Naomi considered this. “You think he knows something about the trafficking operation?”
“I think,” Brandt said carefully, “that small-town politics can bury truth faster than corruption ever could. Goodwin has been sheriff here for what, fifteen years? That’s long enough to build a narrative about who belongs, who matters, whose stories get told.” He paused. “And whose disappearances get investigated.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Naomi thought of all the reports she’d filed over the years, all the families she’d sat with, all the tears shed overdaughters and sisters and mothers who’d vanished without a trace. How many of those reports had ended up on Goodwin’s desk, only to be filed away and forgotten?
“So what now?” she asked. “We can’t exactly force him to cooperate.”
“We don’t need him to,” Brandt replied. “We need the community. The people who’ve been ignored, whose stories haven’t been heard. That’s where you come in.”
Something clicked in Naomi’s mind—a piece falling into place. Brandt hadn’t brought her to this meeting expecting Goodwin’s cooperation. He’d brought her to see firsthand the wall of resistance they were up against, to understand that the official channels were closed to them.
“You want me to be your bridge to the community,” she said slowly. “To get people to talk when they wouldn’t talk to you.”
Brandt nodded once. “You have credibility that no federal badge can match. You’re one of them. And now, you’re also a survivor of whatever’s happening here.”
The idea that had been forming in Naomi’s mind since she first arrived back in town began to crystallize into something clearer, more defined. But she didn’t want to give it voice yet.
“I need to talk to Greta,” she said suddenly. “And Leelee’s parents. And every family who’s missing someone.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Brandt observed.
“Then I’d better get started.” Naomi touched the fox pendant again, drawing strength from its solid presence. She thought of Owen, of his promise that they would face whatever came next together. “One more thing, Marshal. I’ll help you build these connections, but I’m not doing it alone. I need Owen’s help.”
Brandt’s expression didn’t change, but something flashed in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or reassessment. “Ghost has his own... complicated history with law enforcement.”
“So?” Naomi countered.
For a moment, Brandt was silent, weighing options behind his impenetrable gaze. Then he nodded once. “Alright. We do this your way—for now. But I need to be kept in the loop on everything. No lone wolf operations.”
“Agreed.” Naomi extended her hand, and Brandt shook it firmly. A contract sealed, an alliance formed.
As they drove away from the sheriff’s office, Naomi watched Solace slip past the window—the storefronts, the people going about their day, the mountains rising blue and indifferent in the distance. Somewhere in this town, someone knew what had happened to Mary Rose, to Leelee, to all the others. Someone had built a system that made women disappear and the truth along with them.
And now, finally, she had the beginnings of a plan to tear that system down.
thirty-seven
The fall airbit at Naomi’s cheeks as she stood on the porch of Ghost’s cabin, arms wrapped around herself, watching the sunrise paint the mountains in shades of amber and deep purple.
Three days had passed since her meeting with Marshal Brandt at the sheriff’s office, three days of planning and prowling the perimeter of Valor Ridge like a caged animal.
She couldn’t hide here forever.
Not if she wanted answers.
Not if she wanted justice for Mary Rose, for Leelee, for Angel and Tariah and all the forgotten girls whose faces haunted her dreams.
“I need to go to the festival today,” she said when she heard Owen’s soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t turn, just kept her eyes on the darkening horizon. “My grandmother’s expecting my help at her booth.”
She felt more than saw his stillness, the way he froze mid-step at her words. “The fall festival? In town?”
“It’s the perfect opportunity.” She turned then, meeting his guarded gray eyes. “If I want people to talk to me about what’s happening in Solace, I can’t be the woman hiding out at ValorRidge. I need to be visible, part of the community.” She paused, watching his jaw tighten. “Brandt agrees.”
“Of course he does,” Owen muttered. “He’s not the one responsible for keeping you safe.”
Naomi stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him in the cool evening air. “I didn’t ask you to be responsible for my safety.”
“You didn’t have to.” His voice dropped lower, rougher as he stepped into her space, drawing her back against his chest. His hands skimmed down her arms to settle on her hips, and he dipped his head to brush his lips at the hollow of her throat. “Every time you leave this ranch, you’re in danger. These people have already shown they’re willing to take you. To hurt you.” He tugged gently at her neck. “I promised I’d be there if you needed me.”
