Page 90 of Montana Memory

“Not in much detail. They were asking if Lisa knew her. Where Jada lived and worked. Lisa was trying to be helpful, so she told them about Pawsitive. I didn’t like that they were poking around my backyard without letting me know they were here.” His mouth tightened. “So I went by your cabin. No sign of her.”

My stomach sank.

He kept going. “Next stop was Pawsitive Connections. Figured she might be helping out with the animals again.”

My eyes locked on his. “And?”

“She was there. With the two detectives.”

I stepped fully into the office. “And you didn’t think to call me?”

“I knew you were out of town, and they weren’t hostile. They weren’t trying to arrest her. I ran their IDs while I was standing there—CBI. Legit.”

Colorado Bureau of Investigation. Still, I shook my head. “Legit doesn’t mean trustworthy.”

“She didn’t look comfortable, and I told her she didn’t have to answer any questions. But they insisted it wasn’t anything serious, so I had them come back here to use the station tointerview her. Thought I could keep things from getting out of hand, if needed.”

He reached for a file on the corner of his desk, slid it across to me. “I had it recorded and transcribed. Transcript’s in there. They didn’t ask any hard questions. No accusations. Questions were routine. Benign, almost.”

I opened it, skimmed a few lines. Jada’s words were tentative. Hesitant. She’d done fine. And Lachlan was right; the questions hadn’t been too invasive.

I looked up. “You still should’ve gotten her out.”

Lachlan’s jaw twitched. “I’m a cop, Hunter. So were they. I couldn’t just yank her out of a conversation with two officers who had every right to be here. She wasn’t being detained. I thought letting her talk it through, with me nearby, was the best way to keep her safe.”

I stared at the transcript again, but the words blurred.

Maybe she really had run. I couldn’t keep avoiding that possibility. Maybe her selfish disregard for the kittens was somehow in her DNA makeup. We’d talked about that very thing—nature vs. nurture—last week on our picnic. I’d told her she got to choose who she wanted to be.

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe selfishness was engrained in her, and she would always have a tendency to act in ways that put her own needs as primary and everyone else’s as secondary.

My hand tightened on the folder. I wanted to crumple the paper in my hand but forced my fingers to relax. I took a deep breath and scanned it again. No, I wasn’t going to believe that about her. Not unless there was no other option but to do so.

Lachlan was quiet for a minute, watching me read through the transcript again. The lines were short. Meandering. Polite. But none of it was pointed. None of it felt like an interrogation.

And that was the problem. I handed the file back to Lachlan and curled my fingers into fists on the edge of the desk. “She’s gone because those cops showed up.”

Lachlan leaned forward, elbows braced on his desk. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. The interview seemed routine. Like something you’d forget about ten minutes after it ended. Actually…”

“What?”

“The questions.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “They were almost too benign. They didn’t push about anything, even her memory loss, which should’ve at least been unique enough to warrant some follow-up questions for details.”

He was right.

“They drove all the way from Colorado to ask her mundane questions?” I flipped back to the beginning of the transcript. “This could’ve been a phone call. Or a video chat.”

“Exactly,” Lachlan said. “Hell, if they’d called ahead, I would’ve brought her in myself. Could’ve saved them some time. Much more efficient and professional.”

My pulse kicked harder. “Instead, they show up and start asking around about her. Like they were just passing through.”

“But they weren’t.”

Lachlan stood, moving to the small printer near the corner filing cabinet. A few quiet whirs later, a couple sheets of paper slid out. He grabbed them and brought them back over.

“Here’s what I pulled on the two detectives. Johnson and Kelly.”

I scanned the first one—Detective Ross Johnson. Nothing jumped out. Been with CBI twelve years. Clean record. Transfer from Boulder. Average face, graying hair. Looked like someone’s dad.

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