A twig snapped under her heel, reminding her why they were there. “This is probably a wild-goose chase,” she said, her voice carefully low despite her words, “but thank you for doing this anyway.”

“You’re welcome, BB.” He winked at her, and Molly sighed to hide how much she wanted to laugh at his over-the-top flirting. They fell quiet as they walked just inside the tree line. Molly searched for signs that someone else had been there. All she could see were rocks, dry earth, and the first autumn leaves scattered over the ground.

Being in the forest was just as bad as looking at it from the outside. Molly was hyperaware of everything around her—from John’s almost silent footsteps to the rustle of leaves and the quiet chatter of a distant squirrel. Every sound tightened her nerves, and even John’s reassuring presence wasn’t enough to keep her calm. Although she prided herself on being relatively fearless—or at least fear-resistant—something about the shifting shadows and hushed movements of the forest made her want to grab John and run for the safety of the car.

“Is this a shoe print?” John’s voice made her jump, and she hid the movement by turning toward where he was crouched down, studying the ground in front of him. Her heart still beating a little faster than normal, Molly bent over his shoulder so that she could see the semicircle mark.

She frowned, leaning closer. “Could be. There’s no tread pattern that I can see, though.”

Making a hum that sounded like agreement, he shifted forward, still in a crouch, checking the ground for a possible trail. She did the same behind him, looking for any impressions in the dirt that could possibly be prints. After she’d fruitlessly covered twenty feet, she gave up and returned to John’s side.

“I couldn’t find anything,” she said, and he held out his hands in an I’ve-got-nothing gesture.

“Probably not a footprint, then,” he said. Despite his casual words, Molly noticed that John seemed even more alert than he normally was, and she felt a little less silly about her own jumpiness. Maybe it was just that there were too many hiding places in the underbrush, but she was relieved when they returned to the spot where they’d entered the woods.

“Would this be considered a success that we didn’t find any evidence of lurkers, or a failure?” she asked as they made their way through the scrubby weeds that edged the forest.

“Success,” he answered without hesitating. “We haven’t been shot, punched, or blown up.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “That’s your definition of success? Not mangled?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“I think… Oh, crap.” Grabbing John’s hand, she dashed the few steps back into the cover of the trees, relieved when he followed her rather than digging in his heels and demanding explanations. Hauling them behind a bushy evergreen, she peered between the branches at the black-and-white squad vehicle parked behind John’s car.

His annoyed grunt told her that he’d seen the two Denver detectives, too.