Chapter 28
Hunter
The drive into Garnet Bend was usually scenic and peaceful, but today, everything looked gray and felt like razor blades in my gut. It was also taking fucking forever. Every curve in the road, vehicle or tractor I passed, every moment I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on—it all made my grip on the steering wheel tighter.
I beat Lachlan to the station, but Sheriff Charlie Garcia was in the parking lot when I pulled up. The older man looked like he’d stepped off a ranch brochure—battered cowboy hat, thick mustache, slow shuffle. But the eyes were sharp. He spotted me, lifted his chin.
“Hunter. Wasn’t expecting to see you here at this hour. Or any hour. Something wrong?”
I shook Charlie’s hand. “Sheriff. We can’t find Jada. Lachlan said some out-of-town detectives were questioning her yesterday, so we’re doing some follow-up.”
He frowned, tugged the toothpick from his mouth, and gestured toward the building. “Inside. Let’s talk.”
I followed him in, trying to keep my patience as he said good morning to the receptionist—Maryann—and made his way down the hall much slower than I’d like.
Although anything less than a full-on sprint was going to be much slower than I liked.
The sheriff’s office was small, dated. Comfortable. It didn’t belong in the same universe as the panic crawling up the back of my throat. Charlie listened as I explained—Jada, the note, the kittens she wouldn’t have abandoned. My gut screaming it didn’t add up.
He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been out of the loop lately, and I’m down to part time now. Transitioning out. Got a few months left before I hang this badge up for good.” He gave a tight smile. “Lachlan will be stepping in as sheriff. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“Yeah. Lachlan is solid. He’s meeting me here in a few. I know you’ll be missed, Charlie.” I forced out the appropriate words. And they were true. Charlie would be missed.
But right now, I couldn’t think about that. All I could think about was Jada.
Charlie seemed to sense it. “You let me know if you need me. Otherwise…I’ll keep clear.”
Lachlan stepped in just then, a travel mug in hand, looking sharper than he probably felt this early.
“You catch any sleep?” Charlie asked him.
Lachlan rolled his eyes. “Define sleep.”
Charlie clapped him on the shoulder, then looked at me. “He’s all yours.”
Lachlan didn’t say a word, just jerked his chin toward the hallway. I followed him without a sound, the rubber soles of my boots silent against the polished linoleum. His office was small, neat, and too damn bright. The blinds were open wide, sunshine spilling across the desk like it had a right to be here.
He motioned to the chair across from his desk, but I stayed standing.
Lachlan dropped into his chair. “You going to sit, or just hover like a pissed-off shadow?”
“I’m fine right here. Tell me what happened.”
He raised one eyebrow at my tone and the fact that I was demanding answers from him rather than the other way around as he was used to. But he still answered. “All right. Yesterday afternoon, I stopped by the diner for a coffee. Lisa the waitress mentioned two cops had been in, asking about Jada.”
The words hit like a gut punch. “She say what they wanted?”
“Not in much detail. They were asking if Lisa knew her. Where Jada lived and worked. Lisa was trying to be helpful, so she told them about Pawsitive. I didn’t like that they were poking around my backyard without letting me know they were here.” His mouth tightened. “So I went by your cabin. No sign of her.”
My stomach sank.
He kept going. “Next stop was Pawsitive Connections. Figured she might be helping out with the animals again.”
My eyes locked on his. “And?”
“She was there. With the two detectives.”
I stepped fully into the office. “And you didn’t think to call me?”
“I knew you were out of town, and they weren’t hostile. They weren’t trying to arrest her. I ran their IDs while I was standing there—CBI. Legit.”
Colorado Bureau of Investigation. Still, I shook my head. “Legit doesn’t mean trustworthy.”
“She didn’t look comfortable, and I told her she didn’t have to answer any questions. But they insisted it wasn’t anything serious, so I had them come back here to use the station to interview her. Thought I could keep things from getting out of hand, if needed.”
He reached for a file on the corner of his desk, slid it across to me. “I had it recorded and transcribed. Transcript’s in there. They didn’t ask any hard questions. No accusations. Questions were routine. Benign, almost.”
I opened it, skimmed a few lines. Jada’s words were tentative. Hesitant. She’d done fine. And Lachlan was right; the questions hadn’t been too invasive.
I looked up. “You still should’ve gotten her out.”
Lachlan’s jaw twitched. “I’m a cop, Hunter. So were they. I couldn’t just yank her out of a conversation with two officers who had every right to be here. She wasn’t being detained. I thought letting her talk it through, with me nearby, was the best way to keep her safe.”
I stared at the transcript again, but the words blurred.
Maybe she really had run. I couldn’t keep avoiding that possibility. Maybe her selfish disregard for the kittens was somehow in her DNA makeup. We’d talked about that very thing—nature vs. nurture—last week on our picnic. I’d told her she got to choose who she wanted to be.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe selfishness was engrained in her, and she would always have a tendency to act in ways that put her own needs as primary and everyone else’s as secondary.
My hand tightened on the folder. I wanted to crumple the paper in my hand but forced my fingers to relax. I took a deep breath and scanned it again. No, I wasn’t going to believe that about her. Not unless there was no other option but to do so.
Lachlan was quiet for a minute, watching me read through the transcript again. The lines were short. Meandering. Polite. But none of it was pointed. None of it felt like an interrogation.
And that was the problem. I handed the file back to Lachlan and curled my fingers into fists on the edge of the desk. “She’s gone because those cops showed up.”
Lachlan leaned forward, elbows braced on his desk. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. The interview seemed routine. Like something you’d forget about ten minutes after it ended. Actually…”
“What?”
“The questions.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “They were almost too benign. They didn’t push about anything, even her memory loss, which should’ve at least been unique enough to warrant some follow-up questions for details.”
He was right.
“They drove all the way from Colorado to ask her mundane questions?” I flipped back to the beginning of the transcript. “This could’ve been a phone call. Or a video chat.”
“Exactly,” Lachlan said. “Hell, if they’d called ahead, I would’ve brought her in myself. Could’ve saved them some time. Much more efficient and professional.”
My pulse kicked harder. “Instead, they show up and start asking around about her. Like they were just passing through.”
“But they weren’t.”
Lachlan stood, moving to the small printer near the corner filing cabinet. A few quiet whirs later, a couple sheets of paper slid out. He grabbed them and brought them back over.
“Here’s what I pulled on the two detectives. Johnson and Kelly.”
I scanned the first one—Detective Ross Johnson. Nothing jumped out. Been with CBI twelve years. Clean record. Transfer from Boulder. Average face, graying hair. Looked like someone’s dad.
Then I turned to the second page. And everything inside me went cold.
“Shit,” I muttered.
Lachlan’s head snapped up. “What?”
I held up the printout. “This guy. Kelly. I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?”
“When Jada and I visited Dr. Beckett last week about a possible antidote for the memory drug. This guy was there, acting like some nosy neighbor, watched us pull in. He was pretending to be on his porch watching TV. I thought I was being paranoid, thinking someone had eyes on us.”
Lachlan stepped around the desk to get a better look at the page. “You sure?”
“Positive.” For once, I was thankful for my hypervigilant PTSD.
Lachlan let out a long breath and dragged a hand down his face. “They didn’t ask to bring her in. They didn’t push for more time with her. And the questions they asked were basically a waste of time. They weren’t in Garnet Bend to officially interview her at all, I’m thinking.”
“I went to see Jada’s brother in prison while I was in Colorado. He said there were cops who’d come to talk to him about Jada. Said it was weird. They had a picture of us. I’m guessing Kelly took it when we went to see Dr. Beckett.”
“If he wanted to ask Jada questions, he could’ve done it right then. Brought her in.”
We stared at each other as the pieces slid into place, one sharp edge at a time.
Lachlan shook his head. “They didn’t want her for official questions. They wanted her alone.”
“She didn’t run,” I said, the words scraping out of me like gravel. “She was taken.”
Lachlan didn’t argue. Didn’t offer one of those placating cop lines like let’s not jump to conclusions.
Instead, he moved around his desk and picked up his radio. “We need to get eyes on every exit out of town. Check the cameras around town too. If they took her, they didn’t vanish into thin air.”
I’d been right; this wasn’t a case of selfish genes. Jada hadn’t just run off. But now that I knew it looked like she had been taken by men who intended her harm?
I wished to hell she’d just been selfish.