Page 22 of Her Grumpy Protector

"Stay in the truck," I tell her. "Doors locked. If anything feels wrong, drive off and call Mack. Do not wait."

She nods, eyes serious. "Be safe."

I approach the office and ring the bell. An older guy with a beer gut and a faded baseball cap comes shuffling out.

"Need a room?" he asks.

"No. Looking for someone. Was a man here last night using the name Wyatt Rivers?"

The clerk scratches his chin. "Yeah. Checked in late. Left early this morning."

My pulse kicks up. "What did he look like?"

"Older guy. Early sixties maybe. Tall, still in decent shape. Graying hair. Had a pretty noticeable scar above his left eye. Kinda quiet. Paid and left without saying much."

A scar above his left eye. Can’t be.

“This scar? Was it shaped like a hook?”

The guy smiles. “Yeah, it kind of was.” He motions to his own eyebrow, tracing what the scar looked like. “He also had a birthmark on his hand.” He points to his own left hand and right above his middle finger points to a spot. “It looked kind of like a horseshoe.”

The floor feels like it tilts under me. That’s my father's scar. The one he got in a bar fight when I was seven. The one he used to joke about when we were kids. And the horseshoe birthmark. This can’t be fucking happening.

I keep my voice steady. "Anything else? What kind of car was he driving?"

"Old blue pickup. Beat up. Had some mud on the tires like he came off the back roads."

I thank him and head back to the truck, mind spinning. Anniston sees my face the second I open the door.

"What is it?" she asks.

I start the engine and pull out fast. "The man who used Wyatt's card matches my dad's description. Tall, early sixties, scar above the left eye. Horseshoe birthmark."

Anniston’s eyes go wide. "Your dad? Your dad was here? Using Wyatt Rivers' credit card?"

"Looks like it." I grip the wheel tighter. "Either Dad is using Wyatt's identity as an alias, or something happened to Wyatt and Dad took the card. Either way, he was here. Last night."

I pull over a mile down the road and call Crewe on speaker so Anniston can hear.

"Crewe, it’s me. The man at the motel matches Dad. Scar, birthmark, age, everything. He used Wyatt's card and left this morning in an old blue pickup."

Crewe swears. "You’re sure?"

"Positive. The clerk described him perfectly. We need to figure out if Dad is running under Wyatt's name or if Wyatt is dead andDad took his identity to stay hidden. Either way, this proves heisalive. And he is close."

"What about Nash and Sin?" Crewe asks, voice tight.

"Still nothing. But if Dad is out here using a dead or missing man's card, he might be trying to draw attention away from them. Or he might be in deeper than we thought."

Anniston reaches over and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

"We’re heading back to the cabin," I tell Crewe. "Send everything you have on that blue pickup and any other hits on Wyatt's cards. We need to find Dad. And we still need the real Wyatt. Alive if possible."

"Copy that. Stay sharp, brother."

I end the call and look at Anniston. She’s watching me with those bright green eyes, worry and hope mixed together.

"Your dad’s alive," she says softly. "That’s something, Banks. A real lead."