jonah.

Someone had broken into Leah’s home.

And now he felt watched.

No— he knew he was watched.

He turned sharply.

The path behind him was empty.

The trees swayed lightly in the wind.

Nothing moved.

But Elias felt it again—that cold prick at the center of his spine.

Not paranoia.

Recognition.

He knew exactly who was after them.

He just didn’t know how to stop them.

Mara Holland’s voice cracked like thin ice underfoot.

“Albert, we can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

They were in the hallway outside Leah’s apartment, the door cracked just enough to hear the low murmur of Harper and Leah inside. Mara’s back pressed against the wall; Ruiz stood too close, arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the scuffed baseboard.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “We’re working a case, Mara. Jonah’s dead. Leah’s terrified. This isn’t the time.”

“Stop dodging.” Her voice dropped, low and rough. “You think I don’t feel it every time you look at me? Every time you stand too close?”

Ruiz finally met her eyes. Something raw flickered there—anger, guilt, hunger.

She took a half-step forward, closing the space until their boots touched. “You were inside me three hours ago,” she whispered, the words hot against his ear. “You had your hands on my hips, your mouth on my neck, and you were saying my name like it was the only thing keeping you from coming apart.”

Ruiz’s throat worked. He didn’t move away.

She kept going, voice barely above a breath. “You f****d me against your kitchen counter. Hard. Fast. Like you’d been waiting years to do it. And then the phone rang and you pulled out of me like I burned you.”

He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jump.

“Don’t,” he said quietly

Maybe they had crossed a line.

But maybe they hadn't.

After leaving Jonah’s crime scene earlier that day— before the call about Leah came in— they had argued. Hard. Months of tension and frustration and something more finally cracked open. One moment they were shouting; the next they were too close; the next—

She’d ended up in his apartment.

They hadn’t even made it past the threshold of Ruiz’s apartment before Mara had him against the wall.

She shoved the door shut with her foot, hands already yanking at his jacket. Albert’s breath came fast, ragged, as she tore open his shirt, buttons scattering across the hardwood. His skin was hot under her palms, muscles jumping as she dragged her nails down his chest.

“f**k, Mara,” he groaned, voice low and wrecked.

She didn’t answer with words. She dropped to her knees, hands working his belt open with practiced speed. His c**k sprang free, thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip. She looked up at him—eyes dark, pupils blown—and took him into her mouth without hesitation.

Albert’s head thudded back against the wall. His fingers threaded into her hair, not guiding, just holding on. She worked him deep, tongue flat against the underside, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked. He tasted like salt and heat, and she moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk.

“Christ—slow down,” he rasped, but his body betrayed him, thrusting shallowly into her mouth.

She didn’t slow down. She took him deeper, until the head bumped the back of her throat, until her eyes watered and her lips stretched wide around him. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently while the other stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach.

He lasted less than a minute like that. His grip tightened in her hair, a warning, and then he was coming hard, pulsing hot and thick down her throat. She swallowed every drop, milking him with slow, deliberate pulls until he was shuddering and spent.

He hauled her up by the arms, kissing her fiercely, tasting himself on her tongue. Then he spun her around, bending her over the kitchen counter. Her palms slapped against the cold granite as he shoved her jeans and panties down to her thighs in one rough motion.

“Spread your legs,” he growled against her neck.

She did. Wide.

He didn’t tease. He notched himself at her entrance and thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Mara gasped, the stretch sharp and perfect. He didn’t give her time to adjust—just started f*****g her fast and deep, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the small apartment.

“You feel so f*****g good,” he muttered, one hand gripping her hip, the other sliding up to wrap around her throat—not choking, just holding. “So wet for me. You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she panted, pushing back to meet every thrust. “God, yes.”

He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision white out. She cried out, nails scraping the counter. He f****d her harder, relentless, until she was trembling on the edge.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice rough. “Let me feel you.”

She shattered with a broken moan, clenching around him so tight he cursed under his breath. He kept going, driving into her through her spasms until he was right there with her—groaning her name as he came deep inside, hips stuttering, filling her until she could feel every hot pulse.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his chest pressed to her back, his softening c**k still buried in her.

Then the phone rang.

It brought them back to reality.

Jonah Wilder was dead.

The moment shattered.

They hadn’t said a word about it since.

Mara crossed her arms now, keeping her voice low so Leah couldn’t hear through the door. “It changes things.”

Ruiz’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you’re avoiding talking about it.”

“I’m avoiding talking about it because Jonah Wilder is dead, Leah was nearly attacked, and we have the most organized killer we’ve seen in years stalking this family.”

Mara stared at him, throat tight. “And where does that leave us?”

For the first time that morning, Ruiz met her eyes.

But before either of them could answer, the elevator dinged at the end of the hall.

Two men stepped out.

One was tall, thin, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a messenger bag that bulged in an unsettling way.

The other—broad-shouldered, unshaven, with tired eyes—walked like he belonged in every room he entered.

Ruiz straightened.

Mara tensed.

The broad-shouldered man gave them both a curt nod. “Detectives.”

Ruiz exhaled. “Agent Colton. You’re early.”

“Your call sounded urgent,” said FBI Special Agent David Colton. “Urgent means now.”

The thin man said nothing but lifted a camera and began photographing the hallway.

Colton jerked his chin toward him.

“New tech,” Colton said. “Name’s Jax.”

Uriel “Jax” Jackson-Pollers— young, sharp-faced, unnervingly observant— barely glanced at them. “This place has a residue.”

Mara blinked. “A what?”

Jax kept snapping photos. “Someone was here who didn’t want to be seen. That leaves a residue.”

Colton smirked. “He’s eccentric, but he’s good.”

Mara didn’t care how good he was. She needed results.

“Leah Wilder was targeted,” she said. “We need to know if the same person who killed Jonah was here.”

Colton nodded. “We’ll work fast.”

But his eyes lingered on Ruiz a second too long, and Mara felt heat crawl up her neck.

He knows.

He can sense it on us.

The shift.

The complication.

And complications on cases like this got people killed.

Jax had never liked apartments with soft carpet.

Soft carpet meant no prints. No dust. Nothing to catch a heel or leave a trace.

Still, he moved quietly along the floor, following the intruder’s path with an almost animal precision. Agents worked in angles; detectives worked in lines. But Jax worked in shapes.

And the shapes here… were wrong.

He crouched beside the window. “This wasn’t escape,” he murmured. “This was choreography.”

Ruiz frowned. “Meaning?”

“He broke the window, but he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t check his footing. He didn’t lean out to gauge the drop. He just went.”

Colton’s expression darkened. “So he’s done this before.”

“No,” Jax said. “He’s done this a lot before.”

Ruiz looked at Mara.

Mara looked at the window.

Leah’s breath hitched behind them as she realized someone had moved through her home with the ease of someone who understood fear intimately—and was comfortable causing it.

Jax stood. “He wanted her to hear him. Every step. Every whisper. He wanted her terror as much as he wanted her alive.”

“And Jonah?” Harper asked quietly. “Did he want his fear too?”

Jax looked at her for a long moment, then lowered his gaze. “Jonah didn’t fear the killer.”

Leah’s breath caught. “What?”

“He feared something else.”

Jax tapped lightly on the floorboards. “This entire building carries sound. Jonah’s death wasn’t a struggle. It was a message.”

Ruiz felt his stomach drop. “To who?”

Jax looked at him.

“Leah,” he said.

Leah collapsed back onto the couch, trembling anew.

Harper stepped between her and the window like she could physically block the world out. “Enough for now,” she snapped at Jax.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

The silence after spoke louder.

Elias’s head blurred, and the whole thing returned like a bruise pressed too hard.

He didn’t know why he walked back toward the apartment, but something pulled him—the knowledge that Leah was in danger, or the guilt twisting through him, or the adrenaline that hadn’t faded since he heard his brother’s body was found.

When he finally saw the cluster of police cars around her building, his chest cracked open with relief and panic at once.

Then he saw Harper pacing outside the entrance.

And he froze.

Harper saw him first. Her posture shifted, wary—not hostile, but guarded. He wasn’t sure if that hurt or helped.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around alone,” she said immediately. “We’re dealing with someone who knows your family too well.”

Elias swallowed. His throat felt raw. “Is she okay?”

“She’s shaken,” Harper said. “But alive.”

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched.

Harper stepped closer. “Elias… if you know anything—anything at all—you need to tell Ruiz. Or Mara. Or me.”

He almost told her.

Almost.

But the words clung to the back of his teeth.

The calls.

The warnings.

The threats.

Everything Jonah had sketched in that book—the check mark, the warning symbol, the X.

Especially the X.

He backed away from Harper like she might read the truth off his skin. “I just need to see my cousin.”

“Not yet.” Harper’s tone softened. “Give them a few minutes.”

He nodded again.

But as he leaned against the brick wall, staring at the pavement, Elias Wilder made a decision.

He’d tell them—eventually.

When he knew more.

When he had something solid.

But not today.

Today, the danger felt too close.

And he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone—not even the detectives trying to save his family.

Mara watched Ruiz as he lifted the evidence bag with Jonah’s last note.

RUN.

She didn’t know if it was a warning or a command or a plea.

All she knew was that Ruiz looked tired. Tired in a way she’d never seen before.

Tired in a way that made her chest twist painfully.

“Albert,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure this out.”

He nodded but didn’t look at her.

“About earlier—” she began.

“Not here,” he cut in. “Not yet. Don't.”

“Don’t what?” She leaned in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Don’t remind you how wet I was for you? How you groaned when I sank down on you? How you held me so tight I have bruises on my thighs?”

His breath hitched. He grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop her. “Mara.”

She didn’t back off. “You came inside me, Albert. You didn’t pull out. You stayed there until you were shaking, until I felt every pulse. And now you won’t even look at me.”

He opened his eyes. They were dark, pupils blown wide. “You think I don’t remember? You think I don’t feel it every time I breathe? I can still taste you. I can still feel your nails in my back.”

Her pulse hammered in her throat. “Then stop acting like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “It was everything. And that’s why it’s dangerous. We’re on a case where people are dying, and the last thing I need is to be distracted by how much I want to drag you back to my apartment and do it again. Slower this time. Deeper. Until you’re begging.”

Mara’s breath caught. She felt the heat pool low in her belly, sharp and immediate.

He released her wrist but didn’t step back. His fingers lingered, brushing the inside of her forearm. “I want you,” he said, almost a growl. “I want you so bad it hurts. But right now, Leah Wilder is sitting in there shaking, and her brother is dead, and if I let myself think about burying my face between your legs again, I’ll lose focus. And I can’t afford to lose focus.”

His voice then became soft.

Not cold.

Not distant.

Just honest.

“We'll have to pick up from here later.”

And that honesty warmed her and hurt her all at once.

Before she could reply, Leah appeared in the doorway, wrapped in one of Harper’s jackets, still trembling. “Can I leave now?” she whispered. “Please. I can’t stay here.”

Ruiz stood. “We’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Leah nodded, eyes downcast.

Mara stepped toward Ruiz, brushing close enough that only he could hear. “You know this isn’t over.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“And you know we can’t protect them if we’re not focused.”

The meaning sat heavy between them.

Then Mara turned away, letting the silence settle.

Ruiz followed Leah and Harper out the door.

Mara stayed behind a second longer.

She looked at the broken window, the soft carpet, the place where fear had pooled like water in the dark.

Then she whispered, barely audible:

“We’re already in deep.”

She followed them into the hall.

And the door closed on the empty apartment— an apartment still warm with someone else’s breath...