Ghost swallowed hard and looked back at Boone’s outstretched hand, the calluses there, the small scars along the knuckles. He’d spent three years building walls around himself here, keeping these men at a distance, refusing to need anyone. Now they stood in the wreckage of his sanctuary, offering help he didn’t deserve.
“You want to find her?” Boone asked, voice gravel-rough. “Then get up.”
He took Boone’s hand and let the man haul him to his feet.
His legs shook. Every muscle in his body felt wrung out, twisted. He braced himself against the wall, fighting the vertigo that threatened to take his knees out from under him.
Cinder broke away from Anson and crept toward him, tail low but wagging tentatively. She stopped at his feet, eyes searching his face. The betrayal was gone, replaced with something else—a look that cut him deeper than any blade. Trust. Despite everything, despite the way he’d lashed out, she still trusted him.
Ghost dropped his hand to her head, and she leaned into it, body quivering with relief.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words meant only for her.
Boone cleared his throat. “Alright,” he said, turning to the others, all business. “Let’s go find Ghost’s woman.”
twenty-three
The bunkhouse became ground zero.
It took less than five minutes for the place to morph from a battered, dog-hair-and-coffee-stained den of bachelorhood into a full-blown command center. The pool table vanished under layers of topo maps of Bravlin County, pushpins marking search grids in red and black, cell phones and radios lining the edges. River had wiped the chore chart clean and drawn out a timeline with a Sharpie, much to Jonah’s dismay. Boone and Walker stalked the room with phones glued to their ears, calling in every favor owed and every K9 team with half a shot at tracking over the pass before dawn.
Nobody sat down. Nobody ate. Time had new rules now, measured in leads and lost minutes.
Ghost’s skin crawled with the need to move, to hunt, to find—but these men had a system, and for once in his life, he forced himself to trust it.
Walker hung up on his call. “Corbin Brandt is pulling strings for us at the federal level.”
That was good. Brandt was a U.S. Marshal. If anyone could get Sheriff Goodwin to cooperate, it would be him.
“River, X.” Walker pointed at the two men. “Go to the Rusty Spur, see what the drunks are flapping their lips about. I’d bet my favorite belt buckle someone there knows something. Find them.”
X nodded, already shrugging into his leather jacket. “On it, boss.”
“Don’t worry,” River added, his usual smirk finally creeping back. “We’ll kick every hornet’s nest between here and the county line if we have to.”
Boone glanced over, his phone still pressed to his ear. “Try not to start a bar fight this time.”
“No promises,” River said, following X to the door. “Some of my best intel starts with a right hook.”
Boone exhaled and dragged a hand over his beard, then pinned Walker with a scowl. “You’re asking for trouble sending them to the Spur. I’m gonna be bailing them out of jail by the night’s end.”
Boone was the only one at the Ridge who could talk to Walker that way. Nobody else would dare.
Walker just raised a brow. “You’d rather I send one of the sober guys to the bar?”
Boone grumbled, but didn’t argue. He went back to his phone conversation, barking orders at someone on the other end.
Walker turned to Jonah and Jax. “I bet they’re holding her somewhere off the grid. You two are my best riders, so take horses up the mountain and look for anything out of the ordinary. Start with the old logging roads that branch off Highway 93.”
Jonah nodded. “We’ve got it covered.”
“Anson, you good staying back and manning the command center?” Walker asked.
Anson nodded, his face grim beneath his dark beard. “I’ll keep everything running smoothly here. Just find her.”
Walker nodded his approval, then turned to Bear. “Dane, you stick with Owen and Greta.” He always used everyone’s given names, rather than nicknames. “When they find Naomi, she might need medical care.”
Bear stood by the fire, massive arms crossed over his chest, King at his feet for once behaving himself. The big man’s expression was granite, but his eyes flickered toward Greta more than once. She paced near the window, cell phone pressed to her ear as she coordinated with her search and rescue teams.
