Chapter 19
nineteen
“Start from the beginning,” Ghost said, fingers poised over his keyboard. “When did the stalking behavior first manifest?”
The Hub hummed with the low electronic pulse of multiple computers. Three screens tracked different sections of the ranch perimeter, while a fourth displayed a satellite view of Valor Ridge and the surrounding five miles.
If Landry were here, Ghost would absolutely know.
Anson thought he should take comfort in that, but he didn’t. Ghost was good, but he wasn’t a superhero. He needed to sleep sometime, and the property was big. He couldn’t watch every inch of it 24/7.
Maggie took a deep breath. “About two years ago, after I refused to help him get back on the show. He’d been fired for substance abuse issues.
Showing up drunk, missing shoots. The network wanted him gone.
” She twisted her hands in her lap. “After I said no, flowers started showing up at my house. Then gifts. Always with notes about ‘our future together’ or ‘when we reunite.’”
“What about the tools moving, things disappearing?” Anson spoke up from where he stood by the door, watching Maggie perch on the edge of the room’s only other chair.
“That all started happening around the time I got Bramble.” He remembered the letter and the surge of worry that had coursed through him as he read it.
Things have been strange here lately.
Nothing I can put my finger on, just... off. Like that chill you get down your spine when someone’s watching you?
Maggie glanced over at him. She’d pulled herself together since he found her in the cabin—washed her face, changed her clothes, put on a mask of composure that might fool someone who hadn’t seen her staring at that phone like it was a loaded gun.
“So that was, what?” Naomi leaned a hip against Ghost’s desk, arms crossed. “Five years ago?”
“Yeah, about,” Anson confirmed. “She wrote to me when it started happening.”
“Do you still have the letter with the exact date on it?” Ghost asked.
“Yeah.” He felt Maggie’s gaze on him, and heat rushed into his cheeks.
“Aw,” Naomi said, but then got back to business and shifted to face Maggie. “So it started five years ago?”
She lifted her shoulders and let them drop in a helpless shrug. “Maybe? Landry was in the thick of his addiction then, and the show was falling apart. I was trying to salvage my career, stressed out, not sleeping, so it’s possible I was just misplacing things.”
“No, you said you felt like someone was watching you.”
Again, she looked at him, but this time with surprise in her eyes. “You remember what I said?”
He wasn’t about to tell her how many times he’d read through her letters over the years. At least, not in front of Ghost and Naomi. So he kept his mouth shut.
After an awkward beat, Naomi spoke up again. “If it’s not too intrusive, I’d like to see any of the letters where she mentions the stalking.”
He looked to Maggie for the answer. They were his letters, but her words. Her thoughts and fears. The decision should be hers.
She waved a hand. “Sure. Why not?”
“Did you report the stalking?” Ghost asked.
“I tried. Multiple times. The police said gifts aren’t threatening. That I couldn’t prove they were from him since the cards weren’t signed.” A bitter smile flickered across her face. “Sometimes it was just ‘L’ with hearts drawn around it.”
Ghost typed fast, documenting everything. “When did it escalate?”
“Six weeks ago. I came home to find someone had been in my house. Nothing taken—just things moved slightly out of place. A mug I’d left on the counter was in the sink.
My mail had been opened and resealed.” She shuddered.
“Then I found a photo of me sleeping on my nightstand. He was there while I was sleeping and left the photo so I’d know he could get to me.
That was the last straw, and when I wrote Anson to tell him I was coming. ”
Anson clenched his fists at his sides. A low, dull roar filled his ears—the sound of his own blood pressure spiking. He forced himself to unclench, to breathe. This wasn’t about him or his anger. This was about Maggie’s safety.
“Police response?” Ghost didn’t look up from his screen.
“They came out, took a report. Said there was no sign of forced entry, so I must have forgotten to lock a door or window. Suggested I was overreacting because of my ‘prior relationship’ with Landry.” She scoffed.
“Our ‘prior relationship’ was mostly professional, and ended with a handful of dates and one very regrettable night before I realized what he was really like.”
Naomi growled and pushed off from the desk to pace. “Yeah, that tracks. And the restraining order?”
“I filed for one four months ago. It’s still ‘processing.’ Every time I call, they have a new excuse—backlog, paperwork issue, need more evidence. Meanwhile, he keeps emailing me nonstop, finding my phone number and leaving messages.”
“Go on, play them,” Anson urged.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled her phone from her pocket. She played the messages, and Anson watched Ghost’s expression harden with each one.
“Do you really think you can hide from me, bitch? There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
Yeah, hearing it a second time didn’t help
Silence fell, broken only by the soft hum of computers and Ghost’s fingers striking keys with increasing force.
“Ugh, it’s a classic escalation pattern,” Naomi fumed and continued to pace. “Starts with love-bombing, moves to guilt, then to threats. The shift from ‘beautiful’ to ‘bitch’ is textbook. I can’t believe the cops didn’t do anything. No, actually, I can.”
Ghost looked up from his screen for the first time. “I need to ask about people close to you. Who would know your number? Your schedule? Your movements? Details about your life? He’s getting that information from somewhere.”
Ghost sat back from his computer, his expression unreadable, but he reached out and caught Naomi’s hand as she passed.
She stopped pacing and looked down at him, then inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
“I just pisses me off,” she said as if he’d spoken and squeezed his hand.
Ghost gave a rare smile. “I know it does, Fury.”
She scoffed and smacked his arm with the back of her hand, but the exchange seemed to do the trick in calming her down.
“I can work with this,” Ghost said, turning to Maggie. “These voicemails are gold—clearly threatening, time-stamped, traceable.”
“But will they be enough for the police?” Maggie’s voice was small, doubt etched into every line of her face.
“We’re not going to the police. Not yet. First, we gather intelligence. I want access to your inbox so I can start tracing the emails.”
Anson snorted. “You can’t just hack in?”
Ghost sent him a flat look. “I could, but that would be rude. Consent is important. Even for digital invasions.”
The smile Naomi gave him was so full of love that it made Ghost’s shields drop briefly. He wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection, but he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist—a small, surprisingly intimate gesture that made Anson shift uncomfortably.
Ghost and Naomi.
Of all the unlikely pairings at Valor Ridge, they made the least sense on paper.
Ghost, the former CIA operative who’d built walls so high and thick around himself that most people couldn’t even tell there was a person inside.
And Naomi, fierce tribal police officer fighting for her community with every breath.
Yet there they were, exchanging looks that spoke volumes, touching each other with an easy familiarity that seemed impossible for two people so guarded.
Ghost, who Anson had never seen willingly touch anyone before Naomi came along, now couldn’t seem to stop finding excuses to make contact with her—a hand at her waist, fingers brushing her arm, that kiss to her wrist that was somehow more intimate than if he’d grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth.
And Naomi, who’d once told Anson she’d rather walk barefoot across broken glass than need anyone, now leaned into Ghost’s touch like a plant seeking sunlight.
Anson’s chest tightened, and he glanced at Maggie. If Ghost—who’d spent years cultivating isolation like it was a precious crop—could lower his defenses enough to let Naomi in, what was his excuse?
Ghost cleared his throat, his attention back on Maggie. “I’ll need your passwords, and I want to see any photos you’ve taken of evidence—notes, gifts, anything.”
Maggie nodded, already reaching for a pen. “Whatever you need.”
“And in the meantime,” Naomi said, “we make sure you’re safe here.”
As Maggie bent over the notepad that Ghost slid across the desk, he found himself studying the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell forward to shield her face as she wrote.
Safe?
No, it wasn’t enough.
She needed to be more than safe. She needed to be untouchable. Protected in a way that would make Landry think twice about ever coming near her again.
Everything fierce and protective in him roared to life.
If Landry Whitaker ever showed his face at Valor Ridge, he would tear the bastard apart with his bare hands.
The thought wasn’t frightening or disturbing; it settled into his bones with perfect clarity.
He would dismantle anyone who threatened her, would raze cities to keep her safe, would stand between her and danger until his last breath.
He would protect her with everything he had, everything he was.
“Ghost,” he said, his voice low. “He hurt Princess. Cut her with a knife.”
Ghost’s fingers paused over his keyboard. “You’re sure it was him?”
“No,” Maggie answered before Anson could. “We don’t know for sure. But it happened the morning after I arrived, and it wasn’t a random animal attack. Someone deliberately stabbed her right outside my door. I heard them.”
“Sending a message,” Ghost mused. “Creating fear without direct confrontation.”