Chapter 12
Micah let Naomi’s question hang in the air a minute.
He felt the weight behind it and wanted to choose his words carefully. He hadn’t covered an investigation like this before, so he was still learning how things worked in these circumstances.
He met Naomi’s gaze. “As far as we know? No. Sissy claimed she’s uncertain about who the father is and that she didn’t contact him from the hospital. Plus, there’s no easy way to do that from inside. You can’t just call a prison and pass along a message like that. It doesn’t work that way.”
Naomi’s brow creased, but she didn’t look relieved. She looked like she was already turning the next piece over in her mind.
“But we know he still has people in this area,” he continued. “People who talk. People who hear things.”
Naomi didn’t flinch—she only nodded. “And when Richard does find out?”
“When he does, we’ll figure that out.” Micah paused, letting that settle before adding, “But in the meantime, we stay on guard. Just to be safe.”
Naomi held his gaze a moment before glancing at Grace. “I’ll mostly be keeping her here. At the house. On the property. I don’t have any reason to go far.”
“That’s good.”
“Except . . .” She hesitated. “I will need to take her to the doctor, of course. And to other appointments. Probably court dates.”
Micah had already thought about that. “When you do, I’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s not about having to. It’s prudent. That’s all.”
She studied him, an unreadable look in her gaze. Then something in her expression softened, and she murmured, “Okay.”
Micah held her gaze a beat longer than he needed to.
Grace let out a small sound—not quite a cry, not quite a sigh—and turned her face into Naomi’s chest. Naomi’s hand came up instinctively, cradling the back of the baby’s head, fingers gentle against the dark wisps of hair. The motion was so natural, so unguarded, that Micah almost looked away.
Almost.
Something tried to crack open inside him.
This was exactly what he’d told himself he wouldn’t do again. Exactly the kind of thing he’d spent the last several years building walls against.
Naomi King with that baby in her arms was the kind of image that worked its way into the spaces he’d carefully kept empty.
Micah turned his gaze toward Caleb, and he shifted. “Listen, I’d like to walk the perimeter with you. Review the security setup outside. Make sure everything’s where it needs to be. You okay with that?”
Caleb pushed off the doorframe without hesitation. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
He nodded at Naomi—a small, wordless reassurance—then stepped toward the door.
As he did, he realized that the image of Naomi holding that baby was already imprinted on his mind.
Naomi King. Grace. The yellow lab at her feet.
The image made his heart fill with a longing he thought had died a long time ago.
And the fact that it hadn’t terrified him.
The midmorning sun was high enough now to burn through the mist, but the ground still felt cold under Micah’s boots as he and Caleb walked the perimeter of the property.
The property made a rough rectangle—the farmhouse up on the rise, the pond out front, the kennels with their own separate entrance to the east. The fence surrounded only part of the property’s three hundred acres.
They walked in silence a stretch before Caleb finally spoke. “So . . . the baby.”
Micah glanced at him. “Yeah. Crazy isn’t it?”
“You worried about her being here?”
“I’m worried about what it means if the wrong people find out.” Micah kept his eyes on the tree line. “Word travels in small towns. A baby connected to Richard Harding? That’s the kind of thing people talk about. The kind of knowledge that spreads.”
“And when it does?”
“When it does, Naomi becomes a target in ways she hasn’t experienced before.” Micah paused. “Legal pressure. Public opinion. Maybe worse.”
“That’s why you wanted to walk the perimeter, isn’t it? You think someone might already be watching.”
“We both know the Hendersons never accepted losing this land. And I think Travis has been waiting for an opening.” He glanced at Caleb. “I checked on his cousin Jerry. He was in the hospital at the same time as Sissy. He said he was there to visit Jerry.”
“Good to know.”
They continued along the fence line toward the western edge—the densest stretch, where the trees pressed closest and the fence was hardest to monitor.
Caleb unlocked the back gate. It swung open with a low creak, and they stepped toward the woods. The terrain sloped as the ground descended toward a small creek that babbled through the property.
The temperature dropped the moment the fence was behind them. The canopy closed in overhead, and the ground turned soft beneath their boots.
Micah’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and he scanned the ground, the trees, the underbrush.
They walked another thirty yards in silence.
That was when something caught Micah’s eye.
Something that didn’t belong.
A snare.
The device sat about fifteen feet from the fence, in a shallow depression between two roots.
It had a wire loop, a stake driven into the ground, and bait set off to one side—what was left of it, anyway.
Something small had already been caught and removed.
The ground around it was disturbed, boot prints pressed into the mud.
Micah crouched beside it. “This yours?”
“No.” Caleb’s voice went flat. “Absolutely not.”