Page 30 of Untamed Hunter Daddy
“Take me through it,” Ryker says.
“The diner is where it started. He sat at the counter. Third stool from the register. You can see it through the window.”
We both look. Through the dark glass I can make out the counter, the red vinyl stools, the chalkboard menu. It looks exactly the same. The sameness hurts. I expected the place where everything went wrong to show some sign of it. It doesn’t.
“Where did he park?”
“Far end of the lot behind the dumpster. There’s a gravel strip along the back fence where employees park. He always parked there, backing in. His truck wasn’t visible from the street.”
Ryker pulls around the building and studies the lot the way he studies everything.
“One entrance, one exit. No street visibility. No cameras. He could come and go without being seen by anyone who wasn’t already in the lot.”
“Greta talked about installing a camera after someone stole a case of napkins. It never happened. Cost more than a month of napkins.”
Jax appears at the window. “The apartment’s upstairs?”
“Side entrance to the left of the dumpster. Stairs to a landing. Mine’s the unit on the right. The other one’s been empty since I moved in.”
“We’ll sweep it before you go up. Give us ten minutes.”
Jax and Ryker exchange a look. Then Jax moves toward the side door with his hand near his hip.
While we wait, Ryker drives me past Tyler’s cabin.
It’s on the other side of town, past the elementary school and the fire station, down a dirt road that dead-ends at a trailhead. A small seasonal rental. Tyler told me he was staying there temporarily while he looked for permanent work. Another lie.
Ryker slows but doesn’t stop. The cabin sits back from the road behind bare aspens. Front door closed. Curtains drawn. No vehicle. No smoke. It looks deliberately emptied.
“When did he move out?” Ryker asks.
“I don’t know. He brought me here three or four times. Then he moved me to the locked place on the ridge and I never came back. That was about a few weeks before the raid.”
“The property management company said the lease was terminated the week after the raid. Cash payment for the remaining balance. No forwarding address. Unit was returned in ‘unusually clean condition.’ Professionally cleaned. Not renter-cleaned. Cleaned-by-someone-who-knows-how-to-remove-evidence cleaned.”
I stare at the cabin.
“He cleaned it because he’s not done,” I say. “If he was running he’d just leave. You don’t professionally sanitize a place if you’re disappearing. You sanitize it if you’re staying nearby and don’t want anything traced back to where you still are.”
Ryker looks at me. I keep my eyes on the cabin.
“That’s a good read,” he says quietly.
We circle back to the diner. Jax is waiting at the side entrance with his arms crossed. The apartment is clear. Ryker parks, comes around to my side, and opens the door. He offers his hand. I take it. Our fingers lace together on reflex and then we both realize what we’re doing and separate.
“Apartment’s clean,” Jax says. “No signs of entry. Mail piled up inside the door. Hasn’t been touched since you left.” A pause. “There’s something else. Parked on Elm Street about a block east. Gray sedan. Idaho plates. It’s been sitting there since we arrived. Engine off, but there’s condensation on the inside of the windows. Someone’s in it or was in it very recently.”
The air changes. Ryker’s hand moves to his hip. Jax is already on the radio.
“License plate?” Ryker asks.
“Already ran it. Registered to a rental company in Boise. Cash rental. Name on the contract is David Mercer. Almost certainly fake. Kane’s pulling the paperwork now.”
A cash rental. A fake name. A car parked one block from my apartment on the day I return to town. Ryker and Jax exchange a look. This isn’t accidental.
“Get her inside,” Ryker says to Jax. His voice has shifted fully into the operational register. “Upstairs apartment, blinds closed, away from windows. I’m going to have a conversation with whoever’s sitting in that sedan.”
“Ryker.” I grab his arm. His eyes come to mine. “Be careful.”
