Part 2
Sadie didn’t move.
Dean’s smile stayed in place, but something colder appeared behind it. He clicked his tongue twice and held out a gloved hand.
“Come on, girl. You know me.”
Sadie stepped over the threshold and planted herself between him and the infant carrier. The fur along her spine rose. She wasn’t confused by Dean Hollis. She remembered him.
Grant opened the door another inch, just enough to keep the dog behind his leg. “What’s the baby’s name?”
Dean’s gaze flicked toward the carrier. “Ethan.”
From the stove came a small, restless cry.
Dean’s companion shifted his weight. Dean corrected himself too quickly. “That’s what Claire planned to call him. She may have changed it.”
The note beneath Grant’s shirt seemed to grow heavier.
The child’s name was Noah.
Grant kept one hand on the door. “You should call the sheriff.”
“We would,” Dean said, “but the roads are down, and my sister is missing. I’m trying to keep this from becoming more difficult than it already is.”
The second man stared past Grant toward the table. Snow clung to the shoulders of his gray coat, but his boots were almost clean. They had not walked far. A vehicle had brought them close to the cabin.
Dean followed Grant’s attention and offered a faint smile. “That’s Cole. He’s helping me search.”
Cole Vance said nothing.
“You said Claire was traveling through the area,” Grant replied. “From where?”
“Sheridan.”
“Where was she going?”
Dean paused. “Bozeman.”
That answer might have sounded reasonable to someone who didn’t know the roads. But no one heading from Sheridan to Bozeman would come within miles of Alder Creek unless they were lost, running, or being followed.
Sadie’s growl deepened.
Dean lowered his hand. “She always was dramatic. She gets frightened, makes bad decisions, then expects everyone else to clean them up.”
Grant had heard men talk that way before. They spoke of the people they hurt as if the real offense were the inconvenience that followed.
“Leave,” Grant said.
The word changed Dean’s face. The worried-brother performance didn’t vanish completely, but it thinned enough for Grant to see the anger beneath it.
“I don’t think you understand the situation.”
“I understand you gave me the wrong name.”
Cole looked at Dean.
For the first time, Dean stopped pretending. “You found something that belongs to me.”
“No child belongs to you.”
“I wasn’t talking about the child.”
The admission hung between them.
Grant felt Sadie shift closer to his leg. Dean glanced down at her, and the dog’s lips drew back far enough to show her teeth.
“What did Claire give you?” Dean asked.
“Nothing.”
“She stole private records. She was sick, paranoid, and confused. If you found a phone, a drive, papers—anything—you’re holding stolen property.”
“Then the sheriff can collect it.”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “Men like you always think being alone makes you untouchable.”
Grant didn’t answer. He simply looked at Cole, then at the dark line of trees behind them. He wanted both men to understand that he had seen them clearly and would remember every detail.
Dean stepped back from the door. “We’ll come back when you’re thinking more clearly.”
“Come back with a deputy.”
The door shut between them.
Grant slid the dead bolt into place and waited. The boards creaked beneath the men’s weight as they crossed the porch. Their footsteps moved away, but no engine started immediately.
Sadie remained facing the door.
Several minutes passed before the growl left her throat.
Grant carried Noah into the bedroom, placed the infant carrier in the safest corner, and checked the child’s breathing. The baby’s color had improved, but he was still too quiet. Grant needed medical help, a working radio, and distance from the two men outside.
He returned to the kitchen window and lifted the curtain a fraction.
A black SUV sat partly hidden behind the trees, less than a quarter mile down the service road. Cole stood beside it while Dean looked back toward the cabin.
They had not stumbled across Grant’s porch during a desperate search.
They had known exactly where to come.
When the SUV finally disappeared down the road, Grant waited another ten minutes before stepping outside. Sadie followed close, while the puppy remained beside Noah’s carrier, whining each time Grant moved out of sight.
The two sets of footprints led toward the road, but a third trail circled the cabin. Someone had walked behind the woodshed and stopped beneath the pole holding Grant’s external radio antenna.
The cable had been cut cleanly.
Grant stood in the snow, looking at the severed line. Dean and Cole had reached the cabin before he returned from Claire’s body. They had disabled his best chance of contacting help, then knocked politely and asked to be invited inside.
He went back in and locked the door again.
The only useful clue he possessed was Claire’s note, but Dean’s final question made him certain there was more. Grant emptied the diaper bag and searched every seam. He checked the infant carrier, the folded coat, the photograph sleeve, and even the red sled.
Nothing.
Sadie watched him from the rug.
Then Grant noticed the stitching beneath her harness.
Most of the seams were machine-straight. One narrow section near the chest plate had been closed by hand with black thread. Claire had sewn it in a hurry; the stitches were uneven and tight.
Grant brought a small pair of scissors from the bathroom cabinet. “Easy, girl.”
Sadie stood without resistance while he cut the thread. Inside the lining was a plastic sleeve no larger than his thumb.
It held a memory card and a folded business card.
Lena Ortiz
Safe Harbor Family Advocacy
Emergency line available 24 hours
Grant took an old laptop from the cabinet above his desk. It had not been connected to the internet in months, but the card reader worked.
There were dozens of folders on the drive. Most were labeled with dates or women’s first names. One folder was marked IF SADIE MAKES IT.
Inside was a single video.
Claire appeared on the screen, sitting in the back seat of a parked vehicle. Noah was bundled against her chest. Her hair was damp, and she kept glancing through the window while she spoke.
“My name is Claire Bennett. If you’re watching this, Sadie found someone, and I probably didn’t.”
Grant leaned closer.
“Dean Hollis is not my brother. He works for Haven House, outside Sheridan. They call it a maternity residence, but they take our phones, our IDs, and anything that proves where we came from. Then they make us sign papers we don’t understand.”
Claire looked down at Noah. For several seconds, she could not continue.
“I copied the intake records, the payment lists, and the names of the people who took babies. Lena Ortiz knows part of it. The rest is on this card.”
A vehicle engine sounded beyond the cabin.
Grant looked toward the window.
On the screen, Claire whispered, “Dean doesn’t want Noah. He wants this evidence before anyone sees what they did.”
The engine grew louder. Through the trees, the same black SUV rolled back toward the cabin. This time, its headlights were off…
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