“Let me have it,” I say.
“Someone’s been in town.” His tone is clipped. “Asking around at the diner, hardware store, gas station on Route 9. About a woman. Brown hair, glasses, slight build. Drove in from out of state.”
“Who?”
“Smooth operator. Expensive boots. Bought coffee for everyone in the diner and tipped a hundred on a twelve-dollar tab.” Beckett’s jaw is tight. “Name’s Julian Vance. Jenna’s boss. And he’s in Clover Canyon.”
My blood runs cold. Then hot. Then very, very still.
“How long has he been here?”
“Since yesterday. Maybe the day before. He’s not rushing. He’s building rapport. Making friends.” Beckett saysmaking friendsthe way another man might saylaying mines. “He hasn’t asked about the ranch yet. He’s circling.”
“He’ll get here.”
“He’ll get here,” Beckett confirms. “But not unopposed. I’ve already spoken to Sadie at the diner. She’ll feed us anything he says. And Roy Watkins clocked him as wrong before the man finished his first cup. This town knows its own, Ethan. A hundred-dollar tip on a twelve-dollar tab doesn’t buy trust in Clover Canyon. It buys suspicion.”
Something loosens in my chest, not much, but enough. LandCorp can buy land, they can poison water, but they can’t buy a town that’s watched us grow up, that shows up for brandings and funerals and everything in between. A town that’s been closing ranks around its own for a hundred years.
“I want eyes on Vance,” I say. “Where he goes, who he talks to, where he’s staying.”
“Already on it. I’ve got three of my guys in town. Saint, Tank, and Tex. Passive surveillance only. He won’t know we’re watching.”
Upstairs, the woman I just kissed is showering in a house I promised would be safe. Outside, a man who poisoned water supplies and buried evidence is buying coffee, smiling at waitresses, and asking if anyone has seen a woman with brown hair and glasses.
He’s here.
And he’s looking for her.
