On a notepad, he scribbled the license plate numbers he’d memorized. Most were local Wyoming plates with a few from neighboring states—probably travelers passing through.
He ran each one through the database Denver had set up, cross-referencing registrations with known associates of the feed store as well as criminal records and even traffic violations. Anything that might pop.
The fourth plate gave him what he needed. A 2015 Ford F-150, registered to Calder Hensley.
Decker sat up straighter.
Calder. Cal for short.
Now he had a full name to work with.
Decker dove deeper, pulling up military records first. The database was restricted, but he had enough clearance from his own service to access basic information. Calder Hensley, enlisted Marines, 2/8 rifle platoon just like he’d said. Deployment to Afghanistan, honorable service for three years, then…nothing.
The record went dark after his injury. Decker didn’t have access to discharge papers or any follow-up documentation.
He tried a regular internet search next. Sometimes the civilian world held information the military databases didn’t. But “Calder Hensley” returned almost nothing—no social media, no digital footprint at all. In this day and age, that kind of anonymity was itself suspicious.Everyoneleft traces online.
Unless they were actively trying not to.
Decker leaned back in his chair, thinking about what Willow had told him. Hensley had contacted the ranch months ago, trying to get into the therapy program. She told him he didn’t have benefits to cover the cost. When he was turned away, he’d asked for a job at the Black Heart instead.
And Willow—being Willow—had tried to help him. Of course she had. She probably felt terrible turning him away from the program, so she’d given him leads on jobs in town, tried to set him up with something that would get him back on his feet.
He’d ended up at the feed store. The same feed store where Willow ordered supplies regularly.
Were her brothers aware of the situation? They wouldn’t want their sister around someone who was dishonorably discharged. It was possible she never told them about Hensley.
Decker took a moment to shoot the information to Carson. Then he ran the license plate information again, looking for anything that might indicate a history of violence, including stalking behavior or restraining orders. Nothing came up. He cross-referenced Hensley’s name with local police reports, court records, anything that might show a pattern of concerning behavior.
Clean. The guy was completely clean.
If Hensley was a serious threat, there would be some red flag, but there was nothing glaringly obvious about his military history that Decker could access. He didn’t have a criminal record and no mental health crises were documented.
Decker wanted to believe his instincts were off, that he was being paranoid because he loved Willow and revolted at the thought of anyone looking at her the wrong way.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
He made notes in the case file they’d started on Willow’s stalker—if that’s what this even was. He thoroughly documented the encounter, including Hensley’s behavior, even the odd familiarity in how he’d produced that lollipop for Navy after noticing her in the truck.
The office door opened, and Carson walked in, his expression grim. “We’ve got a situation.”
Decker looked up from his screens. “What kind of situation?”
“Gray needs backup in Colorado. Client’s ex-husband violated the restraining order, showed up at the house armed. Gray’s handling it, but he’s asking for reinforcement.”
“How many do you need?”
“All of us.” Carson’s jaw was tight. “Gray doesn’t want to take chances.”
Decker’s gut clenched. “When?”
“Now. We’re wheels up in twenty minutes.”
Wheels up. Fuck.
He glanced back at his monitors, at the sparse information on Calder Hensley spread across three screens. It wasn’t enough. He needed more time to dig deeper.
“What about Willow?” The question came out sharper than he’d intended.
