Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

NEIL

I woke to the insistent buzzing of my phone on the nightstand, the sound pulling me from the heavy, dreamless sleep I'd fallen into. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light, and I couldn't remember where I was for a moment. Then I felt the warmth beneath me, Connor's solid, comforting presence, and everything came rushing back.

I'd been wrapped around him, our legs tangled together, my arm draped over his chest. The heat from his body had lulled me into a deeper sleep than I'd had in years. I extricated myself, careful not to wake him. As I sat up, the sheet slid down my body, exposing my skin to the cool air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed.

My phone buzzed again, and I grabbed it, squinting at the screen—nearly eight in the morning. Jesus, I'd never slept this late in my life. That was what staying up late ‘talking' did for me.

I swiped to answer, my voice still rough from sleep. "Sheriff Windham. "

On the other end, someone was speaking, but my mind was still half-focused on the man lying next to me. I glanced back at Connor, his face relaxed, his short hair tousled against the pillow. The sight made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't prepared for.

The voice on the other end of the line continued, pulling me back to the present. I shook off the lingering haze of sleep and tried to focus. Whatever this was, it was time to get back to reality, even if a part of me wanted to stay in that bed, wrapped up with Connor for a bit longer.

"Sheriff? Are you there?" the voice said, and I realized I had the ME on the line.

"Sorry, yes, here. Go ahead."

"Good news or bad news," Xavier started his usual spiel, and I wondered when they'd invent phones where you could reach through and strangle people. If ever there was a moment, it was now.

"Bad news," I replied, bracing myself for the worst.

"The bones are from at least two separate sets of remains," he said. I could almost hear him taking a deep breath on the other end. "The oldest burial is likely from the Arapaho tribe, dating back centuries."

My mind reeled. "Centuries?"

"Yes, so, the good news is, you don't have a murder on your hands where those bones are concerned," he continued. "I've contacted the Northern Arapaho Tribe and the Wyoming State Historic Preservation Office. They'll handle the reburial process."

"Wait, slow down," I said, rubbing my temples. "You're telling me we've got ancient remains, and they belong to the Arapaho? "

"That's right," Xavier confirmed. "It's not uncommon to find such burials in this region, especially with the history of the tribes in Wyoming. This significantly changes the scope of your investigation with just the one set of remains causing concern."

I took a deep breath, trying to wrap my head around this new development. "But the other skeleton is?—"

"Female," Xavier confirmed, his voice steady on the other end of the line. "After nearly thirty years down a well, getting an ID is challenging, but it's not impossible. We'll start with the basics—osteological analysis. The bones can tell us a lot more than you'd think. We can confirm her sex, estimate her age at death, and maybe even get an idea of her ancestry."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Okay, so we know she's female, but what about identifying her? Is there any hope of getting DNA after all this time?"

"There's a chance," Xavier replied, his tone thoughtful. "DNA can be tricky after so long, especially in a wet environment like a well, but we might still be able to extract some, particularly from her teeth or the denser parts of her bones. If we get a DNA profile, we can compare it against missing person databases or, if we get lucky, with any living relatives."

"That's assuming we have someone to compare it to," I said, feeling the frustration building. "What if we can't get any DNA?"

"Then we look at other options," Xavier continued, unfazed. "Dental records are a big one where we can examine them for any dental work or unique patterns. Those could match with existing records. Teeth are also a good source of DNA, so we'll focus on them heavily. Then there's the chemical composition of her bones and teeth, which can give us clues about where she lived, what she ate, and other details that might narrow down her identity. It's not as specific as a DNA match, but it's something. But do you want the good news?"

I thought the fact he'd discounted one set of bones was good news, but I could always use more. "Please."

"Well, here is where I hand you to Tally."

Tally didn't waste a second and didn't ask if I wanted good or bad news. "Neil, we have a name connected to the luggage, which could be a potential first ID on the remains. We have a library card and old passport wrapped in a purse, other things that belonged to her, personal possessions, and many more photos, some of which we might salvage. I will keep digging—literally and figuratively—but the name we have on the ID is … Rebecca Lennox. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Rebecca Lennox?" My heart skipped a beat. Micah and Rachel's mom? What? Why? My thoughts were racing. Rebecca Lennox died years ago. Cancer, if I recall correctly. So, what was her luggage doing in the well? Were those her remains? None of that made sense. "The Lennox family is local," I finished lamely and turned to face Connor, who was awake, his eyes wide as he listened. "They own the land where the remains were found."

So much for confidential information. I should have taken the call elsewhere.

"Okay, getting DNA from a surviving relative for a potential match would be useful, even if we are just ruling Rebecca out. For all we know, this could be some other poor soul," Tally explained. "As standard, we'll run any DNA we find results for against the Combined DNA Index System."

Connor waved his hand.

"Hang on," I told Tally, then covered the phone.

"CODIS will have DNA in the system for Rebecca's son, Micah, from his time in the prison system," Connor said.

Of course. I repeated the information to Tally.

"Good to know," she said.

"Let me know if you need anything else."

"I will."

"Thanks, Tally. I appreciate it."

A connection to the Lennox family and the ranch? They'd need to be told, and maybe they could shed some light on what had happened to Rebecca. My mom would know as well, and Dad if he was lucid. The implications were staggering that a woman who had died of cancer had ended up in a well. None of that made sense.

"Micah and Rachel's mom?" Connor said from behind me.

I placed my cell on the nightstand and turned to sit cross-legged, looking down at him sprawled in my bed. "How much did you hear?" Only the end part, maybe?

He winced. "All of it. Body, female, ID Rebecca Lennox. I can't help if I have good hearing."

I sighed because I didn't want him to have heard all of that. I didn't want him to interfere or get protective of the family that had taken him to their hearts. I didn't want to leave the bed. I wanted to go back to the last orgasm. Or hell, maybe before it, so I could experience it all over again.

"Is Rebecca Lennox in your files?"

"What files?" Connor blinked at me as if butter wouldn't melt.

"The files I know for sure you have on every single person and their family who might, in one way or another, come in contact with Quinn?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, those files."

"Yes, those files."

He tugged at me until I fell onto him, carding his fingers through my hair and kissing the tip of my nose. "Shower, teeth, coffee, and then we'll look at what I have. Yeah?"

I let myself lie in his arms for a few more minutes, sliding down a little so I could press my ear to his chest, lulled into peace by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

I really didn't want to get up.

We walked into the diner, the smell of fresh coffee and bacon wrapping around us like a warm blanket. Noah greeted us with a smile, handing over two steaming cups of coffee as if everything were normal. As if I wasn't scrambling inside, trying to piece together how someone from my town might have ended up in that well on the Lennox Ranch, along with a suitcase full of memories. The bones could belong to someone else, sure, but my gut was telling me otherwise, and I'd learned long ago to trust that feeling.

Connor and I exchanged the usual small talk with Noah, acting as if it were just another morning, even though my mind was a whirlwind of questions and half-formed theories. Noah handed us a basket of baked goods, still warm from the oven, and a bowl of crispy bacon—Connor's weakness.

As we headed upstairs to the apartment above the diner, juggling coffee, baked goods, and bacon, I couldn't help but tease him a little. "I'm surprised you're not the size of a house living this close to Noah's cooking."

Connor grinned, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint I'd come to expect. "It's all about balance, Sheriff. A little indulgence here, a lot of cardio there."

We laughed, but as soon as we stepped inside his apartment, the mood shifted. Connor set the food on the kitchen counter, then grew serious, walking over to a door I hadn't noticed before. He pushed it open, revealing a room with a desk against the far side, a laptop perched on top, flanked by two printers. Several pinboards were stacked against the opposite wall, covered in maps, notes, and photos, all meticulously organized. The air in the room was still, the kind of stillness that made you think twice about disturbing it.

Connor walked over to the window, cracking it open to let in some fresh air, but he shut it as quickly when a blast of wintery wind rushed in, making the curtains billow. "Winter's happening way too fast," he commented, frowning.

"Hashtag Wyoming," I deadpanned.

Then he turned back to me, all traces of humor gone. "Let me show you what I've got on the town. "

I followed him to the desk, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and dread. What had he been working on here? What did he know that I didn't? He dragged in a chair from outside and placed it next to the office chair. Then, he switched on the laptop, going through a series of security levels at such speed that it was a blur.

As he started pulling up files on the laptop, I took the seat he'd placed next to his. He had folders of files on the screen, names I recognized, and everything on the town I thought I knew inside and out.

Connor opened a file on his laptop, the screen's glow casting a pale light across his face. "Okay," he said, his tone all business. "Micah Lennox." But before he double-clicked to open it, he turned to me, his eyes searching mine.

"Micah said he talked to you," Connor added, his voice measured.

I kept my expression neutral, not giving anything away. I knew where this was heading, but I wasn't ready to lay all my cards on the table yet.

Connor waited a beat, then continued, "About his part in the death of Callum Prince at the Brothers of Chiron compound."

"He didn't have a part," I shot back, maybe a little too quickly. "Whatever happened, he and his sister are safe in Whisper Ridge. They're family. Okay?"

Connor didn't flinch, but I saw the gears turning in his head. He'd already decided about something, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was. "There was a gun in the well," he said. "The gun used to kill Callum Prince."

My heart sank, a lead weight in my chest dragging me down. I'd made my peace with whatever Micah had done to get his pregnant sister and his nephew away from that hellhole—the awful end that everyone else had met there. But this? A smoking gun?

I remembered my dad's words, echoing in my mind like they always did when I was faced with an impossible choice: To police a town, you had to know a town. And I knew Micah. I knew Rachel and the kids. They'd fought hard for their new life, and I'd sworn that the ghosts of the past wouldn't touch them again.

But a gun in the well was something I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to. If we had to excavate the site around the well, if we couldn't find the answers we needed without digging deeper—what would we uncover? How far would I go to protect someone who was my responsibility?

Connor was watching me, his gaze steady, waiting for my response. He was giving me a chance to come clean, to say something that might ease the weight pressing down on my chest. But what could I say? That I knew what Micah had done? That I'd looked the other way because I understood why he did it? Or maybe that I suspected he was covering for his sister—that she'd been the one who'd killed Callum?

I knew whoever had done it had killed him in self-defense.

"Connor," I started, but the words stuck in my throat. I didn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Sometimes, doing the right thing isn't so clear-cut," he murmured. "Sometimes, the lines are blurred, and we have to make a choice we can live with, even if it isn't by the book."

"I know."

He didn't push. He waited, letting the silence fill the room. The only sound was the laptop's low hum, and the file was still unopened on the screen.

After a pause, I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "If we have to dig around that well, if this leads somewhere, we don't want it to…"

Connor gripped my hand and laced our fingers. "I need to know how far you're willing to go with this, Neil. Because I'm telling you now, Micah and his family are under my protection. And I'll do what it takes to keep them safe."

I didn't hesitate. "I know," I said.

"Then let's figure out the next steps together."

The weight in my chest eased a little. We weren't at the end yet, not by a long shot. But at least I wasn't facing whatever this shit show was alone. And maybe, just maybe , that would be enough to get us through whatever was coming next.

He tugged me closer, our hands still entwined, and then he cradled my face and kissed me before easing back. I chased for another kiss because I could forget everything else when we did that, but he'd already moved to face the screen and had his mouse poised to click.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Okay."