Chapter 34
The next morning, Micah sat at his desk at work and stared at the computer screen in front of him without really seeing it.
The station was quiet this morning—just him and Deputy Knox, who was working through a stack of traffic citations. The coffeemaker gurgled in the corner, filling the air with the smell of burnt grounds and cheap filters.
He’d done some preliminary research this morning on the Harding family. Unfortunately, he hadn’t discovered anything that gave him any answers. Though the family was shady, they knew how to keep their noses clean.
Still, he didn’t trust them. His gut feeling wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, however. He needed evidence.
Micah’s phone sat on the desk beside his keyboard, the screen dark.
He remembered the text message from Naomi last night.
The idea of her walking into a jail without him there made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely. He was glad she hadn’t argued when he insisted on escorting her places.
Because all he really wanted to do was to keep her and Grace safe.
He forced his attention back to the screen. Back to the background check he’d been running for the last twenty minutes.
Dale Harding. Though Dale wasn’t part of an official case, the man had acted suspiciously enough that Micah could justify looking into him.
Micah scrolled through the results slowly.
Dale had a record—nothing major, but enough to paint a picture. Disorderly conduct from eight years ago. A DUI six years back. Failure to appear on a traffic violation that had resulted in a bench warrant, later cleared when he finally showed up to court.
But there was more.
His employment history was spotty. A few months here, a few months there. Nothing stable. Nothing long-term.
He had no current employer listed.
Micah leaned back in his chair.
That meant the man had no job. No visible means of income. But Dale drove a newer truck, dressed in expensive clothes, and moved with the kind of ease that came from not worrying about where the next paycheck was coming from.
So where was his money coming from?
“Sheriff?”
Micah looked up.
Deputy Knox stood in the doorway, a file folder in his hand. “Ballistics came back.”
Micah straightened. “And?”
Knox crossed the room and set the folder on Micah’s desk. “Both casings were confirmed: .308 Winchester. Same weapon. The markings are clear enough for a match if we find the rifle.”
“But we don’t have the rifle . . .”
“Not yet.”
Micah frowned. “Without the weapon or a witness, we can’t tie the bullets to anyone specific. The boot prints I documented help, but they’re not enough on their own.”
Micah opened the folder and scanned the ballistics report. Everything Knox said was accurate. The casings were good evidence, but not conclusive without the gun that fired them.
“I guess we don’t have probable cause for a warrant?” Knox asked.
“Not yet. So we wait. And we watch.”
Knox nodded before heading back to his own workspace, leaving Micah alone with the file.
Micah placed the report in a folder and set it aside, his mind already moving forward.
The casings were documented. The boot prints were photographed. If the Hendersons—or anyone else—tried something again, he’d be ready.
But in the meantime, there was something else he needed to do.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven forty-seven a.m.
Naomi had mentioned yesterday that someone was picking up Good Boy this afternoon. He wanted to head over there to be present when the exchange happened.
Just to be safe.
At least, that was the reason he gave himself as he stood and reached for his jacket.
But the truth—the part he wasn’t ready to say out loud—was simpler than that.
He wanted to see Naomi.
Wanted to make sure she was okay. Wanted to be there in case she needed him. Wanted to see that look in her eyes when he showed up—the one that said she was glad he came, even if she didn’t say it out loud.
He was getting in too deep.
He knew that.
He knew that the professional line he was supposed to maintain had started blurring. Knew that showing up at her house on his lunch break to watch someone pick up a dog wasn’t part of his job description.
But part of him wanted to keep showing up. Keep being there. Keep being the person Naomi called when things went wrong.
Somewhere along the way, Naomi King had stopped being just another person he was protecting.
And he didn’t know what to do with that.
Micah shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his keys.
“I’m heading out,” he called to Knox. “Radio me if anything comes up.”
“You got it, Sheriff.”
Micah stepped out into the cold and climbed into his SUV.
He told himself it was just a precaution.
But as he pulled out of the station parking lot and turned toward Refuge Cove, he knew better.
The morning had been uneventful.
Naomi should have been grateful for that. After yesterday, a quiet day should have felt like a gift.
But it didn’t.
Anxiety lingered under everything, humming just beneath the surface. A low, constant vibration she couldn’t shake.
She kept waiting for something to happen. For the phone to ring. For someone to show up at the gate. For the other shoe to drop.
But nothing did.
Grace slept in the bassinet. Her mom was in the laundry room, humming softly to herself. Millie had gone into town for groceries. Caleb and Max were working in the kennels.
Meanwhile, Naomi worked on financials for Refuge Cove. Reviewed their possible new intake. Followed up on a grant.
Everything was normal.
Except nothing was normal.
Naomi eventually took a break from the computer and sat on the living room floor with Good Boy stretched out beside her, his head resting on her lap. She ran her hand over his soft fur, the motion soothing even if it didn’t quite ease the knot in her chest.
He’d been with them for less than a week. That was all.
But somehow it felt longer.
Good Boy had curled up at her feet every night. Had pressed against her leg. Had stayed close when she was scared, as if he knew she needed him.
And now someone was coming to take him away.
Her hand stilled on his head.
She didn’t want him to leave.
She’d known him being here was temporary. Had told herself not to get attached. Had reminded herself a dozen times that he wasn’t hers, that someone out there was missing him, that doing the right thing meant letting him go.
But it didn’t make it easier.
Good Boy shifted, lifting his head to look at her. His tail gave one slow wag.
Naomi’s throat tightened as she whispered, “You are a good boy, you know that? It’s the perfect name for you.”
His tail wagged again.
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his, closing her eyes.
He’s just a dog, she told herself. Just a dog.
But he wasn’t just a dog. In such a short time, he’d come to feel like family.
Naomi looked up as a vehicle pulled up the drive.
Micah’s SUV.
Micah? What was he doing here? Had he come with bad news?
Naomi opened the door just as Micah reached it.
When his eyes met hers, something softened. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She stepped aside to let him in. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“I figured I should be here when this guy picks up the dog.” He glanced down at Good Boy, who was circling his legs, tail still wagging. “Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
Naomi nodded. She should have expected that, should have known Micah would show up, even without being asked.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s . . . it’s going to be tough. Tougher than I imagined.”
She glanced at Good Boy and sniffled.
Why was she getting so emotional? She usually prided herself about being in control. But with Grace and Good Boy and everything happening at the property, something was breaking down inside her.
Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this would teach her not to rely on herself but on God. She knew she needed to trust Him more.
Micah looked at her again, and something passed between them. Something unspoken but clear.
Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.
Naomi closed her eyes and let herself lean into him.
When he stepped back, his hand lingered briefly on her shoulder. “You doing okay?”
She nodded, even though the answer was more complicated than that. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t push.
The low rumble of an engine sounded outside.
Naomi’s stomach tightened.
Micah had already moved toward the window, his expression shifting into something more alert. “Someone’s here.”
“We told him to pull up to the kennel entrance. Seemed safer.”
“And smarter.”
Naomi crossed to the window and looked out.
Sure enough, a small truck pulled up near the kennel entrance.
The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out. He was maybe in his forties and of average height. He wore jeans, a flannel jacket, and work boots. He looked around the property before heading toward the kennel.
Naomi’s chest tightened.
This was it.
The moment Good Boy went home.
She knew she wasn’t ready.