Headlights swept across the front window, followed by the sound of tires on gravel. A car door slammed. Footsteps crunched, moving light and fast toward the cabin.
Fuck.
Cinder growled, and he shushed her, dragging her back into the shadows in the corner of the kitchen under the loft’s stairs.
The front door burst open, and a woman with strawberry blond hair stormed in. “Sorry! I know I’m late. I—” She stopped short, glancing around the empty cabin. “Nomi?”
Ghost recognized her immediately. Greta Dougherty, the wilderness guide who ran Summit Outfitters and headed up Bravlin County Search and Rescue. She was the kind of woman who looked like she belonged in the wild more than town—sunburned nose, windblown braid, jacket dusted with trail grit. He’d seen her around town before, usually behind the wheel of a mud-splattered red Jeep with a black lab hanging its head out the passenger window.
“What the hell? Where are you?” Greta muttered, pulling out her phone. She dialed a number, then waited, foot tapping impatiently. “Come on, pick up.”
Ghost heard the distinctive sound of a vibrating phone from somewhere nearby. Greta looked toward the sound and crossed the living room, crouching by the couch.
Now was his chance to escape.
As she ducked to look under the couch, he slipped out from the shadows and grabbed the laptop before edging toward the back door. Cinder followed, but kept one suspicious eye on Greta.
“Naomi?” she called again, louder this time. “Are you here? Why is your phone—” She broke off abruptly and swore, straightening with a second phone in hand.
Naomi’s phone.
Ghost froze. He needed to move, to vanish, but she was already turning, already seeing the shadow by the door.
“Who the hell are you?” Greta demanded. “What are you doing in Naomi’s house?”
He stepped out of the shadows, keeping his movements slow and nonthreatening. “Looking for her.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Greta snapped, her gaze dropping to the laptop tucked under his arm. “With her computer? Try again, asshole.”
She dropped the phone and pulled a gun from under her jacket, not pointing it directly at him but making it clear she could if needed. He recognized the stance—not amateur hour. She knew how to handle that weapon.
“My name is Owen Booker. I work at Valor Ridge.”
“I know who you are, Ghost.” She spat the nickname like it tasted bad. “Doesn’t explain why you’re breaking into my best friend’s house and stealing her stuff.”
He weighed his options. The truth would sound insane, but a lie wouldn’t explain the laptop. “I’ve been helping her investigate Leelee Padilla’s disappearance.”
“And so you decided to, what, just waltz in and help yourself to her property?” Greta took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “Put the laptop down. Now.”
Cinder slipped from the shadows, head down, hackles raised. She didn’t make a sound.
“Oh, shit,” Greta whispered and took a half-step back. “Call off the hellhound.”
“Take that gun off me and I will.”
“No.” She looked around, her eyes widening as she noticed the signs of a struggle for the first time. Her attention flicked from the streak of blood on the floor, then back to the knife drawer.
“Oh, God.” Greta’s voice was all gravel. “Where the fuck is she?”
He didn’t bother answering. She already knew.
He set the laptop down on the kitchen table and reached into his pocket. She swung the gun toward him again, and he raised his hands. “I’m just reaching for my phone.”
“Go ahead. Slowly.”
He slid his phone from his pocket and accessed the security feed, then slid the phone across the table to her. “Two men. I caught them on camera. That’s how I knew to come.”
She blinked. “Camera? What camera?”
