“And you have no idea who might have done this,” Murdock said. Not a question.
“I’ve had a competing outfitter trying to poach my client list for three years. I’ve been asking questions about my missing sister. There’s a flyer on my window with a reward attached, and someone decided to tear it in half and leave it on my desk.” Greta set her hands on the counter, flat. “Those are all separate reasons someone might want to scare me off, Deputy. Any one of them. Or all three.”
Murdock kept writing. “Could’ve been kids.”
“It wasn’t kids.”
“Kids get into all kinds of mischief, Ms. Dougherty. Vandalism is?—”
“That message wasn’t mischief.” Her voice stayed level, but her knuckles had gone white. “Someone was inside my business for long enough to search through every drawer, destroy a filing cabinet, spray-paint my planning wall, and arrange a flyer on my desk. That’s not mischief. That’s a message.”
Murdock looked up for the first time. “You got any evidence to support that? Photos? Video from your security system?”
“My security system was bypassed. Someone knew the layout of the shop and knew to disable it.” She pulled out her phone and slid it across the counter—photos she’d taken before they left. “Those are the pry marks from Tuesday night. That’s tonight’s damage. And that’s the wall.”
Murdock looked at the photos with the enthusiasm of a man reviewing a grocery receipt.
Bear’s jaw locked.
He’d been in this room before. Different rooms, same energy—the institutional patience of authority deciding a complaint wasn’t worth the paperwork. He moved forward, putting a hand on the counter. “Deputy?—”
Greta’s hand hit his chest. Not hard. Just there. Flat palm, right over his sternum, and when he looked at her, her eyes said don’t. Said it clearly and without room for argument, theway only someone who’d been dismissed by cops their whole life knew how to say it.
He stopped. Stepped back. Let her hand fall away before it lingered long enough to mean something.
The front door banged open.
Lila stood in the threshold in her clinic clothes—stained scrubs, a fleece she’d clearly grabbed on the way out the door—her hair disheveled and her face the color of old milk. She was still wearing one exam glove on her right hand, half-peeled back at the wrist, like she’d pulled it off mid-thought and forgotten to finish the job.
Her gaze swept the room and landed on Bear.
“Thank God,” she breathed.
He straightened. “What happened?”
She crossed to him quickly, dropping her voice. “Luke. He got into a minor accident on Route 7. He was over the limit, they took him in, and—” She stopped. Pressed her lips together, composing herself. “Goodwin’s here personally. He’s not going to let it slide, Bear. And I can’t—I can’t get Luke out of there alone, I need someone who can—” Her voice broke on the last word. She swallowed it fast, but the damage was done.
Lila. Who hadn’t asked Bear for anything in four years.
He looked at Greta.
She’d already turned. Her chin was up, her posture back to that soldier-straight set she used when she was refusing to let anyone see inside her. “Go,” she said.
“Greta—”
“I can finish the report.” She still wasn’t looking at him. Her hand was back on the counter, and she’d turned her body back toward Murdock like Bear was already gone. “Go help Lila.”
He didn’t move immediately. Murdock was leaning back in his chair with the demeanor of a man who would lose the photos on his phone, misplace his notes, and file the report undergeneral vandalism before the week was out. And Greta would be standing at this counter alone while that happened.
But Lila’s face said Luke was spiraling, and the look in her eyes was a quiet, desperate asking that Lila Garrison never showed anyone.
“I’ll be back,” he said to Greta. He put a hand briefly at the small of her back—barely a touch, just long enough for her to know it was intentional—and then went with Lila.
Scene 2
The paperwork took longer than it should have. Bear stood at the front desk while a uniformed officer who looked too young for the job shuffled forms and asked Lila the same questions twice. She answered all of them—didn’t flinch, didn’t rush him—standing there in her half-removed exam glove like she’d forgotten she was still wearing it, and gave clear answers until the officer disappeared into the back to retrieve Luke.
Bear said nothing. There was nothing useful to say.
