“It’s a fake license plate.”
Crew leaned forward, gaze fixed on Carson. “A fake?”
“Yup.” He tapped a blunt fingertip on the desk to punctuate the statement that already carried enough weight.
He pressed his fist to his mouth for a moment, reeling. “That’s pretty fucking concerning.”
Carson nodded. “We’re trying to get more on the truck. Denver’s got connections”—he cleared his throat in a way that made Crew know those connections weren’t public knowledge—“and they’re searching for people making fake plates in Utah and the surrounding area.”
He gripped the arm of the chair and felt his fingers ache under the force. “How long will that take?”
“We don’t know. But it’s enough to concern us. We want to make sure Fern’s safe.”
“What do you have in mind? I can pack a bag right now and leave with her. We could head into the mountains. Or find a small town to lay low.”
Carson squared his shoulders as he settled Crew in his stare. “You care about her.”
“I care about her safety.” And more he wasn’t ready to talk about.
He ducked his head. “We do too. She’s been following Theo’s rules. She’s been checking in twice a day and hasn’t received any new side jobs since the event that shook her up.”
He filled his lungs with air but didn’t release it right away. When he did, it whooshed out. “What about her ex?”
Carson shifted in his leather chair. “Has she told you anything about him?”
“No. But I know he scares her. One time I was at her house, and she freaked out that she’d left a dirty mug in the sink. People don’t do that without being controlled with fear.”
Carson pressed his lips into a line and took down the note. “His name is Chris Calder. A bigwig high school football coach.”
He was gripping the chair arms so tight he felt the frame creak. He forced himself to unclench his fingers before he bustedit. “She told me she worked with preschoolers. Seems like a likely way to meet.”
Carson nodded and jotted that down too. “She stopped going to work, just vanished from the city.”
“And started over in Willowbrook,” Crew slid the last puzzle piece into place.
“Yup. So for now we keep watch while we gather more information.”
He clenched his jaw. “I don’t like her staying at her place alone.”
“If she wants to stay at the ranch, there’s plenty of room. If she doesn’t, she has the security system you installed. We’re monitoring it and I have some of the guys taking shifts watching her apartment and the greenhouse for anything suspicious.”
Crew contemplated what more could be done, but was interrupted by his phone buzzing with a text. He pulled it out, hoping to see Fern’s name on the screen. Instead, it was his tattoo artist.
He shot a look at Carson. “I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything else. Thanks, man.”
“I was going to thank you for lending a hand at the training facility the other day. It’s all hands on deck at this point.”
He met Carson’s gaze. He probably knew Crew ran when asked to move the chopper. But he didn’t have any words to explain, so he ran again.
Ducking his head in acknowledgement, he slipped out of the office. His long strides carried him outside and halfway to the lodge before he read the text.
When he spotted the mockup of the hand-drawn art, he stopped in his tracks. His breath stalled.
This was it. What he needed to move on.
No ink in his skin would heal his trauma, but getting this piece was a big step.
A wolf stood off to the side, captured mid-step. The fur around his ruff seemed to stir in the invisible wind.
