Bear made himself walk to the table. Made himself pull out a chair and sit in it, even though his body protested every inch of the way down. His foot throbbed when he settled his weight, and he gritted his teeth against it.
He thought about King. The big dog out somewhere in the dark, chasing a truck he had no chance of catching.
“Logan.”
His son looked up.
“King’s still out there.”
Something flickered across Logan’s face — the realization that he hadn’t thought about the dog either, and the small flush of guilt that came with it.
“He’ll come back, right?”
“Yeah.” Bear made his voice steady. “He’s got a good nose. He’ll find his way home. But if he’s not back by sunrise, we go looking. You and me.”
Logan nodded. His jaw set.
It wasn’t much. It was the only piece of the night Bear could offer his son that wasn’t terrifying.We will go find your dog together when the sun comes up.A simple promise about a simple thing. Bear could keep that one.
Naomi was still on the phone near the living room, but her voice had changed — gone from clipped and professional to something sharper. She said, “Yes, I’m sure. Run it again.” A pause. “No, I’ll wait.”
Bear watched her face. She was standing very still, her free hand pressed flat against her thigh, and her jaw was set like she’d heard something she didn’t like.
Ghost stopped typing.
The room went quiet.
Naomi stayed on the phone, listening. Then she said, “Send me the file,” and hung up.
She turned to face the room. Her gaze found Bear first, then moved to Walker, then Ghost.
“We’ve been running every name in Greta’s Alice file,” she said. Her voice was calm, controlled, the voice of someone delivering bad news and refusing to let it shake her. “Cross-referencing with anyone who owns a dark-colored pickup, anyone with priors, anyone who shows up in any database tied to missing persons cases or assaults.”
Bear’s chest went tight. “And?”
“State police put out a BOLO at two-thirty for any vehicle matching the description Logan gave us. At two-fifty-three, a trooper spotted a dark pickup on Highway 93, heading northwest toward Evaro.” She paused. “He ran the plate before pulling it over. It came back registered to a woman in Missoula — reported stolen three days ago.”
“Shit,” Walker said quietly.
Naomi looked at Ghost. “At three-oh-eight, you pulled security footage from the gas station on Main Street. Show me what you’ve got.”
Ghost turned the laptop so everyone at the table could see the screen. He clicked through a series of files, then opened a video. The timestamp read 2:34 a.m. The angle was high and wide, showing the gas pumps and the street beyond.
A dark pickup rolled past, visible for maybe three seconds before it disappeared off frame.
Ghost froze the video at the clearest frame. The truck was a Chevy Silverado, dark blue or black, extended cab. The bed was covered with a tarp, secured with bungee cords. The license plate was visible but pixelated. Ghost zoomed in and the numbers sharpened.
Bear’s blood went cold. He knew that plate. Had run it through his head a hundred times since Logan had come running into his room.
“That matches the stolen vehicle report,” Naomi said.
“Can you see the driver?” Walker asked.
Ghost pulled up another file — a different angle, further up Main Street. The same truck appeared at 2:36 a.m. Ghost froze the frame on the windshield and zoomed in.
The driver was more visible here. Pale skin, dark jacket, the brim of a baseball cap shadowing his face. Still not enough to ID him.
“He’s heading northwest on a route,” Ghost said. “Not running blind.”
