Page 145 of Finding His Redemption

Ghost scowled at the electrical panel, willing the moisture in his eyes to disappear through sheer force of will. The copper wiring blurred slightly, and he blinked hard, refocusing on the connections he’d been making.

He’d spent years perfecting the art of remaining detached. Observing without participating. It was what made him good at what he did—what he used to do, anyway. Read a room, assess the players, calculate the odds. Never get involved.

And yet here he was, throat tight, chest aching over some kid calling Jax “Dad.”

The screwdriver slipped from his hand, and he muttered a curse under his breath.

Focus.

He needed to focus on the task, not on Oliver’s tearful face or the raw vulnerability on Jax’s. Not on the way Nessie’s eyes had filled with tears, or how River had tried to cover his own emotional response with humor.

Not on the way it all made him feel like he was missing out on something special.

No.

He wasn’t envious.

He didn’t want what Jax had.

He didn’t want the kid, or the woman, or the warmth he saw in all of them.

That kind of life wasn’t for him. He’d made peace with that years ago—cut out the part of himself that even hoped for it.

Hadn’t he?

He wasn’t lonely.

He had Cinder.

And Coyote, his horse.

He had his bunkmates, as annoying as some of them were. He had his security work for the ranch, which kept his mind busy, and physical labor that kept his muscles toned.

He didn’t need more than that, so why the hell did it feel like something was missing?

The bakery’s door suddenly banged open with a crash, and his body reacted before his mind could tell it not to, fingers releasing the wire strippers, weight shifting to the balls of his feet, right hand drifting toward the knife he no longer carried. Two exits, four potential weapons within reach, civilians present. The calculus happened automatically, like breathing.

But it wasn’t a threat.

Not the kind he knew how to neutralize, anyway.

A woman stood in the doorway like a storm that hadn’t decided where to break—dark eyes alive with something he couldn’t name, braid slung over one shoulder. She wore a plain tan tank top and a pair of black shorts that showcased long, golden legs. No visible weapon, but the tension in her shoulders said she didn’t need one. A practical backpack hung from one shoulder, an MMIW pin on the strap.

Naomi Lefthand.

Ghost didn’t need to run facial recognition. He knew who she was—a local girl turned FBI agent, who had returned to Solaceunceremoniously a few days ago and rented a small house near the cemetery on Cedar Street. But he didn’t knowwhyshe was back, and that made him twitchy.

What would bring the FBI here?

Nessie looked up at the newcomer and smiled warmly. “Naomi?” She hurried forward and wrapped the woman in a hug. “I didn’t know you were home!”

How could Nessie just accept people into her space without suspicion? Especially with her history. It didn’t make sense to Ghost.

Naomi returned her hug, her eyes softening just a fraction. “Got in a couple of days ago.”

“Are you staying long?”

“A few months.”

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