Page 146 of Finding His Redemption

Nessie pulled back and studied her with narrowed eyes. “Everything okay? Your grandma didn’t say anything about you moving back.”

“Yeah.” Naomi’s pause was just a beat too long. “It’s not permanent. I just needed a breather.”

Ghost didn’t miss the shift in her stance, the micro-flicker of discomfort in her expression. That wasn’t a breather. That was burnout. Or something worse.

Naomi stepped away and scanned the bakery. “What happened here?”

“It’s a long story, but, hey, at least I’m finally renovating. You’ve been telling me I should for years.”

Naomi’s gaze skated over the men, landing briefly on Ghost before dismissing him. “Yes, it’s long overdue, but…” She trailed off and lowered her voice for Nessie’s ears only.

But Ghost heard her anyway. He heard everything.

“Are these men from Valor Ridge?”

Ah, yes. Most locals had opinions about Walker’s boys, and those opinions rarely included the word “trustworthy.” And an FBI agent for sure wouldn’t trust them.

“They are,” Nessie said simply, no defensiveness in her tone. “They’ve volunteered their time and materials. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

Naomi’s dark eyes swept the room again, lingering on each face. When her gaze returned to Ghost, he felt like she could see right to his core.

“Was there something you needed?” Nessie asked after an extended silence, glancing from Ghost back to Naomi.

“Yes. Sorry.” Naomi blew out a breath and shook her head. She dug in the bag on her shoulder and turned back to Nessie, holding out a stack of flyers. “Can you hang one of these in your window?”

As the flyer exchanged hands, Ghost caught a glimpse of a girl with a broad smile and eyes that crinkled at the corners. MISSING was printed in bold red letters above her face.

Fuck. Another missing girl.

“Twenty-two-year-old Leila Padilla,” Naomi said. “Last seen walking home from her shift at the casino Tuesday night. Three days ago. Three days, and Sheriff Goodwin still hasn’t issued an alert.”

“Of course.” Nessie handed the flyer back and nodded to the window. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Appreciate it.” Naomi turned and stared at Ghost like she was waiting for something, her eyes narrowing.

He realized a second too late he’d drifted toward them and was now blocking her path to the window.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping sideways.

She slid past him in the narrow space created by a pair of sawhorses Jonah had been using to hold the planks of wood he sanded. Her scent filled his head as she passed, and he inhaledbefore he could stop himself. Clean. Sharp. Like rain on pine needles and something wilder he can’t name. Her arm lightly brushed his, and a surge of autonomic responses lit his system like he’d been grazed by a live wire—elevated heart rate, skin sensitivity, disorientation.

This was new.

She fumbled with the flyers. Most people wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her hands, but Ghost noticed everything. The papers slipped from her grip, fluttering to the floor in a chaotic scatter of faces.

“Damn it,” she muttered, dropping to her knees.

Ghost moved without thinking, crouching beside her to help gather the fallen flyers. Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same paper, and he was struck by how cold her hands were despite the warmth of the summer day.

“Thank you.”

When she looked up at him, their faces inches apart, Ghost felt something thaw in his chest—a sensation so foreign he couldn’t immediately identify it. Her dark eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, but the fire in them burned steady and bright.

“This makes four women in eighteen months,” she said softly. “Four Indigenous women who’ve vanished from Bravlin County alone. You know how many search parties the department organized? Zero. You know how many press conferences? Zero. Meanwhile, the whole town lost their minds when a white girl was killed.”

“It isn’t fair.”

“It never is.” For a moment, she looked so defeated he had the strangest urge to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay.