Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

CONNOR

The kiss was everything I wanted to say to Neil, everything I couldn't put into words. It was more than a physical connection; it was a promise. A promise that I had his back, as much as I did the rest of this town. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that I understood him and saw the weight he carried every day as sheriff and respected him even more for it. Neil policed his community with care, always putting others before himself, and I'd caught feelings for him because of that—deep, undeniable feelings.

Maybe in the time I'd been in Whisper Ridge, I'd admired him more than I wanted to admit. I'd wanted him, needed him, and now that I had him, I couldn't imagine life without him. Was that love? It sure felt like it. But if there were any chance that he'd get into trouble for anything, I would take the fall without hesitation. He might look after his town, but I was looking after him.

He just didn't know it yet.

After the kiss, I returned to the task at hand, pushing down the emotions swirling inside me. I double-clicked the icon for Micah, and the folder opened, revealing twenty files. I opened them all, and they cascaded across the large screen, spilling their secrets for us to dissect. Then, with a flick of a switch, I transferred the display to the board by the door—something that at first glance seemed like a simple whiteboard but was anything but.

I pointed at the board, watching Neil's eyes widen as the files rearranged into neat squares for us to examine. I magnified the first file in the center, bringing it into sharp focus. It was Micah's intake form, along with files from Sheriff Windham, Neil's father who'd been sheriff at the time, documenting the accident that had killed Micah's friend, Isaac, and injured Chris Sheridan.

"This is the surface information." I let the words hang in the air. "The black and white details of the arrest and his prison term."

Neil stepped closer to the board, his gaze locked on the documents. I could see the gears turning in his mind, the connections forming as he processed the information. His expression told me he was remembering, piecing together the fragments of a past that had been buried for too long.

"I was good friends with Daniel," Neil murmured. "We even…" He shot me a glance, and I filled in the blanks and felt irrationally envious of someone who'd been in Neil's life so long. "I saw what it did to him to have Micah borrow that car, for Chris to be hurt, for Isaac to die. But I also saw Daniel when Micah came home, when they fell back in love, when Daniel forgave him, and Micah forgave himself, and I made peace with all of that. "

I flicked up the next document—a sketched family tree, where I'd focused more on Micah and Rachel and the kids than I had done Micah's parents, but they were there in the name.

"Edward and Rebecca Lennox," I said and clicked on the link for Rebecca, which gave nothing more than a brief date of birth, death, and cause of death—breast cancer.

Neil was focused, ready for whatever I was about to throw at him, but I could see the tension in his eyes, and I hoped I wasn't about to dig too deep and let all the worms out.

"Sheriff Windham Senior was called on several occasions to the Lennox Ranch regarding accusations of domestic abuse," I began, keeping my voice steady. "Hitting his wife Rebecca and the kids, I think. At least, Micah. Rachel isn't mentioned in the reports."

Neil frowned, "Dad always said Edward Lennox was a bastard, and the whole town knew he was an abusive son of a bitch. Rebecca would never press charges, and Micah was so closed off as a kid, and then Rebecca was diagnosed with cancer. Then it was the accident with Micah and the others. I was away at college for most of that, then had a job in Montana for a few years. I missed most of what happened."

"So, what we have is second-hand confirmation, more like local gossip and knowledge, of Rebecca Lennox dying when Micah was ten and Rachel was nine. I didn't think it was crucial at the time to have medical records or a death certificate of someone no longer with us. "

Suspicion crept into Neil's expression. "How did you get any of these files?"

I ignored the question, continuing instead. "Okay. So, Edward Lennox died when Micah, aged twenty, was in prison. Edward slit his wrists but messed it up and shot himself in the head. I don't have crime scene photos, but I can get them."

"I have them," Neil said. "It wasn't pretty—Amy found him. That's his sister, Amy Reynolds nee Lennox, married to Jeff Reynolds, and they took care of Lennox Ranch when Micah and Rachel didn't return. Not sure where they lived when Edward and Rebecca were still alive, but they lived at the ranch until Rachel and Micah came back, and now they live in Collier Springs. If Tally and Xavier are correct and this is Rebecca Lennox, we'll need to visit."

I ran a search on the data I had. "They lived in town. Jeff worked on the ranch, and Amy was a housekeeper there."

Neil ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. "Why is it possible for Rebecca to be in the well when she was diagnosed, died, and, I assume, was buried in the cemetery here?"

I quickly searched while he watched: "No grave is listed for Rebecca Lennox in Whisper Ridge cemetery."

"How can that be possible?" He frowned again.

"Maybe it was an offsite cremation or … I mean, there are reasons why people don't get buried on church land with a stone."

"Yeah, I get that."

We needed to dig deeper into Rebecca's cancer, death, and burial. Maybe there was an innocent explanation for this. "I need to make a call," I said, pulling out my phone. I could feel Neil's eyes on me as I dialed and switched to speakerphone while waiting for Carter to answer. A technical wizard with everything information, he worked with Oberon and Trick's security company, a former black-hat hacker who owed me one last favor.

"Carter," I said when the line connected. There was no need for pleasantries. "Rachel Lennox and Edward Lennox, both deceased, Whisper Ridge, Wyoming. Any medical records and anything else you can find."

"Hello Carter, how are you, Carter? Why, I'm fine, Connor. How are you?" Carter deadpanned, but I didn't have time.

"Can you help?"

There was a pause, and I could imagine Carter grinding his teeth at the other end. "Deep dives like this aren't my gig now. I'm legit." He was lying—he still did stuff that would make my sheriff step in and arrest him if he knew.

"I know," I replied. "But you owe me, Carter."

He sighed. "Fine. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thanks," I said, keeping it short. "And Carter? Make it fast."

I ended the call, slipping my phone back into my pocket. Neil was watching me, his expression unreadable.

"Who's Carter?" he asked, his voice hinting at territorial.

"This kid I helped out once," I explained. "He works with a SEAL buddy of mine, but he's done some shady stuff for me in the past."

Neil's gaze sharpened. "How shady? Illegal? "

"Some," I admitted, meeting his eyes without flinching. "But I'm not giving you his name, so you have plausible deniability."

Neil held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "I wasn't asking."

I leaned back in my chair, feeling the tension ease. We both knew there were lines I danced around in my post-SEAL career, but Neil was willing to let this one slide for now. And for that, I was grateful. We were in this together, even if it meant bending the rules to get the answers.

We reviewed a great deal of other information on the Lennox family, piecing together fragments of their history and trying to understand how it all connected to the present. But nothing could prepare us for what came next—the crime scene photos from the Brothers of Chiron compound. As soon as the first image flickered onto the screen, a cold dread settled over me, sinking into my bones.

"My cousin was one of the people in these photos. She never got out."

"I know." He rested a hand on my leg and curled his fingers there, and I took his hand. "I'm sorry."

I didn't have the words to say anything anywhere near useful.

The photos were a stark reminder of the horrors that had unfolded there, the images that would haunt anyone who saw them. Bodies were strewn across a dirt yard, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, eyes staring into nothing. The main building, or what was left of it, had been gutted by fire, and its destroyed remains collapsed as if the structure had given up under the weight of what it had witnessed.

Some of the bodies were burned beyond recognition, charred husks of what had once been people now reduced to blackened bones. Others bore the unmistakable marks of bullet wounds, dark stains spreading across their tattered clothing, the final testament to the violence that had erupted in that hellish place. But what hit the hardest—what made my stomach churn, and my hands clench into fists—were the smaller bodies, kids caught in the crossfire of something they should never have been a part of and who hadn't stood a chance.

It was the kind of end-of-days shit you read about in history books, the kind of tragedy that stuck with you long after you'd closed the file and walked away. I shut them down—we didn't need to see them for anything other than to understand Micah and the motives for the murder and the gun.

But the gun hadn't turned up.

Yet.

I suddenly felt an urge for complete honesty, and although I was betraying a confidence, somehow, it seemed right to trust Neil.

"So," I said, leaning back in my chair, trying to keep my voice steady. "There's something else I need to tell you. Off the record."

His gaze snapped to mine, concern etched on his face. "Something worse than a body in a well?"

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to say it. "It's about the night of the storm and the landslide at the ranch. "

Neil frowned. "What about it?"

"First off, I want to say sorry."

"Hmm," was all Neil gave me, his hands gripping his pen so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Are you, though?"

"I was looking for the gun."

"That was why you jumped down there like a freaking idiot?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "The walls of the cave-in collapsed—we'd need excavators to unearth anything."

"Yes."

Neil let out a long breath, his eyes searching mine. "We won't go digging," he assured me. "Whatever's down there… it's buried under a ton of rubble now, and there's a good chance it's long gone anyway."

"Okay."

"Forensics are lost. The murders were dealt with by authorities higher than me. No sense in kicking over a hornet's nest." He paused for a moment and laced our fingers. "I wish that Micah felt like he could tell me," he murmured, more to himself than to me, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. "He's a good man, and I hate the thought of him carrying that alone for so long."

It didn't faze me that Neil knew it was Micah, and hell, who else would need to throw a gun down a well? This was a small-town sheriff crossing a line because he knew the people of Whisper Ridge—he knew their hearts, and I loved him for it.

Love ?

I did love him, but I wouldn't tell him yet. Not in the middle of this latest of my mess-ups.

"I promised Micah I would fix it."

He rolled his eyes and huffed. "Of course you did."

"Do I need to fix anything?"

He met my steady gaze. "I know Micah was protecting someone else… Look… I want you to forget this. I want Micah to forget this. Okay?"

"Okay."

The phone buzzed on the desk, and I put it on speaker. Carter didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"I've sent you the files," he said, his voice flat and business-like. "But I scanned the medical records I have, and … yeah, Rebecca Lennox, forty-three, was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. She was told it wasn't something they could fix, unfortunately. Still, she had options for treatments, but here's the thing—she never received any. She never even went back to the hospital where she was diagnosed for her follow-up appointment."

I frowned, processing what he was saying. "Never went back. No treatment at all?"

"Nothing," Carter confirmed. "It's like she just … disappeared from the system. No further records, no nothing."

A cold feeling settled in my gut.

"What about Edward?" I asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't be any better.

"Edward?" Carter hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I couldn't find much. There is no medical history to speak of other than the coroner's report on his suicide. As far as I can tell, a clean bill of health before that."

"Did you find any burial records for Rebecca?"

Carter didn't hesitate, his voice coming through the line with that mix of urgency and frustration I knew all too well.

"I meant it, Connor. There's no trace of her," he said, cutting straight to the heart of it. "No benefits, social security records, or even a death certificate. It's like Rebecca Lennox just vanished into thin air after her diagnosis."

I felt a chill run down my spine, trying to process what he told me. "No death certificate? Nothing?"

"Nothing," Carter repeated, his tone flat. "And here's the thing, Connor—this isn't just unusual, it's impossible. In the U.S., if someone dies, it has to be reported. There should be a death certificate, hospital records, or something."

I stared at Neil, letting the information sink in, and he stared right back. Rebecca Lennox had been given a death sentence, and then she'd vanished as if she'd never existed. Edward's life had ended in suicide. No one searched for Rebecca, and no one questioned it. So many questions. What about inheritance? What about wills? What about … everything?

"Thanks, Carter," I finally said. "I owe you one."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than one," Carter replied, though his tone had no malice—just the usual dry humor. "But you know I'll hold you to it. Take care, Connor, and Oberon says he expects you at a Team reunion dinner. "

"Yeah, yeah." I laughed it off, but none of us had organized reunions yet, and I wasn't planning on it in the future. Messaging the group was okay—easy and safe. Meeting up with them would break my heart when only the three of us were left.

I ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment, the weight of the information pressing down on me.

"Okay," Neil began with caution. "Rebecca is diagnosed and then disappears from the system. We need to talk to the people who know her—Amy, Jeff, and my mom. I'd ask my dad, but maybe I'd get more if I go through his old work records." He sighed. "Worse, we need to talk to Micah and Rachel."

"You want me to do that?" I asked with care. I didn't want to tread on any toes, but I also didn't want to bring the law to Micah's door about anything in the past.

But Neil shook his head. "Together."

"You want to start with them?" I was giving Neil the control here—he was right, he did know this town. He regarded me thoughtfully and shook his head.

"I want to head out to talk to Amy and Jeff, the aunt and uncle. I want to know what they knew before we take this to the Lennox siblings."

"One-two-nine Cottonwood Drive," I confirmed, and he rolled his eyes at me. "You wanna take my car instead of rolling up in the sheriff-mobile?"

Yep, that earned me another eye roll, but it was my car we took for the twenty-minute drive.

Neil couldn't help himself, poking around in my SUV like it was some treasure trove. I watched his fingers hover over the extra buttons and switches, and it was obvious he was itching to press something. His gaze fell on the glove box, and he noticed the fingerprint scanner before I could stop him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Don't touch that," I gasped theatrically.

Neil snatched his hand back, narrowing his eyes at me. "Why?"

I deadpanned, not missing a beat, "Missiles."

He froze, his eyes widening before I snorted, unable to keep a straight face. The confusion and panic on his face were priceless. I loved making him squirm.

He shot me a glare as I laughed, shaking his head. "Asshole," he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile there, too.

We ended up in Collier Springs on Cottonwood Drive, pulling up in front of a small, neat house that looked as though it had been plucked straight from a postcard. The lawn was trimmed, the flowerbeds were well-kept, and the white paint on the siding was fresh, not a flake or chip in sight. It was one of many similar houses on the road, all tidy, all quiet, as if they were hiding some deep secret behind their perfect facades.

We walked up to the door, our boots crunching on the gravel path. I noticed the curtains twitch before the door opened. Amy stood there, short and plump, her face creased with worry as soon as she saw Neil. She wasn't smiling, not that I expected her to. Something about her demeanor told me she knew this wasn't a social visit.

"Sheriff Windham? Can I help you?" she asked, her voice cautious .

"Can we come in?" Neil asked, his tone professional but gentle.

She hesitated for just a moment before nodding. "Both of you?"

"Please."

"I suppose so."

"Connor Mason," I introduced myself.

"I know who you are," she sniffed. "Came to town with Quinn."

"Yes, ma'am."

She wrinkled her nose, which summed up her feelings for me.

As we stepped inside, Neil asked, "Is Jeff here?"

Amy nodded, glancing toward the back of the house. "I'll call him. He's in the yard."

She disappeared, leaving us in the small, neat living room. Everything was in its place, not a speck of dust to be found. The kind of place that was lived-in but kept under tight control. Photos of Rachel's kids were lined up on a shelf alongside plates and mugs, but there was no sign of a photo of Micah, and I recalled talking to people in town who spoke about the rift in the Lennox family.

I should have pushed for more back then.

A moment later, Jeff walked in, tall and stern, his expression unreadable as he shook hands with Neil. His grip was firm, the kind of handshake that said he wasn't a man to be messed with.

Amy hovered by the door, wringing her hands. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Neil didn't waste any time. "We want to talk to you about Rebecca Lennox. "

Amy's face went pale, and she collapsed into the nearest chair as if her legs had given out. She and Jeff exchanged a long, loaded look. Resignation settled over them. Was it a silent acknowledgment that a conversation had been coming?

Jeff sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Let's all get coffee and take this to the kitchen," he said, tired and sad.

We followed them into the kitchen, a small space that felt cozy despite its size. The large table in the center dominated the room as if it were the heart of the house, and the kitchen smelled of coffee and something sweet, although there was an underlying tension in the air that was impossible to ignore.

We all sat at the table; the silence heavy as Amy poured the coffee. Her hands shook slightly, and she kept her eyes down, not meeting mine or Neil's.

"What do you want to know?" Jeff asked, breaking the silence.

I could tell this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. This was the kind that dredged up old wounds and forgotten pain. But we were here now, and there was no turning back. I just hoped we were ready for whatever truths were about to be revealed.