And there, on what remained of the desk, a flyer. The word MISSING blared at the top in bold type, and beneath it, a photograph of Greta’s twin. Alice Dougherty, 16. Last seen at Crooked Creek Campground. $50,000 reward for information.
The flyer had been torn in half, then carefully laid out side by side, as if the person who’d done this had wanted to make sure it was seen.
Bear moved to block the doorway, turning to intercept her, but he was too late. She’d already seen the flyer. He watched her face change—the momentary confusion giving way to understanding, then to fury. She spun away and walked back down the hall toward the front of the shop, her back straight, her steps measured.
Bear followed, giving her space but keeping her in sight. She stopped at the front window, arms crossed, staring out at thedark parking lot. Her reflection in the glass was pale, her eyes too bright.
He surveyed the wreckage again, and his gaze landed on the wall.
STOP LOOKING.
He thought of the hairstylist who’d walked into the shop with her convenient lead about Glenhaven. Thought of the two-hour drive north that had forced Greta to close for the day, giving someone all the time they needed to slip in undetected.
The meanness of it bothered him. Someone had taken their time here, had wanted to hurt her.
He pulled out his phone and dialed X’s number.
“Yo,” X answered after the second ring. “What’s up, big guy?”
“I need a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“Greta’s had a break-in at her shop. I’m taking her to the sheriff to file a report, and I don’t know how long it’ll take.” He kept his voice low, keeping one eye on Greta. “Can you pick Logan up from school and take him to the ranch for me?”
“Sure thing.” X’s tone shifted, the teasing edge giving way to genuine concern. “Everyone okay?”
“Yeah. Just some vandalism.”
“Uh-huh.” A pause. “Bear? Be careful.”
They had been at Valor Ridge long enough to know that “vandalism” was rarely just that when it happened to people connected to the ranch.
“Thanks,” Bear said, and hung up. He let himself have a moment with the guilt—he should be picking Logan up. But he couldn’t leave Greta to deal with this alone.
And, right now, Logan probably preferred X over him.
He’d make it up to the kid. Somehow.
Greta was still at the front window with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her shoulders rigid. He moved to stand beside her, but didn’t touch her.
“We need to report this.”
She shook her head. “It’s probably just some kids. They see words scrawled on a wall in a horror movie and think it’s funny.”
“Kids don’t break into closed businesses and leave specific, targeted messages on the wall.”
“It’s not that specific. Everyone in town knows I’m looking for Alice. Of course they’d write that.”
“Kids take the cash from the register, break some shit, and run.” He motioned to the desk. “They don’t tear up a flyer and arrange it so you find it.”
“It could be random,” she insisted. “Anyone pulling out that drawer would have found those flyers.”
“Greta.” He waited until she met his eyes. When she didn’t, he added, “This wasn’t random.”
She nodded but still didn’t turn to look at him. “I know.”
He wanted to touch her, to pull her against his side and promise that everything would be okay. But he’d made too many empty promises in his life to make another one now. He couldn’t guarantee her safety. Couldn’t swear he’d find whoever had done this. All he could do was stay by her side and try to keep her from getting hurt.
