Page 45 of Bear and Order

I close the file. The interview ends shortly afterward, and neither Juniper nor I speak until we're outside. Then she exhales sharply. "That was ridiculous."

"She practically looked terrified," I agree.

Exactly — and the problem is I have no idea why. Yet.

The second witness is worse. Much worse. He owns a small supply company and according to earlier statements, he suffered financial losses linked to the same businesses appearing in the ledger. According to today's version of events, none of that happened. A remarkable transformation.

I sit across from him with Juniper beside me, the ledger notes tucked safely inside my coat and not leaving my sight. Not anymore. Mr. Zeeq smiles nervously. "I'm not sure why everyone keeps asking questions."

. Interesting choice of words. "Everyone?" I ask.

His smile falters. "People."

"What people?"

The hesitation lasts too long and Juniper notices, as do I. Mr. Zeeq clears his throat. "I just mean people in town." I make a note. The man shifts in his chair — uncomfortable, guarded, careful. Every answer sounds rehearsed, every answer avoids specifics, every answer pushes us away from the truth.

Eventually I place one of his older statements on the table and his face drains slightly. Only slightly. Enough. "In this report, you claimed financial manipulation."

He looks down, then away. "I was mistaken."

"Mistaken?"

"Yes." The answer arrives too immediately. I tap the document. "You signed this."

"I know."

"You verified it."

"You submitted supporting records." Mr. Zeeq's jaw tightens, then he smiles again, and the expression looks painful. "I was confused."

Juniper finally speaks — the restraint lasts longer than expected. "What made you confused?" The question is simple and reasonable, and Mr. Zeeq visibly struggles with it. His gaze flicks toward the window, then the door, then back to us. "I just was."

We exchange a look. The interview is over — not officially, practically. Someone got to him, and the realization settles heavily in my chest. Someone is cleaning up loose ends and doing it fast.

We leave the apartment building shortly afterward and the afternoon feels unusually quiet — too quiet. My instincts stir immediately. Something feels wrong, not dangerous, not yet, but wrong. The sensation follows us across the parking lot and I slow slightly, and Juniper notices. "What?"

I scan the area — vehicles, buildings, pedestrians. Nothing unusual, yet the feeling remains, persistent and specific. "We're being watched."

Juniper stops walking. "What?"

"I can feel it." The answer sounds ridiculous and happens to be true. My bear senses have saved me more than once, and right now they're screaming. Someone is watching, someone is close, and the problem is scent — there isn't one. Nothing at all, which bothers me even more. Every person leaves traces, every person leaves something. This person leaves nothing.

Juniper shifts closer. "Do you see them?"

"No." The answer doesn't improve her mood and doesn't improve mine either. The feeling remains — watching, waiting, calculating — and my jaw tightens. "Come on." Juniper falls immediately into step beside me and the distance between us shrinks without discussion or thought or either of us acknowledging it. I don't move away and neither does she.

The truck finally comes into view and only then does the pressure ease, slightly, not enough. I open the passenger door and Juniper pauses, the concern in her eyes obvious. "Brock."

I meet her gaze. "Check in with me."

She blinks. "What?"

"Every two hours." No hesitation, no room for argument. Juniper folds her arms — I know that posture. Trouble. "I'm not a child."

"No."

"Then why are you talking like that?"