Page 24 of Montana Justice

But I had a five-month-old son and a woman I couldn’t trust living in my house, and now I guessed I was supposed to figure it out as I went.

And I would.

The protective instinct that had kicked in the moment I’d looked into Caleb’s eyes was unlike anything I’d everexperienced. Fierce and immediate and absolutely terrifying. This tiny person was depending on me, and I had no idea what I was doing.

And Piper. Beautiful, broken Piper, who’d stolen from me once and might do it again. Who’d kept my son from me for months but had also clearly sacrificed everything to take care of him. How was I supposed to balance being grateful that she’d brought Caleb to me with the fact that she’d lied about everything else?

Sleep had been impossible last night. After she’d gone to bed in the guest room with Caleb, I’d paced my house for hours, wrestling with questions I couldn’t answer. What if she ran again? What if I woke up and they were both gone?

That last thought had driven me out into the night. An hour drive to Billings, to the twenty-four-hour electronics store where I’d bought three wireless cameras and a GPS tracker. Another stop at a phone store that stayed open late.

The nanny cams were sitting throughout my house now—one in the living room behind a plant, another in the kitchen tucked between some cookbooks, a third in the hallway. The tracker was a different story. I’d spent twenty minutes crouched beside her beat-up Honda in my driveway at two in the morning, attaching the small device to the underside of her bumper.

Illegal as hell. I could lose my job if anyone found out. But I’d rather face a misdemeanor charge than lose my son.

The cell phone sat in my desk drawer, still in its box. I’d give it to Piper later, tell her it was so we could stay in contact. She needed one anyway—what if there was an emergency with Caleb and she couldn’t reach me?

After a couple hours sleep, I’d woken up still not sure what I should do or say. Did she need help with the baby? She hadn’t asked for another bottle, so instead, I’d made breakfast for the two of us—scrambled eggs, toast, bacon—while Piper sat at mykitchen table looking like she expected me to change my mind and throw her out at any second.

“Coffee?” I’d offered, holding up the pot.

“Please.” Her voice had been barely above a whisper, and when I’d set the mug in front of her, she’d wrapped both hands around it like she was trying to absorb its warmth.

Those dark circles under her eyes were still pronounced, her movements careful and measured. She’d eaten slowly, mechanically, cutting her eggs into tiny bites and chewing each one thoroughly. Like she was forcing herself to consume every calorie.

“You’ll be okay here today while I go to work?” I’d asked.

“We’ll be fine.” She’d glanced toward the living room where Caleb was sleeping peacefully in his carrier. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You’re not trouble. Either of you. Rest when you can. You still look exhausted.” The words had come out rougher than I’d intended, and she’d flinched slightly.

She’d nodded, focusing on her toast. “Thank you. For letting us stay.”

I’d wanted to say more, but Caleb had started fussing, and she’d immediately turned her attention to him, that protective instinct taking over. The conversation had died there, buried under the weight of everything we hadn’t talked about.

Now, sitting in my office with case files spread across my desk, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. The nanny cam app on my phone showed a live feed from my house, and I’d already checked it twice this morning. Both times, everything had looked normal. Piper feeding Caleb, changing his diaper, talking to him in soft tones.

A knock on my office door pulled me from my thoughts. “Come in.”

Beckett Sinclair pushed through the door, followed by Hunter Everett. Both men looked serious, which immediately put me on alert. Hunter ran Warrior Security at the Resting Warrior Ranch, and when he showed up at the sheriff’s office, it usually meant trouble.

“Morning, Lach.” Beckett settled into one of the chairs across from my desk, like he had dozens of times since I’d become sheriff. “We need to talk.”

Hunter remained standing, his posture alert and focused. “We’ve been hearing rumors. About illegal firearms trafficking in the area.”

I leaned back in my chair, forcing myself to give them my full attention. “What kind of rumors?”

“The kind that usually turn out to be true.” Hunter’s expression was grim. “We’ve got contacts throughout the state—other security firms, law enforcement, people who keep their ears open. Multiple sources are saying there’s a significant operation moving weapons through this part of Montana.”

Hunter had been Special Forces before taking over Warrior Security. His cousin, Lucas Everett, helped run Resting Warrior with six other former SEALs. All good men I’d gladly have at my back anytime. Hunter wasn’t one to cry wolf. If he was bringing this to me, it was serious.

“Automatic weapons,” Beckett added. “Military-grade stuff that shouldn’t be in civilian hands. The kind of firepower that ends up in the wrong hands and gets people killed.”

“Any specifics? Names, locations, time frames?”

“That’s the problem.” Hunter shook his head. “It’s all vague so far. Whispers about someone moving serious hardware through rural areas, using hunting cabins and abandoned barns for storage. Someone smart enough to stay under the radar.”

“And it’s not just guns.” Beckett’s jaw tightened. “We’re hearing about opioids too. Fentanyl, specifically. Someone’susing the isolation of rural communities to move drugs without detection.”

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