Chapter 32
By the time I reach the station that morning, my body goes back on high alert. The second I push through the glass doors, a familiar prickle crawls up my spine.
The station smells the same—burnt coffee and floor cleaner—but today the air feels…watchful.
Even though no one here knows a thing.
My shoulders lift the slightest bit before I force them down. A quiet pulse of awareness runs through me, sharp enough that I feel the weight of my badge in a way I didn’t before, as if I’m stepping into two worlds at once—the one I swore an oath to and the one I crossed into this morning.
Only two people are in. Ingram’s desk is empty. From what I’ve seen, he’s never in at this time, but still, it sends an eerie question through my veins. Where is he?
Probably at home.
He knows nothing, Freya.
Callum is in his office with the door half-open, riffling through paperwork. Luke stands by the printer, cursing at it because it only seems to jam for him.
“Morning,” he mutters, glancing up.
I lift a hand in greeting and head for my desk, dropping my bag with a soft thud. A stack of blank daily reports sits waiting—equipment checks, patrol rosters, vehicle logs. I have highway patrol today. Hours in a cruiser with nothing but a radar gun and my own thoughts for company.
I’m not up for being alone today with Ingram knowing I am. I keep reminding myself two things. One, Ingram still thinks I haven’t found Andy. And two, Anton said he could join me on patrol. Sit in his truck behind.
It would be goddamn embarrassing though for any of the officers to see him “babysitting.”
Worse than that is that I have all day to think myself in circles. To think about who Mace is. About the money. And now…Mariana.
I sit at my desk, log into the system, and start filling out the duty sheet.
And then the door opens behind me.
I glance up.
Ingram walks in.
He’s not in uniform. No badge clipped to his belt. Just jeans, a charcoal-gray quarter-zip, and a travel mug in his hand.
Instinct moves first—a quick scan of his hands, his stance, the relaxed expression that doesn’t match the knot forming in my gut.
“Morning, Johnson,” he says, voice light, as it always is.
“Good morning,” I reply, equally even.
He strolls over, leaning his hip against the corner of my desk. He’s not close enough to invade my space, but still, my pulse ticks upward. My grip on the pen tightens without me noticing.
Ingram is a liar.
Maybe a murderer.
The awareness locks in and doesn’t let go.
“You running radar today?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just finishing some paperwork before I head out.”
“Good. Good.” He takes a sip from his mug. “Listen, did you ever follow up on that lead? The red paint?”
Channeling my inner Faith Johnson, I keep my face neutral.
“Yeah. Thanks for that.” Now that I’m in the moment, it seems unrealistic that I found nothing.
So, I hedge it, toning down any urgency.
“I just found him late yesterday. I’ll interview him eventually.
Annoying I can’t do it for a couple days now. ”
“Mmm,” Ingram responds, nodding. “Who is the guy?” he asks.
I tell Ingram of Andy’s past, making it sound like a hot lead. “Andy Tarmigan. And he sure is popular on social media. The women in college didn’t like him much.”
“Oh?” Ingram replies, but I swear his surprise is fake.
“He was accused of drugging multiple women on campus.”
“Damn.” He furrows his eyebrows. “Did he know Zoe?”
“I’m not sure yet. Not that I could see from socials.”
I don’t want this conversation anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere near Ingram. And I don’t want to slip him any reason to doubt what I’m saying.
Less is more.
My pulse taps at my throat. “He isn’t a nice guy from what I’ve seen, but I’ll let you know more in a few days when I’m off highway patrol and I get a chance to talk to him.”
He sips again. “Well, hopefully this Tarmigan leads somewhere. Last thing those poor Marshall folks need is another officer knocking at their door.”
The words hit me like a stone dropped on the center of my chest, a reminder of everything I’m hiding.
“Yeah,” I say evenly, “I’ve never questioned the parents of a deceased. It’s definitely my last resort. Hopefully it won’t even come to that.”
He nods and seems to buy my cover.
Just then, Callum steps out of his office, holding a binder. “Ingram, didn’t expect you in today.” He leans against the door frame. “Thought you were heading out for that trip?”
Some of the tightness in my shoulders eases. Ingram is leaving town?
Ingram replies, “I just came by to grab my portable charger. The kids can’t deal with planes and no devices.” He turns to me, smiling. “I know, we’re bad parents. We never got the tech under control.” He points to my bump. “I bet you’ll manage better than us. We’re too lenient.”
I smile back the best I can.
This is good.
“Where are you headed?” I ask.
“The wife booked a last-minute resort deal that came up. We have a whole week in Florida.”
This buys us time. The relief hits hard.
“Sounds nice,” I say. “Hope you all have a great time.”
He shrugs with a half-smile. “You know how it is: family wants fun, I want a nap. But I’ll take whatever I can get.”
Callum chuckles. “Enjoy the downtime.”
Ingram walks to his desk, grabs the charger and gives one last goodbye. “Be back with a tan and a suitcase full of plastic junk.”
Only once his back is fully turned do I feel my shoulders drop half an inch. My palms are clammy and I wipe them on my uniform pants before standing.
I finish my paperwork, clip it together, and slide the forms into the tray for review. My equipment belt sits ready on the nearby chair. I take my radio, test it, then grab the keys to the cruiser.
Callum gives me a brief nod as I pass, and Luke lifts his mug in a lazy salute.
Outside, the morning is cooler than expected. The sky is washed pale blue, the sun just beginning to warm the edges.
Anton’s parked near the edge of the lot, engine idling.
I veer toward his car before heading for the patrol SUV and tap my knuckles against his window. He rolls it down immediately.
“All right, bodyguard,” I say. “You can stand down.”
His brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
“Ingram’s going on vacation,” I tell him. “A week.”
He blinks. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” I lean an elbow against the door. “Lucky timing. But it gives us a window. One week for GhostEye to dig and figure out what the hell he’s been hiding.”
Anton exhales slowly, already recalibrating. “That helps.”
“It does,” I agree. “Which is why I need you back at the ranch offices. All hands on deck. We don’t have time to waste.”
He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head. “I don’t love you being out there alone.”
“Ingram’s the mole,” I say quietly. “Or the problem at the center of it. Either way, he’s gone. And everyone left in that office still thinks I’m chasing Andy and spinning my wheels.”
He doesn’t interrupt, but he’s not convinced.
“This only works if we move fast,” I continue. “The longer GhostEye digs without warrants, the harder it’s going to be to keep this clean. Or at least defensible.”
That’s something he understands.
“All right,” he says finally. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll go back, see what they’ve already turned up.” His gaze sharpens. “Then I’ll come find you on patrol and update you in person.”
He is so damn protective. But I love it.
“That works,” I say. “I’m only out there four hours anyway.” I lean down and kiss him through the window.
He pulls away, and I watch until his taillights disappear, then turn toward my own vehicle.
I walk to the patrol SUV, unlock it, and slide inside. The engine hums to life beneath my hands. I settle into the seat, check my mirrors, and take a breath.
Everything feels normal. Routine. Predictable.
And thank God for that.
Today, normal is exactly what I need.
I pull out of the lot, heading toward the stretch of highway where I’ll be setting up traffic detail. The road is quiet, almost peaceful and the kind of stillness that usually soothes me settles across the dashboard. But something faint lingers beneath it—a tension I can’t quite shake.
My hand drifts briefly to my stomach. “Just a normal day,” I murmur.
The radio crackles faintly with background noise. I turn onto the highway.
Somewhere behind me, back in town, GhostEye is digging.
Everything might actually be okay.
But I can’t ignore the feeling that it won’t stay that way.