Chapter 26
twenty-six
The fucking rain wouldn’t stop.
It hammered down in sheets, turning the forest path into a treacherous slip of mud and debris.
Ghost ignored the water streaming from his hat brim, the cold seep of it down his collar and spine.
Each flash of lightning illuminated the search grid for precious seconds—enough to see that the tracks were washing away, that time was running out.
Behind him, boots sloshed and voices grew weary.
He didn’t care. Naomi was out here somewhere, and he’d comb every inch of these woods until he found her, until he made this right.
“Ghost!” Bear’s voice cut through the storm, edged with exhaustion. “We need to regroup. Visibility’s shot to hell.”
Ghost didn’t bother turning around. “Go back if you want.”
“It’s not about what I want.” Bear drew closer, his massive frame hunched against the rain. “Search and rescue protocol—”
“I’m not search and rescue.” Ghost kept moving, gaze locked on the path ahead where Cinder’s black form melted into the darkness.
Bear muttered a curse, but his footsteps stayed close. Somewhere behind them, Greta’s voice crackled over a radio, calling in the other search teams. They’d been at this for nearly twelve hours.
“Ghost,” Bear tried again. “The horses are exhausted, and the dogs are losing the scent in this rain. We need to regroup, come up with a new strategy.”
“Cinder won’t lose the scent.”
That earned a frustrated exhale. “Look, I know you’re—”
“I’m what?” Ghost rounded on him, voice low and dangerous.
“Worried? Desperate? You think I don’t know the odds of finding her drop with every hour?
With every minute of this fucking rain?” He jerked his chin toward the rest of the search party, their flashlights bobbing in the distance.
“They can go back. You can go back. I’m not stopping.
She is not going to end up dead in a ditch like Leelee. ”
Bear held his gaze, then nodded once. “Alright. We keep going.”
Ghost turned away, unable to handle the understanding in the big man’s eyes. He whistled low, and Cinder materialized out of the darkness, ears perked, hackles still raised. That was a good sign. She was still on the trail.
“Find her,” he said simply, and the dog turned, continuing her methodical sweep.
The forest thickened as they moved east. Pines gave way to older growth, trees gnarled and massive, roots snaking across the path like veins on the back of a giant’s hand.
The terrain grew steeper. Rain plastered Ghost’s shirt to his skin, but he didn’t feel it. He was beyond cold, beyond exhaustion.
He’d lost her. It was that simple.
He’d pushed her away when he’d caught her in a lie by omission because it was easier than facing what was between them. She’d walked away, and he’d let her, and now she was gone.
Every instinct in his body screamed that this was his fault. That he should have been there. Should have known.
Lightning split the sky, followed by a crack of thunder so close the air vibrated. In that momentary flash, he caught a glimpse of Cinder up ahead, suddenly alert, head raised, testing the wind. Then she was gone, a black bullet shooting through the trees.
“Cinder!” he hissed, breaking into a run. The dog never bolted without reason.
She’d found something.
Ghost drew the Glock from his holster, thumb on the safety, heart hammering against his ribs as he ran. Behind him, Bear shouted something, but it was lost in another roll of thunder. All that mattered was keeping Cinder in sight, following that flash of movement through the downpour.
The trees opened suddenly into a clearing. Ghost caught himself at the edge, dropping into a crouch, weapon up. Through the sheeting rain, he made out dark shapes—a truck, its engine idling. Two men, moving purposefully. And there—three figures being herded toward the vehicle.
Even through the rain, he recognized her immediately. Naomi. She was on her feet, half-carrying someone—a girl, maybe a teenager—while another figure stumbled beside them. Their captors shoved them forward, gesturing with guns. One of them grabbed Naomi roughly by the hair, yanking her head back.
Ice spread through Ghost’s veins.
Twenty yards. Two armed hostiles. Three unarmed civilians. No cover between here and there except darkness and rain. He’d made worse odds work.
He edged forward, keeping to the shadows, calculating trajectories and angles. He needed to get closer, needed a clean shot that wouldn’t risk the women. The rain worked in his favor, muffling his footsteps, limiting visibility.
Something shifted in his peripheral vision. Ghost swung his weapon toward the movement, finger hovering above the trigger.
A silhouette materialized from the trees—tall, lean, deadly still.
Evander Cole.
“What the fuck?” Ghost said and lowered the weapon, but only slightly. He still didn’t trust this guy. “Thought you don’t leave your land.”
Cole grunted. “This mess is too close to my land for comfort.”
Just like that, they had an alliance.
Cole gestured with two fingers toward the far side of the clearing, then tapped his chest and pointed to the right. Ghost dipped his chin in acknowledgment. Cole would circle around. Ghost would take the near approach. Classic pincer movement.
As Cole melted back into the darkness, Ghost refocused on the scene before him. One of the men shoved Naomi toward the truck’s open door. She stumbled, nearly dropping the girl she was supporting. Her face, briefly illuminated by the truck’s headlights, was bloody, her eyes wild with defiance.
Something inside Ghost’s chest tightened to the breaking point.
He circled left, moving in a crouch, closing the distance. Fifteen yards. Ten. Close enough to hear one of the men cursing, his voice carrying above the storm.
“Get them in the fucking truck! We need to be gone before—”
Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by Tilly’s growl. The sound came from nowhere and everywhere, a low rumble like approaching thunder, as the hellbeast of a dog stalked from the underbrush.
The men turned, weapons swinging toward the sound. One fired blindly into the darkness.
Tilly didn’t flinch.
Ghost rose from his crouch and fired twice in rapid succession. The first shot took the shooter in the shoulder, spinning him sideways. The second missed as the man dove for cover behind the truck.
The second captor grabbed Naomi, using her as a shield, pressing a gun to her temple.
“Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop the fucking gun or I’ll blow her head off!”
Ghost froze, weapon still raised. Rain streamed into his eyes. He could take the shot—he’d made harder ones in worse conditions. But one twitch of the man’s finger, and Naomi would be gone.
“I said drop it!” The man’s voice cracked with panic.
Ghost’s finger hovered over the trigger.
A shadow detached itself from the trees behind the truck. Cole moved like liquid, silent and deadly. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next, his arm was around the first man’s throat, dragging him backward into the mud.
The distraction was all Ghost needed. He lunged forward, closing the gap between himself and Naomi in a handful of long strides. The second man swung his weapon away from Naomi’s head, trying to track the new threat, but he was too slow.
Ghost’s first shot caught him in the thigh. The man staggered back, his grip on Naomi loosening, and he went down with a scream, his gun skittering away in the mud.
Naomi broke free, stumbling toward the two girls who had fallen to their knees in the chaos.
“Get down!” she shouted at them, covering their bodies with her own as more gunfire erupted from behind the truck.
The first man had somehow broken free from Cole’s grip and was firing wildly, bullets punching into trees and spattering mud. Ghost dropped to one knee, returning fire with precision. Two shots. Three. The slide locked back on the fourth—empty.
He reached for his backup weapon, but Cole was already moving. He tackled the shooter in a blur of motion, driving him into the ground with bone-jarring force. The man’s head hit with a sick crack, and he went limp.
For a heartbeat, the only sounds were the rain and harsh breathing.
Then the second man was up again, dragging himself toward the driver’s side door, leaving a trail of blood in the mud. Ghost started after him, but Cole’s voice cut through the storm.
“Let him go. We need to get the women out.”
The truck’s engine roared. Tires spun, fighting for purchase in the mud, then caught. The vehicle lurched forward, fishtailing wildly before straightening out and accelerating away through the trees. The remaining captor had gotten away.
Ghost didn’t care. He was already moving toward Naomi, holstering his weapon as he went.
She was kneeling in the mud, one arm around each of the girls, her face a mask of dirt and blood. When she saw him, something flashed in her eyes—relief? Fear? He couldn’t tell. But she didn’t flinch when he dropped to his knees beside her.
“Are you hurt?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
She shook her head, but it was a lie. Her lip was split, her cheek swollen, and she held herself like her ribs hurt.
“The girls,” she gasped. “Tariah needs medical attention. She’s been drugged. I think she’s overdosed.”
Ghost glanced at the older girl, who lay semiconscious between them, her breathing shallow. The younger one—barely more than a child—stared at him with huge, terrified eyes.
“It’s okay,” he told her, keeping his voice low and steady. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
Cole materialized beside them, rain streaming down his face, his expression grim. “We need to move. They’ll be back with reinforcements.”
Ghost nodded, his focus still on Naomi. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.” The word was firm, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. Ghost caught her before she hit the ground, one arm sliding under her knees, the other supporting her back.
She was shivering violently, her skin ice-cold beneath the sodden hoodie—his hoodie, he realized. She’d still been wearing it when they took her. The thought pierced him like a knife.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lifting her against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
For a moment, she resisted, her body tense. Then, all at once, she melted against him, her face pressing into the curve of his neck. Her breath came in short, shuddering gasps. Not crying—Naomi wasn’t a crier—but fighting for control.
“The girls,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his skin.
“Cole has them,” he assured her. He looked up to confirm and saw that Cole had indeed already lifted the unconscious girl into his arms while extending a hand to the younger one. “They’re safe. You’re safe.”
Bear appeared at the edge of the clearing, King at his heels. He took in the scene in one glance, then immediately called out their position on the radio and requested support.
“Bear, she needs Narcan,” Ghost called, nodding toward Cole and the unconscious girl. He watched Cole cross the clearing to Bear, who was already pulling his medical supplies from his bag.
The girl would be okay.
No better combat medic in Montana than Dane “Bear” McKenna.
Ghost blocked everything else out but Naomi, holding her more securely against his chest and breathing in the scent of her hair.
He’d almost been too late.
That he’d almost lost her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words meant only for her. “I’m sorry I got pissed about the FBI thing. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
She pulled back just far enough to look at him, rain mingling with blood on her face. “You found me.” Her voice was raw, barely audible above the storm. “That’s all that matters.”
Their eyes locked, and something passed between them—something Ghost couldn’t name but felt in his marrow.
He’d spent his life keeping walls between himself and the world.
Hiding. Surviving. But this woman had somehow slipped past every defense, and now the thought of losing her felt like losing gravity.
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “That’s all that matters.”
She nodded once, then let her head rest against his shoulder again. Her trembling had eased somewhat, though whether from his body heat or the simple fact of being safe, he couldn’t tell.
Cinder appeared at his side, pressing close to his leg, her eyes fixed on Naomi with unusual intensity. The dog had never shown much interest in anyone except Ghost, but now she whined softly, as if concerned.
“Your dog found us,” Naomi murmured, her eyes closing in exhaustion. “I heard her before I saw anyone.”
Ghost glanced down at Cinder, feeling a surge of something like gratitude. “She’s good at finding things that matter.”
Naomi’s fingers curled into his shirt, holding tight as if afraid he might disappear. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” he promised, and meant it in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. “Not ever again.”
Bear approached, his expression grim. “Medics are on their way. Ten minutes out. How is she?”
“I’m fine,” Naomi answered for herself, though she didn’t lift her head from Ghost’s shoulder. “But Tariah needs help. She’s been drugged. And Angel needs medical attention, too.”
“Already taken care of,” Bear assured her. He looked at Ghost. “You good to carry her out of here?”
Ghost nodded. He’d carry her through hell if that’s what it took.
As they moved back toward the forest path, the rain finally began to ease. Through breaks in the clouds, stars appeared, sparkling faintly against the black canvas of night, like the world was slowly returning to normal.
But nothing was normal anymore. Ghost knew that. Everything had shifted the moment he’d seen Naomi in that clearing, fighting despite impossible odds, protecting those girls with her own body.
He’d spent his life not needing anyone. Not caring. Not risking. But this woman, who was strong enough to risk everything for two girls she didn’t know, but who now trembled against his chest—she mattered to him more than anything else. Keeping her safe. Keeping her close. Keeping her whole.
And that changed everything.