Chapter 4 #2
Naomi stared at the label, not quite trusting her own eyes. Mary Rose. Her cousin had disappeared seventeen years ago, and still the knot in her chest pulled so tight she almost didn’t breathe.
She looked up at Ghost.
“Why?” she whispered. “That case is cold. Most people don’t even remember it.”
He shrugged. “Pattern started long before Leelee.”
Just like that, all the heat and adrenaline from earlier was gone, replaced with a familiar chill in her bones.
She flipped the file open. First page, the same faded photo used in the old news stories, Mary Rose with her hair in uneven braids, big front teeth, smiling uncertainly like she already knew the world could swallow her whole and nobody would notice.
Underneath, Ghost’s notes. Timelines. Names she recognized from her own memory, plus a few she didn’t. Annotations cross-referencing her cousin’s case with every other missing woman in this godforsaken county.
Her hands shook, so she kept them busy. “You think there’s a connection?”
Ghost didn’t answer right away. “I don’t believe in coincidence.” He reached across the table and pulled another file from the bottom of the stack, flipping it open. The name on it caught her by surprise, though she supposed it shouldn’t have.
He nodded toward it. “Alice Doughtry. That’s your friend’s sister? The one who disappeared about a year after your cousin.”
She nodded. Alice’s disappearance was what cemented her and Greta’s friendship. They had bonded in trauma.
“I think your cousin was first,” Ghost said. “And Alice was number two.”
“But Alice was white.” She finally tore her gaze from the file to look at him. “She doesn’t fit the victim profile.”
Ghost stared at her for a beat, then crossed to a cabinet and pulled open a drawer, fishing out another stack of folders.
“Nor do any of these women. Black, White, Mexican, and even an Asian woman. Twenty-one women in total. They all disappeared along this stretch of highway between Missoula and the Bitterroot Valley.”
“Are you suggesting there’s a serial offender using this area as a hunting ground?”
“As I said before, I don’t like coincidences.”
Her heart sank. “You don’t think Leelee is alive.”
He didn’t blink. “Do you?”
She wanted to say yes. God, she wanted to.
But that would’ve made her a liar. And if there was one thing Naomi Lefthand did not do, it was lie to herself. Not about the odds. Not about the truth.
So she just stared at the folder, at the girl’s bright, slightly crooked smile, and let the silence fill the cracks in her. She felt Ghost watching her, but he didn’t rush her. Didn’t say a damn word.
Finally, she closed the file and slid it to the side. “No,” she said. “I don’t think Leelee’s alive.” She glanced up, catching his unreadable eyes. “But I have to act like she is, or nobody else will.”
He nodded, just once. Not approval. Not sympathy, either. More like… recognition.
She reached for her coffee and discovered her hand shook. She covered it by draining the mug, ignoring the fact that Cinder’s sharp amber stare tracked every movement.
The dog was a little too much like her owner. Quiet. Waiting. Ready to bite.
She cleared her throat. “You ever talk to any of the families? Or are you just gathering data?”
Ghost’s mouth flattened. “I’m not the comforting type.”
“No kidding.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her gaze cut to him, dreading his reaction, but he appeared unfazed by her sarcasm.
“It’s not about comfort,” she added after an awkward beat. “It’s about trust. You want answers, you have to stand in front of people. Let them see you bleed a little so they will bleed for you in return.”
He didn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw did that tic again.
“I was planning on talking to Leelee’s mom this morning when Padilla Auto opens at seven,” she told him. “Carina Padilla. She’s the only reason this case isn’t buried in the paper’s obituary section already.”
Ghost studied her for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “You want backup?”
She hesitated. Instinct said no. She could handle herself, didn’t need some human iceberg glowering at her side like she couldn’t fight her own battles.
But then she remembered the way Goodwin had stonewalled her last time. Remembered the stink of cigarettes and cheap aftershave in the sheriff’s office, the way every man in the room had looked at her like she was the damn problem for even asking.
She didn’t owe this town her pride. She owed Leelee answers.
“Yeah,” she said at last. “If you’re offering.”
He nodded, once. “Give me fifteen minutes. Need to walk Cinder and check in with Walker.”
“Sure.” She watched as he rose from the table, all smooth, silent irritation. He motioned for his dog and headed for the door without another word.
She waited until he was gone, then let herself exhale. Let her hands shake, just for a second, before she stashed the files back in her bag and tried to get her armor back in place.
The man lived in a fortress of routines. She respected it, even if she didn’t get it. The efficiency. The control. How did someone survive being wired this tight and not snap?
Ghost returned in under ten minutes, which was either impressive or alarming, considering he’d had to check in with his boss and get in a full perimeter sweep with that demon-dog at his side. The man’s idea of “fifteen minutes” clearly had nothing in common with the rest of humanity.
She’d barely finished pulling herself back together when the door swung open. Cinder entered first, nose to the air, scanning the cabin like she expected bombs or boogeymen.
Ghost filled the doorway, legs planted shoulder-width apart. “Ready?”
He didn’t wait for her answer and strode out into the blue-lit dawn. She stuffed the folders in her bag and followed, boots crunching over frost-silvered grass. His black truck waited in the drive, engine already running. Efficient as always.
Cinder leapt into the backseat. Naomi hesitated a second, then climbed in front, bag braced against her lap.
He peeled out of Valor Ridge like they were being chased. Maybe, in some way, they were.