Chapter 5 - COLD HUNT - An Aria Hunt FBI Crime Thriller
- Chase Austin
- Mar 29
- 5 min read
Disclaimer
This is an unedited version of the book and may contain typographical errors, grammatical mistakes, or inconsistencies. If you spot any such issues, please don’t hesitate to report them to contact@thechaseaustin.com. Your feedback is greatly appreciated!
CHAPTER 5
The municipal building lobby buzzed with fluorescent lights—the same 53 Hz frequency that created subtle strobing invisible to most people but painfully apparent to Aria. The effect disoriented her momentarily, requiring 3.4 seconds to recalibrate.
The space split between town administration and law enforcement. Three official vehicles in the small parking lot, including the Sheriff's cruiser. The radiators clanked and hissed at irregular intervals that made it difficult to filter out as background noise. The place smelled of floor polish and old paper.
A gray-haired woman sat at the reception desk, half-glasses perched on her nose as she thumbed through a stack of forms.
"Can I help you?" The nameplate read PATRICIA BENNETT, TOWN CLERK.
"I need to file permits for environmental sampling." Aria presented her falsified credentials, maintaining the flat professional tone that served as her default. "Lisa Matthews, EPA."
Patricia examined the ID with exaggerated thoroughness, holding it at multiple angles as if expecting a hologram to appear. "EPA, huh? Don't recall the last time you folks visited."
"Just routine assessment." Aria produced the paperwork from her bag in perfect order, each form aligned precisely. "I'll be taking water and soil samples from several locations around the watershed."
"Including near Blaine Timber operations?" Patricia's tone sharpened slightly. The change in timbre registered clearly to Aria's sensitive hearing—hostility masked as professional concern.
"Some sites may be adjacent to logging areas, yes."
The clerk's lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the forms. "Well, you'll want to be careful out there. The Blaines don't take kindly to government types poking around their business."
"I'm not investigating their operations. Just monitoring natural waterways."
"Mmhmm." Patricia's skepticism was evident as she stamped the forms with unnecessary force. The sound—31 decibels higher than necessary—made Aria's jaw tighten.
"Either way, you'll need Mr. Blaine's permission to access their private roads. And most of the access points to the watershed go through their property."
Through the glass doors, Aria noticed Sheriff Marrick watching their interaction from his office. Their eyes met briefly before he turned away, reaching for his phone.
"Is there a map of public access points I could use?" Aria asked.
Patricia opened a drawer and withdrew a folded map. "The blue markers are public land. Green is Blaine property. Red is Marrick holdings." She spread the map on the counter. "As you can see, you'd be hard-pressed to get anywhere useful without crossing one or the other."
The map confirmed what the file had indicated. Between them, the two families controlled nearly everything surrounding Whitetail. Aria memorized the coordinates and boundary lines instantly, storing the information in her mental catalog.
"Thank you." Aria folded the map along its original creases, aligning the edges perfectly. "This is helpful."
"Word of advice?" Patricia leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Whatever you're looking for, tread lightly. This town's got deep roots and long memories."
Before Aria could respond, the outer door opened, bringing a swirl of snowflakes and the sharp scent of expensive perfume—jasmine notes over amber, approximately $300 per ounce based on the concentration. A woman entered—tall, early forties, wearing a camel hair coat that probably cost more than most Whitetail residents made in a month. Her dark hair was pulled into an elegant knot, pearls gleaming at her throat.
"Patricia, darling, is my cousin in?" Her voice carried the polish of education beyond Whitetail's borders.
"Yes, Ms. Marrick. Shall I tell him you're here?"
"No need. I know the way." The woman turned, noticing Aria with a slight narrowing of her eyes. "I don't believe we've met."
"Lisa Matthews. Environmental consultant." Aria extended her hand automatically, the social script activating before she could consider whether it was necessary.
"Katherine Marrick. Whitetail Historical Society." Her handshake was brief but firm—12 PSI of pressure, 1.8 seconds of contact. "Environmental consultant? What brings you to our little town?"
The question was casual, but every aspect of the woman's body language signaled assessment—pupils dilated 20%, head tilted 4 degrees right, weight shifted forward by 2 inches.
"Watershed assessment." Aria kept her response simple, registering that this interaction required more caution. "Collecting seasonal data."
"How fascinating." Katherine's smile was practiced, professional—activating zygomaticus major muscles without engaging orbicularis oculi. A non-genuine expression. "And what areas are you focusing on?"
"Several sites around the valley. Public waterways mostly."
"Including the creek that runs through the old Marrick property?" Something hardened in her expression despite the maintained smile—subtle tension in the corrugator supercilii muscle, increased blood flow to the carotid artery.
Aria hadn't specified any locations. Katherine was fishing.
"I go where the data leads me." The ambiguity felt uncomfortable in Aria's mouth, but she'd learned that unclear answers sometimes yielded clear reactions.
Katherine laughed, the sound like glass clinking—artificial, precisely modulated. "Well, Ms. Matthews, if your work takes you to Marrick land, I hope you'll let me know. Some of those areas have historical significance. I'd be devastated if anything was... disturbed."
Message received: stay away. The implied threat registered clearly despite its indirect delivery.
"I'll be sure to check with your office before accessing any private property."
"Excellent." Katherine produced a business card from her coat pocket with practiced efficiency. "In fact, why don't you join me for dinner tomorrow evening? I'd love to hear more about your work, and I might be able to provide some historical context that would help your research."
The invitation was surveillance, thinly disguised as hospitality. Katherine wanted to assess the potential threat.
"That would be helpful. Thank you." Aria accepted the card, already planning strategies to manage an extended social interaction—an environment where her differences would be most apparent.
"Perfect. Seven o'clock. The address is on the card." Katherine's smile tightened fractionally. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with my cousin."
She swept past, leaving a cloud of Chanel No. 5 in her wake—the concentration of the scent lingered painfully in Aria's nasal passages. Through the glass partition, Aria watched her enter the Sheriff's office without knocking. Clay looked up, frowning. Katherine gestured emphatically toward the front desk—toward Aria.
Time to leave. The social interaction had already consumed 42% of her daily capacity for maintaining her cover persona.
"Thank you for your help," Aria told Patricia, gathering her permits.
"Remember what I said." The clerk's eyes flicked toward the Sheriff's office. "Tread lightly."
Outside, the temperature had dropped further—minus 17 Celsius, wind chill approximately minus 23. Aria walked quickly to her rental car, processing what she'd learned while the cold air cleared the lingering perfume from her senses.
Katherine Marrick was protective of something on family land. Something near water. Something that might connect to whatever Lawson had discovered.
First priority: investigate the creek on Marrick property.
But first, maintain her cover.
PREORDER "HUNTED" (An Aria hunt FBI Crime Thriller)
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PREORDER "HUNTED" (An Aria hunt FBI Crime Thriller)
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