Page 28 of Earning Her Trust

Something in his voice was off, and her skin prickled. She cocked her head, watching him. He’d gone still, the way some predators did right before they lunged.

She crossed her arms. “Yeah. You know him?”

“His name came up in conjunction with Bailee Cooper’s murder this summer. She worked for him.”

She nodded. She was aware of Bailee Cooper, a pretty white girl whose murder sent the town into a tailspin this past summer.

No surprise there.

The whole damn town had tripped over itself to care when it was a pretty white girl. Candlelight vigils, press conferences, a sheriff’s department that suddenly found the budget for round-the-clock overtime. Posters in every storefront. And now? Four Indigenous women gone, barely a whisper outside of a few pissed-off relatives and the same handful of advocates who never gave up.

She swallowed back the old bitterness. “But we know for sure Craig Foster didn’t kill her.”

Bailee’s killer had been caught early this summer after trying to burn down Nessie’s Place. He now sat in prison awaiting trial, charged with second-degree murder for Bailee, and arson and attempted murder for attacking Nessie.

“Yeah,” Ghost said after a beat, “but I don’t like that his name keeps coming up in conjunction with missing and murdered girls.”

“Because you don’t like coincidences.”

He didn’t reply.

God, talking to the man was like butting heads with a locked vault. There was never a hint which way he’d break, and every word you pried out of him felt like it cost him something he didn’t want to give.

She waited, watching his face for even the smallest crack. Nothing. Just that flat, beautiful, deadpan stare.

She huffed and turned away, intending to go inside and forget about him. She made it to her front door before he said mildly, “You got plans tonight?”

She reined in the dumb flutter in her chest and swung back to face him. “Why?”

“I’m going to the casino.”

She stared at him for a handful of heartbeats. His expression still gave her nothing. What would it take to crack that armor? A crowbar? A blowtorch? All of the above, probably.

But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have the time or patience to waste on the puzzle of Ghost’s emotional constipation.

“Are you inviting me?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked,” he said flatly.

She considered him, weighing her options. The casino was her next stop anyway. She’d planned to go tomorrow, talk to Leelee’s manager, see if she could get access to security footage. But tonight would work too. And having Ghost along might actually be useful.

“Fine. Give me fifteen minutes to change.” She had to get the stink of Taren Finch’s house off her. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

She turned and unlocked her door, feeling Ghost’s eyes on her back as she stepped inside. She felt his gaze lingering like a caress, and she closed the door with more force than necessary, needing to break the connection.

She leaned against the door for a moment, letting out a slow breath. She’d faced down serial killers and corrupt officials with less internal chaos than one conversation with Ghost stirred up.

What was it about that man that got under her skin?

nine

It took exactlythree seconds for Naomi to remember why she hated casinos.

The Lucky Feather was a hellscape of slot-machine shrieks, piped-in pop music, and the chemical tang of sanitizer fighting a losing battle against cigarettes, alcohol, and cheap body spray.

Ghost stalked in behind her.

“Place gives me a headache,” she muttered, glancing over at him. His expression was as flat as always, but somehow she could still tell he hated it here, too.