Chapter 6 - COLD HUNT - An Aria Hunt FBI Crime Thriller
- Chase Austin
- Mar 29
- 7 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 6
The Blaine Timber operation's cacophony hit Aria like a physical force. Saws whined at overlapping frequencies—2400 Hz, 3150 Hz, 4000 Hz. Trucks rumbled, creating low-frequency vibrations that resonated uncomfortably in her chest cavity. Workers called to each other across snow-covered yards in a chaotic pattern of human voices lacking any discernible structure.
She sat in her car for 47 seconds, eyes closed, implementing the grounding technique her therapist had taught her years ago. Five things she could see: snow, trees, machinery, workers, sky. Four things she could touch: steering wheel, seat, jacket, ID badge. Three things she could hear: engine idle, wind, distant saw. Two things she could smell: exhaust, pine. One thing she could taste: coffee, lingering from breakfast.
When the sensory input had been categorized and contained, she exited the vehicle and assembled her sampling kit. Her cover required actual environmental samples, and she was qualified to collect them properly.
The main office was a prefabricated structure, overheated by 4.7 degrees Celsius above comfort standards and smelling of coffee and copy paper. A receptionist looked up as she entered.
"Can I help you?"
"Lisa Matthews, EPA." Aria displayed her credentials. "I'm conducting watershed assessments and need to collect samples from the creek that borders your eastern property line."
The woman's expression clouded—micro-expressions of suspicion and concern flashing across her features in 17-millisecond bursts. "You'll need to speak with Mr. Blaine. Let me call him."
Minutes later, Aria sat across from Robert Blaine, operations manager according to the nameplate on his cluttered desk. The disorder of the papers and office supplies created a visual noise that made it difficult to focus on any single element in the room.
Blaine was bear-sized, with a ginger beard flecked with gray and hands that could probably bend horseshoes for fun. Hunting trophies covered the walls—deer, elk, and one enormous moose head with glass eyes that seemed to follow her.
"EPA, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, which protested audibly. "What's Washington want with our little operation?"
"Standard environmental monitoring. Nothing targeted at your business specifically, Mr. Blaine." Aria delivered the explanation in exactly the same tone and cadence she'd used previously—consistency in deception was essential.
"Bull." He leaned forward, desk creaking. "EPA doesn't send people to backwater towns in the dead of winter for 'standard monitoring.' What are you really looking for?"
Aria kept her expression neutral, though maintaining eye contact required conscious effort. The man's intense gaze created an uncomfortable pressure behind her eyes.
"Seasonal variations in water quality indicators. Your operation was mentioned in the assignment because logging can impact watershed integrity, but you're not being singled out."
Blaine studied her, then barked a laugh that held little humor—the sudden sound registering at 84 decibels, triggering a mild startle response she concealed by shifting in her chair.
"You're good. Almost believe you myself." He stood, moving to a wall map. "Show me where you want to take samples."
Aria approached the map, indicating several spots along the creek. The visual organization of the map—with its clear boundaries and color-coding—provided a momentary respite from the chaotic office.
"These locations would provide the data spread we need."
"That's Marrick land." He tapped one of the points she'd indicated. "Good luck getting permission to set foot there."
"I've already spoken with Katherine Marrick."
Something flickered across Blaine's face—annoyance, perhaps concern. The micro-expression lasted 0.34 seconds—long enough for Aria to catalog but too brief for most people to consciously register.
"Have you now? Well, you're welcome on Blaine property provided you stick to the locations we agree on and share your findings. I don't want any surprises in some report six months from now."
"That's reasonable. I can provide a courtesy copy of any data collected on or adjacent to your property."
"Fine." He pulled a visitor pass from his desk drawer. "This will get you past security. But stay on marked roads and don't interfere with operations."
As he handed her the pass, the office door opened without warning. The unexpected interruption caused Aria to tense slightly—unexpected changes to social scenarios were particularly challenging.
A young woman entered—mid-twenties, auburn hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, wearing a khaki jacket over blue scrubs. She stopped when she saw Aria.
"Sorry, Dad. Didn't know you were in a meeting."
"It's fine, Cait." Blaine waved her in. "This is Ms. Matthews from the EPA. She'll be taking water samples around the property. Ms. Matthews, my daughter, Caitlin."
"Environmental consultant," Aria corrected automatically. "Not directly with the EPA."
Caitlin's handshake was firm, her green eyes sharp and assessing—clinical in their evaluation. Aria recognized the medical assessment gaze, having experienced it frequently.
"Environmental consultant? That's new for Whitetail."
"Just collecting seasonal data."
"In February?" Caitlin's skepticism was evident in both voice and posture—weight shifted to left foot, head tilted 7 degrees. "Unusual timing."
Like father, like daughter. The Blaines weren't easily fooled.
"Winter baseline measurements help us understand year-round impacts." Aria delivered the explanation with precise technical accuracy, though she avoided direct eye contact by focusing on Caitlin's left earring.
"I'm sure." Caitlin's tone suggested she was anything but. "Will you be here long?"
"Just a few days, depending on the weather."
"Well, if you need medical attention while you're here, I'm at the clinic most days. Town's only nurse practitioner." She smiled, but her eyes remained watchful. "We get a lot of... accidents around here."
The emphasis wasn't subtle. The threat recognition centers in Aria's brain elevated her alertness level by 23%.
"I'll be careful," Aria said, her voice lacking the inflection that would typically accompany such a response.
"See that you are." Caitlin turned to her father. "I need you to sign these insurance forms when you're done."
"Give us a minute, Cait."
When the door closed behind his daughter, Blaine's demeanor shifted—shoulders relaxing 2.3 centimeters, respiration rate decreasing by 4 breaths per minute.
"You staying at the lodge in town?"
"Yes."
"Word travels fast around here. You've probably heard about the accident up at the ridge few days back."
Aria nodded. "The diner was discussing it this morning."
"Thomas Lawson. Kept to himself mostly. Sheriff says he was cleaning his gun and it went off." Blaine leaned forward, chair groaning. "Thing is, Lawson was a careful man. Meticulous. Not the type to make that kind of mistake."
Meticulous. The word registered with Aria—a characteristic she understood intimately.
"You knew him well?"
"Well enough. He did some security consulting for us when he first moved to town. Ex-military guy. Knew his stuff." Blaine's eyes narrowed. "Strange coincidence, don't you think? EPA consultant shows up days after a mysterious death, asking to take samples along the same creek that runs behind Lawson's property."
Aria kept her expression neutral, though the direct confrontation activated her anxiety response—increased cortisol, elevated heart rate, peripheral blood vessel constriction.
"I wasn't aware of any connection."
"No?" He didn't look convinced. "Well, here's something else you might not be aware of. Caitlin was called out to examine the body, being the only medical professional in town. She said something wasn't right about the scene. Angle was wrong for a self-inflicted wound."
"I'm not sure what this has to do with water sampling, Mr. Blaine." The deflection was deliberate—a social technique she'd learned to navigate confrontation without revealing discomfort.
He studied her for a long moment. "Maybe nothing. But Lawson was asking questions about the watershed too, couple weeks before he died. Specifically about what might be in the water near the old mine workings."
There it was. The connection between Lawson and something in Whitetail that might have gotten him killed.
"What kind of mine?"
"Silver, originally. Closed decades ago." Blaine stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "You be careful where you collect your samples, Ms. Matthews. Some things in this town run deeper than water."
PREORDER "HUNTED" (An Aria hunt FBI Crime Thriller)
Back in her lodge room that evening, Aria's desk looked like a miniature research station. Water samples lined up in labeled containers—each precisely 4.7 centimeters apart, arranged by collection time. Soil specimens sealed in bags—ordered by pH level. Notes from the day's encounters arranged chronologically, each observation recorded with time-stamped precision.
The organization calmed her overstimulated nervous system. After a day of navigating unpredictable social interactions and processing chaotic sensory input, the precise arrangement of physical objects provided necessary equilibrium.
She'd spent the afternoon collecting legitimate samples—her cover required actual work product—while scouting access points to the areas both Blaine and Katherine seemed protective of.
Information gathered:
Town divided on whether Lawson's death was accident or murder
Tensions between Blaine and Marrick families evident
Lawson had asked about the watershed near old mine before his death
Caitlin Blaine had doubts about the death scene
Sheriff Marrick immediately suspicious of her arrival
Katherine Marrick protective of something on family land
Old silver mine mentioned as point of interest
Something in the water. Something in the mine. Something worth killing for????
She studied the town map spread across the bed. The creek Blaine had mentioned ran through both families' properties, originating in the mountains and eventually joining the larger river to the south. Lawson's cabin was situated near a bend in the creek, not far from what was marked as "Old Silver Queen Mine."
The pattern was emerging—geographical relationships between key locations forming a distinct configuration in her mind. Lawson's location was not random; it provided surveillance coverage of both the mine and the creek.
Movement outside her window caught her attention. A shadow passing beneath the streetlight, pausing, looking up toward her room. Just for a moment, then continuing on.
Aria moved to the side of the window, watching without being seen. The figure continued down the street, but there was purpose in their movement. Not a casual stroll.
She was being watched.
The realization did not trigger fear—emotional responses rarely manifested conventionally for Aria. Instead, it activated a heightened state of analytical focus. Being observed meant she was making progress. The secret was significant enough to warrant surveillance.
It meant she was getting closer to whatever had gotten Thomas Lawson killed.
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PREORDER "HUNTED" (An Aria hunt FBI Crime Thriller)
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