Chapter Nine
Crew’s world had shifted. Just a month ago, his life was made up of morning chores, working with the horses and various therapy sessions. He wrote letters to the families on Gray’s list and took them to the post office.
Suddenly that gave way to a breakthrough about the feelings Conner’s family harbored for him. He’d even gone from having to force himself to say Navy’s name to it flowing off his tongue. He’d unloaded military supplies at the Black Heart Tactical Training Facility.
And this was the second time he stood in the security office like he belonged there.
Maybe he did.
Carson was the eldest in the big family and the founder of the security agency that he and his brothers were building into an empire. Crew was used to the guys firing off a request to run an errand or help with a task.
But now he sat at his desk across from Crew, looking at him like an equal.
It felt good. Better than good. It felt…right.
“We ran the plates on the truck Fern saw.”
His lungs constricted. “And?”
“It’s a fake license plate.”
Crew leaned forward, gaze fixed on Carson. “A fake?”
“Yup.” He tapped a blunt fingertip on the desk to punctuate the statement that already carried enough weight.
He pressed his fist to his mouth for a moment, reeling. “That’s pretty fucking concerning.”
Carson nodded. “We’re trying to get more on the truck. Denver’s got connections”—he cleared his throat in a way that made Crew know those connections weren’t public knowledge—“and they’re searching for people making fake plates in Utah and the surrounding area.”
He gripped the arm of the chair and felt his fingers ache under the force. “How long will that take?”
“We don’t know. But it’s enough to concern us. We want to make sure Fern’s safe.”
“What do you have in mind? I can pack a bag right now and leave with her. We could head into the mountains. Or find a small town to lay low.”
Carson squared his shoulders as he settled Crew in his stare. “You care about her.”
“I care about her safety.” And more he wasn’t ready to talk about.
He ducked his head. “We do too. She’s been following Theo’s rules. She’s been checking in twice a day and hasn’t received any new side jobs since the event that shook her up.”
He filled his lungs with air but didn’t release it right away. When he did, it whooshed out. “What about her ex?”
Carson shifted in his leather chair. “Has she told you anything about him?”
“No. But I know he scares her. One time I was at her house, and she freaked out that she’d left a dirty mug in the sink. People don’t do that without being controlled with fear.”
Carson pressed his lips into a line and took down the note. “His name is Chris Calder. A bigwig high school football coach.”
He was gripping the chair arms so tight he felt the frame creak. He forced himself to unclench his fingers before he busted it. “She told me she worked with preschoolers. Seems like a likely way to meet.”
Carson nodded and jotted that down too. “She stopped going to work, just vanished from the city.”
“And started over in Willowbrook,” Crew slid the last puzzle piece into place.
“Yup. So for now we keep watch while we gather more information.”
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t like her staying at her place alone.”
“If she wants to stay at the ranch, there’s plenty of room. If she doesn’t, she has the security system you installed. We’re monitoring it and I have some of the guys taking shifts watching her apartment and the greenhouse for anything suspicious.”
Crew contemplated what more could be done, but was interrupted by his phone buzzing with a text. He pulled it out, hoping to see Fern’s name on the screen. Instead, it was his tattoo artist.
He shot a look at Carson. “I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything else. Thanks, man.”
“I was going to thank you for lending a hand at the training facility the other day. It’s all hands on deck at this point.”
He met Carson’s gaze. He probably knew Crew ran when asked to move the chopper. But he didn’t have any words to explain, so he ran again.
Ducking his head in acknowledgement, he slipped out of the office. His long strides carried him outside and halfway to the lodge before he read the text.
When he spotted the mockup of the hand-drawn art, he stopped in his tracks. His breath stalled.
This was it. What he needed to move on.
No ink in his skin would heal his trauma, but getting this piece was a big step.
A wolf stood off to the side, captured mid-step. The fur around his ruff seemed to stir in the invisible wind.
In the sky above were stars. The dots of a constellation, the lines connected into the shape of a bear.
He pinched the bridge of his nose hard at the sting of emotion.
The bear was watching over the wolf…from above.
Swallowing the hard knot in his throat, he studied the rest of the composition. A mountain and pines were represented in the background. And in the foreground…ferns.
Tiny, delicate fronds that also seemed to be swaying lightly in the breeze—an image that brought to mind the beautiful woman who’d been in his arms.
He didn’t recall giving the artist direction to add ferns, but looking up the text chain, he saw he had.
They couldn’t be more perfect. A mindless slip maybe, but an important one.
Because Fern was important to him.
He quickly darted a text to the artist, who responded that she had an opening in an hour if he could make it.
Excitement settled in his stomach, and he got the itch to feel the needles in his skin. This was the step he needed. It might not get posted on the wall of success stories, but it felt big to him. A step out of the shadows and toward the sunlight.
Within an hour, he was in the tattoo chair, the drone of the needles an odd comfort. He let his mind wander over all the things in his day, from the letters he’d written to the military families before dawn broke the sky…to working with the Black Heart Security team on Fern’s case.
And it landed solidly on Fern.
He didn’t know where he stood with her. Didn’t even know where he was heading after he left the program. But every day he felt stronger. More and more, he was leaving the ranch, striking out on his own to garden centers and tattoo shops. He found it easier to talk to things besides horses.
Even though he wasn’t ready—and might never be—to be in control of an aircraft, talking to Grant Upchurch at the training facility had come with another sense of familiarity, like an echo of the brotherhood he once belonged to. It made him want to go up there and talk to him again.
The artist lifted the needles from his arm and wiped the line she just pulled through his skin. He looked down and his chest welled with emotion. The outline was finished.
“I’m going to switch needles and begin shading. I’m pleased with how it’s turning out.”
“Me too.” His voice came out thick.
His phone vibrated—not with a text. With an incoming call from Fern.
“Excuse me,” he told the artist as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Oh, thank god. Crew!” Her voice was wrong, strained. Edgy.
He shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“I know I agreed to let you drive me to any jobs, but Honor stopped in at the greenhouse, and she told me you’d left for the afternoon. I really want this business to take off, so I can’t afford to turn down clients when I get them, but no one else could come.”
“Okay, slow down, honey. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think. But also no.”
His stomach churned. “Talk to me, Fern.”
“I did everything Theo told me to do. I sent Willow the address. Gave Theo the name and he cleared me to go to the site. I planned to be quick and get right back to the greenhouse for my shift afterward. But I never made it there.”
Fuck. He took off toward the exit without looking back at the artist.
“Where are you, Fern? What happened?”
“My car broke down. It just stopped in the middle of the road.”
“Dammit. Are you in a safe place?”
“I-I managed to get off to the side of the road. But…”
“Fern.”
“I might have just seen that truck.”
He took off running for his truck and leaped behind the wheel. “Stay in the vehicle. Lock the doors. I’m coming. Give me your location.”
Her voice shook as she rattled off the name of the road. “Hurry, Crew. I…need you.”
His heart hammered. Dammit, he had to get to her—fast. He had to protect her.
An image of Conner, stuck in the seat with no way to get the help he needed, flashed through his head. He couldn’t let that happen to anyone else, let alone Fern.
He jammed the gas pedal to the floor and sped toward Willowbrook, almost wishing the truck had wings so he could reach her faster.
“Stay on the phone with me, honey. I’m going to put you on hold for a minute while I call the guys.”
“Okay.” Her voice came out small.
With an unsteady hand, he switched to another line and called the office.
“Black Heart Security.”
“It’s Crew. Fern’s in trouble.”
“Fuck! It’s Gray. What’s going on?”
“Her car broke down on the way to a job site. Theo cleared her to go. She just saw the truck that’s been following her.” His voice came out low as he barely harnessed the roar gathering in his throat.
“I’m getting her location now. Okay. Upchurch is in the vicinity. I’m sending him. He’s driving one of the ranch trucks.”
A measure of relief splashed through his system, leaving him hot and cold in turns. “Copy. I told her to stay on the line with me. I’ll keep talking to her until he gets there.”
He switched lines. “Fern. You there, honey?”
“Yes,” she breathed out.
“Have you seen the truck again?”
“No. But I’m watching all my mirrors.”
“Good. I want you to keep an eye out for one of the ranch trucks. It’s black with the Black Heart logo on the side. A guy named Grant Upchurch is in your area. He’s going to help you.”
“All right.”
“They call him Church. He’s a good guy.”
“He’s a friend of yours?”
Good. She was talking. He needed to keep her distracted.
“I haven’t known him long, but yeah. I’d lean on him if I needed help.”
“Is he in the therapy program?”