Ghost’s mouth flattened. “I’m not the comforting type.”
“No kidding.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her gaze cut to him, dreading his reaction, but he appeared unfazed by her sarcasm.
“It’s not about comfort,” she added after an awkward beat. “It’s about trust. You want answers, you have to stand in front of people. Let them see you bleed a little so they will bleed for you in return.”
He didn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw did that tic again.
“I was planning on talking to Leelee’s mom this morning when Padilla Auto opens at seven,” she told him. “Carina Padilla. She’s the only reason this case isn’t buried in the paper’s obituary section already.”
Ghost studied her for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “You want backup?”
She hesitated. Instinct said no. She could handle herself, didn’t need some human iceberg glowering at her side like she couldn’t fight her own battles.
But then she remembered the way Goodwin had stonewalled her last time. Remembered the stink of cigarettes and cheap aftershave in the sheriff’s office, the way every man in the room had looked at her like she was the damn problem for even asking.
She didn’t owe this town her pride. She owed Leelee answers.
“Yeah,” she said at last. “If you’re offering.”
He nodded, once. “Give me fifteen minutes. Need to walk Cinder and check in with Walker.”
“Sure.” She watched as he rose from the table, all smooth, silent irritation. He motioned for his dog and headed for the door without another word.
She waited until he was gone, then let herself exhale. Let her hands shake, just for a second, before she stashed the files back in her bag and tried to get her armor back in place.
The man lived in a fortress of routines. She respected it, even if she didn’t get it. The efficiency. The control. How did someone survive being wired this tight and not snap?
Ghost returned in under ten minutes, which was either impressive or alarming, considering he’d had to check in with his boss and get in a full perimeter sweep with that demon-dog at his side. The man’s idea of “fifteen minutes” clearly had nothing in common with the rest of humanity.
She’d barely finished pulling herself back together when the door swung open. Cinder entered first, nose to the air, scanning the cabin like she expected bombs or boogeymen.
Ghost filled the doorway, legs planted shoulder-width apart. “Ready?”
He didn’t wait for her answer and strode out into the blue-lit dawn. She stuffed the folders in her bag and followed, boots crunching over frost-silvered grass. His black truck waited in the drive, engine already running. Efficient as always.
Cinder leapt into the backseat. Naomi hesitated a second, then climbed in front, bag braced against her lap.
He peeled out of Valor Ridge like they were being chased. Maybe, in some way, they were.
five
The driveinto town was mostly silent, which was a special kind of torture.
Naomi tried to focus on the ranch slipping past her window—the weathered fences, the horses just visible in the first light, a scatter of men moving through early chores—but every time the silence stretched, she felt words bottling up behind her teeth.
Ghost didn’t fidget. Didn’t adjust the radio or grip the wheel tighter or do any of the things most men did on a tense car ride. He just drove, eyes locked on the road, deadly calm. Like nothing could get through that armor.
She tried to match him for a while. Failed after a mile and a half. “Is this your thing? You say nothing until everyone else’s brain melts from the awkward?”
He glanced over, then back to the road. “I like silence.”
Another stretch of gravel-dusted highway passed that way. The Bitterroot Range was a bruise on the horizon, silhouetted against the waking sky. Somewhere out there, Leelee’s trail had gone cold. Probably before Naomi had even gotten the call.
She tightened her grip on the folders. “You ever think about what happens to them?” she asked. “The girls?”
Ghost didn’t answer right away. His knuckles flexed white on the steering wheel.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “All the time.”
