Chapter 40
forty
Ava’s cabin embraced Naomi like a warm blanket, but she couldn’t stop shivering.
The wooden walls with their faded photos and handwoven tapestries had always felt like sanctuary, like home, but tonight they felt like they were closing in.
She sank onto the worn couch, her bones suddenly too heavy for her body, and watched her grandmother move through the familiar space with practiced efficiency—lighting sage, filling the kettle, muttering prayers in Salish that sounded like water over stones.
The scent of burning herbs filled the small living room, but even that couldn’t clear the memory of Ghost’s face as they’d led him away in handcuffs.
All because of what she’d said.
All because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.
“Drink this.” Ava pressed a steaming mug into her hands. The ceramic burned against Naomi’s palms, but she welcomed the pain—something tangible to focus on besides the hollow ache in her chest.
“Thanks,” she murmured, but didn’t drink. Steam rose between them like a veil. Outside, the wind rattled the windows, carrying the last whispering echoes of the fall festival that had imploded so spectacularly hours before.
Ava settled across from her in the ancient rocking chair that had belonged to Naomi’s great-grandmother.
The chair creaked as she rocked, a familiar rhythm that had soothed Naomi through childhood nightmares and teenage heartbreaks.
But this wasn’t a skinned knee or a boy who didn’t call.
This was a man in jail because of her words, her recognition.
“He’s not the first man to punch someone at a festival,” Ava said, her weathered hands wrapped around her own mug. “Won’t be the last.”
“This is different.” Naomi finally took a sip of tea, bitter herbs and honey coating her tongue.
“Owen’s past makes it different. And Deveraux is a cop.
Sheriff Goodwin was practically glowing when they took him away.
” She set the mug down with a too-sharp clink.
“I should never have said anything. Not there, not like that.”
“So you would have what? Kept quiet? Let that man walk free after what he did to you?”
“He walking free now,” she pointed out and rubbed at the chill crawling up her arms. “I could have told Brandt privately. We could have handled it through proper channels.”
Ava made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat.
“Proper channels. Like the proper channels that dismissed Mary Rose or Greta’s sister as runaways?
The proper channels that let Leelee disappear like she never existed?
” The rocking chair creaked faster, the only outward sign of her frustration.
“Your Ghost-man did what men have done since time began. He protected what was his.”
“I’m not his,” Naomi said automatically, but her hand went to the fox pendant at her throat. The silver was warm against her skin, a constant reminder of his promise.
“Hmm.” Ava’s knowing gaze flicked to the pendant, then back to Naomi’s face. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, Little Rabbit.”
The childhood nickname landed like a blow. Little Rabbit. The scared girl who ran instead of fighting. The girl who needed protecting.
“Please don’t call me that anymore,” she said, the words scraping her throat. “I’m not scared. I’m angry. They took Mary Rose, they took Leelee, they took so many girls—and no one did anything. No one believed me.”
“I believed you,” Ava reminded her quietly. “I have always believed you.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Naomi’s eyes. “And now Ghost is in jail, Sampson Padilla is dead, and the sheriff is spinning some bullshit story about how it was all Sampson’s fault—case closed.”
She stood abruptly, tea forgotten, and paced the small living room. Three steps one way, three steps back. A prison of her own making.
“You spoke truth,” Ava said. She set her mug aside. “How men respond to truth is on them, not you.”
“But I knew how he’d react. I knew he’d—” She stopped herself, the memory of Owen’s face flashing before her—that cold, deadly focus that had transformed him from the man who kissed her so gently into something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something broken. “I’ve seen what he can do.”
“We all have our demons,” Ava said softly, and her lined face softened. “Your grandfather had some dark ones, too.”
Naomi blinked. Ava never spoke about her late husband, still too raw from his death from cancer nearly two decades ago. “Grandpa Joe had demons?”
Ava nodded, her fingers twisting the wedding band she still wore. “The war changed him. Made him quick to anger, slow to forgive. I saw that same look in your Ghost-man’s eyes tonight. The look of someone fighting battles most people never see.”
Naomi rubbed her eyes, suddenly bone-weary. “Brandt said they’d try to get him out tonight. That it wouldn’t stick.” She glanced at the clock on the wall—11:37 PM. “But I should have stayed. I should have been there.”
“And what? Gotten yourself arrested too?” Ava shook her head. “Better you came with me. Let that marshal man handle the sheriff. It’s his job.”
“I never should’ve dragged Owen into this,” Naomi insisted, sinking back onto the couch. “I knew what kind of man he was, what he’s been through, and I still—” She broke off, unable to finish the thought.
“That man was in this the moment he laid eyes on you,” Ava said with absolute certainty. “Some paths cross for a reason, Naomi. Some knots are tied by forces greater than us.”
Her fingers found the fox pendant again of their own accord, tracing its curved body, the tiny gemstone eyes. She remembered the night he’d given it to her, his eyes uncertain as he’d explained the hidden panic button.
One press sends a signal directly to me. No matter where you are, I’ll know you need help. I’ll be there.
But he wasn’t here now. He was in a cell, separated from his weapons, his control, everything that made him feel safe. And it was her fault.
“I need to call Brandt,” she said, reaching for her phone. “Find out what’s happening.”
Ava nodded but didn’t move from her chair.
The call went straight to voicemail. She tried Boone next, then Walker.
Nothing.
The Valor Ridge men had gone dark, closing ranks the way they always did in a crisis. Protecting their own.
She set the phone down, fighting the urge to throw it across the room. “No one’s answering.”
“They will when there’s news,” Ava said with the calm certainty of a woman who’d weathered storms that made this one look like a spring shower. “Staring at that phone won’t make it ring any faster.”
Naomi knew she was right, but stillness felt impossible. She moved to the window instead, parting the curtains to stare out at the night. The moon hung low and heavy over the mountains, casting silver light across Ava’s small yard with its herb garden and prayer flags fluttering in the breeze.
Somewhere out there, Ghost was in a cell. Somewhere out there, Deveraux was in a hospital, his nose broken, his cover blown. What would happen now? Would Goodwin bury the accusation? Would the other girls identify him too? Would anyone believe them if they did?
“I should be doing something,” she said to the darkness beyond the glass. “Not hiding here like—”
“Like a rabbit?” Ava finished for her.
Naomi turned, ready to snap, but the understanding in her grandmother’s eyes stopped her. “Yes,” she admitted. “Like a scared rabbit.”
“There’s no shame in seeking shelter when the storm is at its worst,” Ava said and stood, crossing to Naomi with quiet dignity.
Her hands, rough from decades of work, framed Naomi’s face with surprising gentleness.
“The fox doesn’t always chase. Sometimes it waits, watches, learns. Then strikes when the time is right.”
Naomi let herself lean into the touch, into the wisdom and love it conveyed. “And when will the time be right?”
“The spirits will tell you,” Ava said, then smiled at Naomi’s skeptical look. “Or that man of yours will call. Whichever comes first.”
A laugh bubbled up, unexpected and fragile. “He’s not my man.”
“No?” Ava’s thumb brushed over the fox pendant, a knowing smile curving her lips. “Then why do you wear his mark over your heart? He’s the fox, sweetheart, not you.”
Naomi clasped the pendant. “No, he—”
Ava clasped her face between wrinkled hands.
“You will always be a rabbit, my girl, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Rabbits are quick and clever and know when to hide.
But sometimes, rabbits also bite back, and they have vicious teeth.
Isn’t that how you discovered Mitch Deveraux’s identity today at the festival? A rabbit bit him.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way. “I… guess so.”
“And now, my beautiful Little Rabbit, you will bite him, too. You’ll bring them all down.” Ava’s smile was fierce. “And I, for one, am looking forward to the bloodbath.”
Before Naomi could answer, headlights swept across the window, painting the room in harsh white light before darkness returned. A car door slammed, followed by fast footsteps on the gravel path to the front door.
Her heart leapt. Owen?
But no—he wouldn’t know to come here.
Ava moved to the door with surprising speed for a woman staring down ninety. She peered through the peephole, then stepped back and pulled open the door with a welcoming smile. “My boy! It takes a crisis for you to finally come visit your old grandmother?”
Julius filled the doorway like he’d always filled any space he entered—with easy confidence and a smile.
He stood a head and shoulders taller than Ava, his game warden uniform exchanged for dark jeans and a soft flannel shirt that made him look more like the boy Naomi had grown up with than the man he’d become.
A plastic grocery bag dangled from one hand, contents clinking as he stepped over the threshold.