Page 9 of Claiming Ours
Oliver raised both hands to quiet everyone down so he could finish.
“I questioned him extensively, and everything rang true. Theyweredating before her disappearance. The last time he saw her, she told him she was headed out on a solo hike for a few days to explore new cliffs to climb. That was the last he heard from her, which was two days before anyone noted that something was off. And I’ll tell you, I believe him.”
“He’s not smart enough to pull one over on Oliver or me,” Hudson added. He and Oliver shared a conspiratorial smirk. “I was there with Oliver and his father when they questioned Jasper. I even ran him through my own interrogation.”
“Then why the hell was he in there?” Aiden asked, crimson highlighting his cheeks, exposing his rising anger over this revelation.
Oliver looked at Hudson, who nodded at whatever silent question he asked. “A journal. He said he was looking for Caroline’s journal.”
“What the fuck?” I muttered. “He wanted her fucking diary?”
“Showing your age, old man,” Dax said, leaning around Finley and Juno to shoot me a wink. “No one calls it a diary anymore.”
“Except young girls,” Hudson cut in. When all our gazes landed on him, he cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his long-sleeve shirt. “Sam has one with unicorns on it. Though it’s more of a doodle pad than anything, since she can’t actually write her thoughts yet.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “If any of you shitheads have something to say about my girl having a unicorn diary, you can come to me about it.”
No one said a word. The fucker was just as scary as the rest of us—well, except me and Langston.
“Good. If we’re done talking about what to call it, I can tell you about this journal.” Hudson gripped the back of the chairin front of him, knuckles going white. “Apparently, your friend and colleague Caroline was running her own investigation into the recent disappearances and documented her findings in that journal.”
Miles stood abruptly and slapped both palms to the table. “So, where is it, then?” he demanded.
“That’s the thing,” Oliver stated. “Jasper didn’t find it, and neither did we after our own search. It’s gone.”
So it seemed their one lead in Caroline’s disappearance wasn’t a lead at all, and any clues she might have documented regarding the women going missing on the trail had vanished.
Wasn’t that fucking fantastic.
3
MEMPHIS
The rubber soles of my black combat boots gripped the wet, slime-covered wooden planks as I stepped off the boat and onto the dock. Through the Aviator’s dark lenses, I scanned the busy marina before turning my focus back to the asshole who captained the enclosed passenger boat I took from Anchorage to Anchor Bay.
With a cutting glare, he grabbed my two worn duffel bags from where they were stowed and tossed them onto the damp wood by my feet. Lips pursed, I scowled at the jackass who’d almost pitched everything I brought from Florida to Alaska into the murky water lapping below us. My annoyance eased when he helped my best friend, Elvis, off the boat with much more care.
Though who wouldn’t with that smiling face and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging. The massive yellow lab could win over even the worst human’s heart.
Like now.
“Elvis,” I called with a sharp whistle.
With a reluctant look at his new friend, who distracted the cheerful dog with head scratches, Elvis trotted closer and sat atmy feet, leaning his heavy body against me. Wet nose in the air, dark eyes locked on me, his thin tail slapped at the wood in happy thumps.
Smiling at my friend, I ran a hand over his head and glanced back at the captain—Langston or something like that. “We good?”
Instead of responding like a normal person, the massive man just continued to glare at me like I had somehow offended him during the trip, which I knew I hadn’t, since I was preoccupied with plotting out my first few days in Anchor Bay.
Never one to back down from a fight, I folded both inked arms over my chest and met his stare straight on. The man’s intense gaze scanned me up and down, from my styled, long, dirty-blond hair to the shaved sides that exposed the tattoos on my scalp. The designs didn’t stop there—hell, there wasn’t much of my body that wasn’t decorated with either tattoos or piercings.
When his narrowed eyes focused on the dark tattoos decorating both hands and all ten fingers, I lifted one between us and flipped him the bird. “Do you give everyone this kind of inspection when you drop them off, or am I just fucking special?” I snapped.
Sure, I was used to it, but I figured a man with tattoos of his own trailing down both arms wouldn’t judge me too hard. It was unnerving. His probing gaze left me feeling exposed, which I fucking hated. I focused on not reaching down to pet Elvis, my nervous tell.
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, uncaring that he’d pissed me off with his judgmental stare. “What are you doing in Anchor Bay?” he asked. Squatting low, he looped a rope around a metal tie-down and tightened the line, securing the boat to the dock.
Well, fuck. He just had to ask the one question I sure as hell didn’t want to answer.
I hitched my chin in defiance. “What’s it to you?”
