Sitting at my desk, I unfold the map and start circling the properties one by one—Three Pines, Sunrise Ridge, High Timber… When I’m finished with the list, I sit back and examine all the land Clearwater Holdings acquired over the past five years. In the center, untouched, is the Circle H.
Emma's ranch.
The only two other ranches owned independently are Blackthorn and the Turner spread. Blackthorn borders the other two on one short side, but it’s set off and somewhat isolated. That’s likely why Jake, Mason, and Luke bought it.
My hands start to shake. My chest feels tight.
This isn't an opportunistic land grab. This isn't someone taking advantage of bad luck. This is systematic, calculated, and engineered. Clearwater Holdings isn’t just acquiring available property. It’s creating situations that force people to sell.
And my father would have access to all of this—every complaint, every investigation, every case file. He would know. He’s not a stupid man.
I’d bet every penny I’ve ever made that Cole Turner is behind Clearwater Holdings.
I slump back against my chair, closing my eyes. I came here looking for proof that my father was compromised, but what I found is proof that he's probably complicit.
And I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with that.
48
LUKE
Harper hasn't answered a single text since 0647.
I stare at my phone for the fifth time in an hour, scrolling through the thread. The last message I sent was at 1500 and it's now pushing 2200. Read receipts show she opened it. She just didn't respond.
What we have between us is new, but I know her, and I know it’s not like her to ignore anything. Especially after last weekend. She's a cop—she responds. She’d respond even just to tell me to fuck off. Radio silence means something's wrong.
I push back from the kitchen table where I've been pretending to work on the books and grab my keys.
"Where you going?" Jake asks, looking up from his laptop. Mason’s in his house with Lily, but Jake settled in alongside me after dinner.
"Harper's."
He doesn't ask why. Just nods. "You need backup?"
"No." I pause at the door. "But if I'm not back in two hours, assume I killed her father."
His expression doesn't change. "I'll bring a shovel."
I drive into town faster than I should, my mind running through scenarios. Maybe she's working a case. Maybe her dad’sgot her tied up with something. Maybe she's just pissed at me for some reason I haven't figured out yet.
But my gut says it's none of those things.
When I pull up to the Garrett house, Harper's SUV is in the driveway. So is the sheriff's cruiser. Oh well. If it’s easy, it’s not worth it, right?
I park couple blocks away and circle around to the back of the house to the tree next to Harper’s window. I'm up the trunk and onto the branch in under a minute. I shake my head in disgust at Sheriff Garrett. What good can the man be at protecting if his house is this easy to break into?
The window's closed, but the latch is child’s play. I look inside and see a human-shaped lump under the comforter. Harper. I ease the sash up and slip inside.
The room's dark. I do a brief survey—gun belt on the dresser, clothes piled on a chair, same romance novel on the bedside table.
Harper's curled on her side facing the door. She has the covers pulled up to her chin. I frown when I see the streaks of mascara under her eyes. Was shecrying?
Who the fuck made my girl cry?
Rage unfurls low and slow in my chest. Every violent thing I’ve ever learned in the unit rises to the surface.
I want names.