Ghost counted off the seconds in his head. Most people, under pressure, filled the void with noise. Not these two.
Finally, Carina blew out a shaky breath. “She said goodbye like normal, maybe hugged me a little tighter. Then she got in her car and left. Last time I saw her was through that window.”
Ghost shifted. It was getting too emotional in here for his liking. He shifted his weight, scanned the wall behind Carina like it might reveal a secret hatch he could duck through. Nope. Still just photos, a stack of bills, and a calendar from last year where someone had circled birthdays in pink sharpie.
He didn’t belong here.
Naomi pressed gently for details, voice steady and patient, but he tuned it out. Let her do her thing. When Carina finally ran out of answers, Naomi offered her a card and promised to check in tomorrow. Ghost made a mental note of the woman’s posture—the way she hugged herself, barely holding it together—and then turned on his heel.
Back in the cramped front office, the air tasted less of grief and more of burned coffee. A guy with a tool belt and a stained beanie wandered in, glanced at them, and backtracked fast. Ghost didn’t blame him. The mood in the place was a fucking black hole.
They were back in the parking lot before Naomi said a word. The sun was barely up, the air cold and sharp as razors. Gravel crunched under their boots.
“You always bail when things get real, or is that just for interviews?” Naomi asked, not looking at him.
“Nothing helpful comes from watching people break.”
“Sometimes that’s the only way you get the truth,” she shot back.
He shrugged. “It’s just pain. And you can’t solve pain.”
She stopped at the truck’s passenger door, crossed her arms. “So that’s it? Just turn it off and walk away?”
“No,” Ghost said, unlocking the door. “You file the facts, cross-check patterns, and don’t get distracted by feelings.” He waited for her to slide inside before adding, “It got you results in there, though. I’ll give you that.”
She buckled herself in, jaw tight. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“I do,” he said, deadpan, then fired up the engine.
For a minute, they drove in silence. Naomi tapped her thumb against her thigh again, rapid-fire.
“I don’t get it,” she muttered finally. “That thing earlier, with Carina. The way she talked about her kids… didn’t it hit you at all?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Doesn’t matter if it did. Not the point.”
“That’s a lie. You’re just uncomfortable when people show real emotion.”
He let the accusation hang. Most people would have denied it, maybe thrown up some bullshit about “boundaries” or “professionalism.” Ghost just focused on the white line racing past his window, the rising sun turning the mountains gold.
“It’s not productive,” he said at last. “Big feelings, open wounds—that’s how you get hurt. Or lose focus. I prefer not to.”
Naomi stared at him, eyes narrow. “You think you can just logic your way out of caring.”
“Not out of caring. Out of being stupid about it.” He slowed at the stop sign, glanced over. “That’s how you survive.”
She huffed a breath, not buying it, but let it go. For now.
Valor Ridge materialized through the windshield as they crested the final hill—the main house solid and square against the morning sky, the barn already alive with movement as the ranch hands started their day. A few trucks were scattered in the gravel lot, but Naomi’s SUV sat alone near the Hub, where she’d left it hours ago.
Ghost pulled up beside it and killed the engine.
“Get out. I have work to do.”
Naomi unbuckled her seatbelt and shouldered her bag like she couldn’t wait to get the hell away from him. Fine.
Ghost pulled his keys and watched her stalk toward her vehicle, shoulders stiff, chin up, angry as a wet cat. He’d seen that look before. Usually, right before someone decides to do something stupid and heroic.
The dog inside the cab whined, but Ghost ignored it, eyes tracking Naomi out of pure reflex. She cut across the gravel like she owned every rock.
