Page 61

chapter

forty-three

He wasn’t fucking crying.

He didn’t cry.

Ghost scowled at the electrical panel, willing the moisture in his eyes to disappear through sheer force of will. The copper wiring blurred slightly, and he blinked hard, refocusing on the connections he’d been making.

He’d spent years perfecting the art of remaining detached. Observing without participating. It was what made him good at what he did—what he used to do, anyway. Read a room, assess the players, calculate the odds. Never get involved.

And yet here he was, throat tight, chest aching over some kid calling Jax “Dad.”

The screwdriver slipped from his hand, and he muttered a curse under his breath.

Focus.

He needed to focus on the task, not on Oliver’s tearful face or the raw vulnerability on Jax’s. Not on the way Nessie’s eyes had filled with tears, or how River had tried to cover his own emotional response with humor.

Not on the way it all made him feel like he was missing out on something special.

No.

He wasn’t envious.

He didn’t want what Jax had.

He didn’t want the kid, or the woman, or the warmth he saw in all of them.

That kind of life wasn’t for him. He’d made peace with that years ago—cut out the part of himself that even hoped for it.

Hadn’t he?

He wasn’t lonely.

He had Cinder.

And Coyote, his horse.

He had his bunkmates, as annoying as some of them were. He had his security work for the ranch, which kept his mind busy, and physical labor that kept his muscles toned.

He didn’t need more than that, so why the hell did it feel like something was missing?

The bakery’s door suddenly banged open with a crash, and his body reacted before his mind could tell it not to, fingers releasing the wire strippers, weight shifting to the balls of his feet, right hand drifting toward the knife he no longer carried.

Two exits, four potential weapons within reach, civilians present.

The calculus happened automatically, like breathing.

But it wasn’t a threat.

Not the kind he knew how to neutralize, anyway.

A woman stood in the doorway like a storm that hadn’t decided where to break—dark eyes alive with something he couldn’t name, braid slung over one shoulder.

She wore a plain tan tank top and a pair of black shorts that showcased long, golden legs.

No visible weapon, but the tension in her shoulders said she didn’t need one.

A practical backpack hung from one shoulder, an MMIW pin on the strap.

Naomi Lefthand.

Ghost didn’t need to run facial recognition. He knew who she was—a local girl turned FBI agent, who had returned to Solace unceremoniously a few days ago and rented a small house near the cemetery on Cedar Street. But he didn’t know why she was back, and that made him twitchy.

What would bring the FBI here?

Nessie looked up at the newcomer and smiled warmly. “Naomi?” She hurried forward and wrapped the woman in a hug. “I didn’t know you were home!”

How could Nessie just accept people into her space without suspicion? Especially with her history. It didn’t make sense to Ghost.

Naomi returned her hug, her eyes softening just a fraction. “Got in a couple of days ago.”

“Are you staying long?”

“A few months.”

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 inhaled before 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.

A blatant lie, and he detested lies. So why was he so willing to offer her that comfort?

But then she sucked in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, Bailee deserved justice. But so does Leila. And all the others.” Her voice softened on that last bit.

“Like your cousin?” he wanted to ask.

He knew the disappearance of her cousin when they were teenagers was what had fueled her to join the FBI. People always got uncomfortable when they found out exactly how much information he had on them, so he kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he handed her the last of the scattered flyers, their fingers brushing again. This time, she didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re the one they call Ghost.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded.

“I’ve heard you see things, notice patterns.”

Behind them, Ghost was acutely aware of his bunkmates pretending not to listen.

“I see what needs seeing,” he said carefully.

She studied his face with an intensity that made him want to look away, but he held her gaze. “Then you must see the similarities between these cases that everyone else seems to miss.”

He had. Three of the four missing women had been last seen near the same stretch of highway.

All had connections to the casino, either as employees or frequent visitors.

All had disappeared during evening hours, and all had family members who reported feeling watched in the weeks leading up to the disappearance.

“Maybe,” he said.

Naomi’s jaw tightened. “Maybe isn’t good enough. These women aren’t just statistics. They’re daughters, sisters, and mothers. And someone is hunting them.”

Hunting.

He’d used that exact term in his own notes, the ones he kept locked in his security office at the ranch. Notes that include detailed timelines, locations, and potential connections. Notes that painted a picture of something deliberate and organized.

“Yes, there is a pattern,” he agreed.

They rose simultaneously, and he became acutely aware of how close they were standing. He knew he should step back, but couldn’t seem to make himself move.

“I’ve been trying to get someone to listen for months,” Naomi said, clutching the flyers to her chest. “No one takes it seriously. Even my supervisors…” She trailed off and shook her head. “They say the girls had problems, that they probably just left town.”

“They didn’t leave,” Ghost replied with absolute certainty. “Someone made them disappear.”

Naomi studied him for a long moment, as if recalibrating everything she thought she knew about him. Finally, she nodded.

“The tribal council meets tomorrow night. Seven o’clock at the community center. I’m presenting what I’ve found so far.” She hesitated, then added, “You should come. Bring whatever you have.”

Working with someone else meant exposure. Vulnerability. All the things he’d systematically eliminated from his life.

But when her dark eyes met his, he found he couldn’t say no. “I’ll be there.”

“I hope so.” Naomi finally took a step back from him and turned to tape Leila’s flyer to the window.

Without her so close, he found he could breathe properly again.

“Thank you, Nessie,” she said, nodding to the bakery owner. “I’ll let you get back to your renovation. Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re never interrupting,” Nessie replied softly. “Keep me posted?”

Naomi’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Always do.” She paused at the door and hesitated like she wanted to say something more. Instead, she looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Don’t let me down, Ghost.”

Then she was gone, leaving behind only that wild scent.

The bakery remained silent for exactly three seconds before River let out a low whistle. “Casper speaks! Our boy just had an actual conversation with an actual woman.”

“Probably a sign of the apocalypse,” X said.

Anson, who rarely participated in the ribbing, glanced up from his measurements. “Naomi’s good people. Fierce advocate. Doesn’t back down.”

“Explains how she got Ghost practically volunteering for community service,” Jonah said, chuckling.

Ghost ignored them and returned to the electrical panel. But beneath his carefully constructed mask of indifference, something unfamiliar stirred—a strange mixture of anticipation and dread that made his pulse quicken.

“She’s pretty hot, too,” River added, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, River.”

“He speaks again! It’s a miracle!”

Jax, who had been watching the entire exchange with quiet amusement, finally intervened. “Alright, leave him alone. We’ve got work to finish.” Then he added more softly, “But for what it’s worth, Ghost, I think you should go to that meeting.”

His fingers stilled on the wiring. Jax had never pushed him about his solitary habits before.

None of them had, really. They respected the boundaries he’d established from day one at the Ridge—work together, eat together when necessary, but no personal entanglements. No expectations beyond competence.

“Already said I would.”

“Yeah, but will you actually show up?” Jonah asked, his tone gentler than the others. “Or will you just watch from the shadows like you usually do?”

He’d been tracking the missing women cases for months, compiling information, mapping patterns—but always from a distance. Always safely removed from the messy, complicated business of human connection.

Judging by his chaotic physical responses to her, Naomi wasn’t safe. She wasn’t uncomplicated. If he were smart, he’d back out before his simple life got messy.

Her parting shot replayed in his mind: Don’t let me down.

“I said I’ll be there,” he growled, “so I’ll be there.”

“Our little Ghost is growing up,” River said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Next thing you know, he’ll be using complete paragraphs and making eye contact.”

Ghost picked up a scrap of wood and threw it at River’s head with deadly accuracy. River dodged, laughing.

“And there’s the Ghost we know and tolerate,” X said with a grin.