Naomi’s shoulders dropped a fraction—relief, maybe, that she hadn’t completely broken down at the news. “Brandt is still in Spokane. He’s working with local PD and the FBI’s humantrafficking task force. If he can get a location, a pattern of movement, anything concrete?—”
“I want to go. When you have a location, I want to be on the first flight.”
Naomi’s face went through a variety of expressions before locking down into a carefully neutral expression. “Greta?—”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me it’s dangerous. Don’t tell me to let the professionals handle it. I’ve heard it all before, and I’ve never listened, and I’m not starting now.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that if you go, I go. That’s non-negotiable.”
Hot tears flooded her eyes, but she blinked them back. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to.”
“Your campaign?—”
“Will survive me being gone a couple of days. I’m going to be there for you, no matter what we find.”
They looked at each other across the table.
“Okay,” Greta said, and a tear spilled over before she could stop it.
“Okay.” Naomi reached across and squeezed her hand once, hard, then let go. “I’ll call Brandt today. See what he’s got.”
Greta nodded. Set the photo down carefully, aligning it with the edge of the table, and picked up her coffee. It had gone lukewarm, but she drank it anyway, because it loosened the tightness in her throat.
Naomi stayed for another hour. They didn’t talk about Ashley or Alice or trafficking rings. They talked about the shop—the insurance claim, the cleanup. Naomi insisted that Ghost install one of his security systems and, hell, she wasn’t about to say no to that. Ghost’s equipment was better than any of the commercially available systems she could afford.
They talked about Logan, about how Bear was doing with him.
They talked about Jax and Nessie’s upcoming wedding.
They talked about the new guy at the ranch—Hatch, a guy from Walker’s old unit, apparently. Naomi hadn’t met him yet, and Ghost was suspicious of him, but that wasn’t saying much because Ghost was suspicious of everyone. He hadn’t even liked Greta until he’d seen her take down a drunk tourist who’d gotten handsy with one of Nessie’s part-time workers. After that, she’d apparently passed some kind of test.
They talked about everything except the thing sitting on the table between them, and Greta was grateful for the reprieve.
When Naomi finally stood to leave, she gathered the folder and tucked it under her arm. She paused at the door, one hand on the frame.
“You’re not alone in this,” she said.
“I know.”
“Say it back.”
Greta almost smiled. “I’m not alone in this.”
“Good.” Naomi nodded and stepped out into the morning light. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Greta stood in the kitchen with her hand still on the back of the chair Naomi had pulled out.
Atlas leaned against her shins.
The folder was gone. Naomi had taken it with her. But the photo was still on the table where she had left it.
She sank back into her seat and picked it up.
The woman on the bench hadn’t changed. Same three-quarters turn, same strawberry blonde fall of hair, same hand resting on the bench beside the girl. She angled the photo toward the window again, but it still didn’t give her anything new.
“Alice,” she whispered. “Is that you?”
