Chapter 6 #2
Carina’s mouth twisted. “Too long, if you ask me. They got together in high school. He’s… useless. Drinks too much, gambles, never kept a job more than a month. Leelee thought she could fix him. I told her that’s not how it works.”
Ghost made a mental note. Finch: instability, substance issues, financial stress. He’d seen a hundred like him, and none ever ended well. “He ever get rough with her?” he asked, voice low.
Carina shook her head. “No, not that I ever saw. He was just… selfish. Jealous, too. Didn’t like when she went out with her friends. Used to sit outside the casino waiting for her to finish her shift. Sometimes he’d show up here. Sampson hated him on sight.”
“What about your husband? How does he feel about this boyfriend?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Eddie’s a pragmatist. He didn’t like Taren but he also knows our girls are going to date some duds before they find their princes. He knew it wouldn’t last and he was right. Leelee finally broke it off with Taren last week. Sampson thinks he took her.”
Probably a good bet. Jealous ex-boyfriend was always a good place to start.
“But Eddie and I aren’t so sure,” she added when she saw Ghost and Naomi exchange glances.
“Why not?” Naomi asked.
“Taren is… lazy. We just don’t think he’d be motivated enough to hurt her.”
“Okay,” Naomi said and made a note. “What about at work? Did she say anyone was bothering her at work?”
Carina hesitated. “She said sometimes the men at the casino made her uncomfortable. Especially some of the regulars. She didn’t want to make a fuss, but a couple nights before she disappeared, she told me someone was following her car. She said it was probably nothing.”
Ghost felt every hair on the back of his neck go rigid. “What kind of car?”
“A black pickup. Big one, newer. Tinted windows.”
There it was. Pattern confirmed. The same truck all four missing women had mentioned in witness statements.
He caught Naomi’s gaze, saw her register it.
“Did she say anything else?” Naomi asked. “Did she get a look at the driver?”
Carina blinked, hands twisting hard in the rag she’d brought from the shop floor.
“No… she said she tried, but the windows were so dark she couldn’t see a thing.
She got scared, though. Called me one night and made me stay on the phone until she got home.
” Her voice quivered but she didn’t let it break. “That’s how I knew it was serious.”
Ghost tracked every detail. The way Carina’s left hand trembled, the way her gaze kept darting to the photo wall, like she expected Leelee to step out from the frame and say it was all some bad joke.
He scanned the room. No listening devices, no hidden cameras. Just the smell of grief and gasoline and the faint whine of a compressor somewhere deeper in the shop.
Naomi leaned in, elbows braced on her knees. “Did Leelee tell you if the truck ever followed her beyond the highway? Did it ever come here, or to your house?”
Carina hesitated, thinking it over. “I… I don’t think so. She always said it started up by the casino, or sometimes on her way home. That stretch of County Road 12, just past Dead Horse curve.”
Pattern, again. Ghost felt the pieces slotting into place. Whoever was running the truck had a preferred hunting ground, and he stuck to it. Smart. Careful. Never doubled back toward the victim’s safe zones.
He made a note of that. Would need to check traffic cams, if any still worked out here, but he wasn’t holding his breath. The county barely replaced stop signs, let alone funded surveillance.
“Let’s talk about that last night,” Naomi said, gentle but relentless. “Did you see Leelee when she left for work? Anything unusual about her mood, her clothes, the way she acted?”
Carina stared past them, memory flickering behind her eyes.
“She usually wore her uniform, but that night there was a costume contest at the casino for 90s night. She was excited, actually. Said there was a cash prize for best costume and she wanted it for her school fund. She had on that awful yellow plaid outfit from Clueless, you know? The blazer, the little skirt, the knee-high white tights?”
Ghost didn’t know, but Naomi was nodding, a smile playing over her lips. “Classic.”
“Taya Finley—she’s Leelee’s direct manager over at the casino—she said Leelee won the contest and was so happy when she left—” Carina stopped, pressed her lips together.
Naomi didn’t rush her. Just waited, letting the silence do the work.
Ghost counted off the seconds in his head. Most people, under pressure, filled the void with noise. Not these two.
Finally, Carina blew out a shaky breath. “She said goodbye like normal, maybe hugged me a little tighter. Then she got in her car and left. Last time I saw her was through that window.”
Ghost shifted. It was getting too emotional in here for his liking.
He shifted his weight, scanned the wall behind Carina like it might reveal a secret hatch he could duck through.
Nope. Still just photos, a stack of bills, and a calendar from last year where someone had circled birthdays in pink sharpie.
He didn’t belong here.
Naomi pressed gently for details, voice steady and patient, but he tuned it out.
Let her do her thing. When Carina finally ran out of answers, Naomi offered her a card and promised to check in tomorrow.
Ghost made a mental note of the woman’s posture—the way she hugged herself, barely holding it together—and then turned on his heel.
Back in the cramped front office, the air tasted less of grief and more of burned coffee. A guy with a tool belt and a stained beanie wandered in, glanced at them, and backtracked fast. Ghost didn’t blame him. The mood in the place was a fucking black hole.
They were back in the parking lot before Naomi said a word. The sun was barely up, the air cold and sharp as razors. Gravel crunched under their boots.
“You always bail when things get real, or is that just for interviews?” Naomi asked, not looking at him.
“Nothing helpful comes from watching people break.”
“Sometimes that’s the only way you get the truth,” she shot back.
He shrugged. “It’s just pain. And you can’t solve pain.”
She stopped at the truck’s passenger door, crossed her arms. “So that’s it? Just turn it off and walk away?”
“No,” Ghost said, unlocking the door. “You file the facts, cross-check patterns, and don’t get distracted by feelings.” He waited for her to slide inside before adding, “It got you results in there, though. I’ll give you that.”
She buckled herself in, jaw tight. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“I do,” he said, deadpan, then fired up the engine.
For a minute, they drove in silence. Naomi tapped her thumb against her thigh again, rapid-fire.
“I don’t get it,” she muttered finally. “That thing earlier, with Carina. The way she talked about her kids… didn’t it hit you at all?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “Doesn’t matter if it did. Not the point.”
“That’s a lie. You’re just uncomfortable when people show real emotion.”
He let the accusation hang. Most people would have denied it, maybe thrown up some bullshit about “boundaries” or “professionalism.” Ghost just focused on the white line racing past his window, the rising sun turning the mountains gold.
“It’s not productive,” he said at last. “Big feelings, open wounds—that’s how you get hurt. Or lose focus. I prefer not to.”
Naomi stared at him, eyes narrow. “You think you can just logic your way out of caring.”
“Not out of caring. Out of being stupid about it.” He slowed at the stop sign, glanced over. “That’s how you survive.”
She huffed a breath, not buying it, but let it go. For now.
Valor Ridge materialized through the windshield as they crested the final hill—the main house solid and square against the morning sky, the barn already alive with movement as the ranch hands started their day.
A few trucks were scattered in the gravel lot, but Naomi’s SUV sat alone near the Hub, where she’d left it hours ago.
Ghost pulled up beside it and killed the engine.
“Get out. I have work to do.”
Naomi unbuckled her seatbelt and shouldered her bag like she couldn’t wait to get the hell away from him. Fine.
Ghost pulled his keys and watched her stalk toward her vehicle, shoulders stiff, chin up, angry as a wet cat. He’d seen that look before. Usually, right before someone decides to do something stupid and heroic.
The dog inside the cab whined, but Ghost ignored it, eyes tracking Naomi out of pure reflex. She cut across the gravel like she owned every rock.
Determined, stubborn, reckless.
She was going to get herself killed with her pigheaded pursuit of justice.
Ghost rolled down the window. “Naomi.”
She glanced back at him, her eyes snapping annoyance. “What?”
“Don’t talk to Finch alone. Wait for me.”
She stopped with one hand on her car door. “I can handle Finch.”
“Not the point.” He kept his hands loose on the wheel, eyes on her and the ranch buildings beyond. “Point is, ex-boyfriends are unpredictable. Especially ones who just lost control. People like that, they escalate.”
She cocked her head. “You think he’ll hurt me?”
He let the silence stretch. Let her fill it.
“Because I don’t.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “I’ve handled worse.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t blink. “And if he’s hopped up on liquor and self-pity, and decides to prove a point? All it takes is thirty seconds, and no one’s around to hear.”
She hesitated. Just a heartbeat, but he saw it.
“All fury, no sense,” Ghost muttered. “You want Finch, you wait. I’ll be back by sixteen hundred. We go together.”
She huffed. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Wait for me.”