Page 18 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
“You wouldn’t,” Hallie assured her, but she didn’t push.
Before Lily could suggest something else, Griff spoke up. “She can stay with me.”
Lily turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “House has space. You’ll be safer there. Private property, cameras, reinforced doors. Not a lot of people know I bought that place, and that’s how I like it.”
Lily leaned back slightly, folding her arms. “I was thinking maybe a hotel. Just until I can find something to rent.”
He shook his head. “Too many variables. Someone’s targeting you. You hole up at a hotel, you risk drawing in civilians. Staff. Guests. People who don’t deserve to get caught up in this.”
Her eyes locked with his. She didn’t argue right away, and he didn’t fill the silence.
Finally, she gave a small nod.
“All right,” she said. “Your place it is.”
Griff didn’t let the flicker of relief show. Having her nearby meant he could keep watch—make sure nothing slipped through the cracks.
Because whoever had started this wasn’t finished yet.
Griff rolled his chair over, closing the small distance between his desk and Lily’s. She had the file with Bobby Ray’s name on it sitting in her bag like she’d never let it out of reach. When he nodded toward it, she pulled it free and set it on the desk between them.
“Let’s start with the police reports,” he said. “Go through them line by line and see if anything pops.”
Lily opened the folder, flipping past the initial crime scene photos, but before they could get further, the front door creaked open.
The air in the room shifted.
Griff looked up, instinctively alert. A woman had stepped inside. Mid-thirties, shoulder-length brown hair pulled back tight. Her coat was fitted, dark gray, expensive enough to say she hadn’t been living paycheck to paycheck. But her posture was rigid. Controlled. Like she was constantly bracing for a fight.
Her expression didn’t soften when she stepped through the threshold and approached the security checkpoint. If anything, it hardened more.
“That’s Hannah’s sister, Margo,” Lily whispered, already rising to her feet.
Griff stayed seated, watching closely as the woman moved through the metal detector. No jewelry, no purse, no hesitation. She didn’t speak, but her eyes, sharp and flat, locked on Lily with unmistakable heat.
And it wasn’t friendly.
Griff saw the flicker in Lily’s jaw, the way her shoulders squared. Margo Cole hadn’t come in to play nice.
Margo stepped through the metal detector like she was marching into a courtroom. Chin up, eyes sharp, jaw locked tight. The air around her was charged, tension rolling off her like heat off asphalt. She didn’t spare a glance at anyone else in the bullpen.
“I want to talk,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Lily didn’t move from her desk. “Then talk.”
Griff watched the exchange without blinking. Lily hadn’t offered to step into a conference room. She hadn’t tried to ease the tension. And Margo noticed.
She came closer, stiff-backed, and leaned in, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper that still carried across the desks.
“You have to stop this. This—thisnonsensewith Bobby Ray’s trial. Digging it all up again. You’re just stirring up old wounds, and for what? To play detective? To make a name for yourself in your little hometown department?”
Lily didn’t even blink. Griff didn’t move either. He watched Margo carefully, noting the flushed cheeks, the tremor just beneath the surface of her voice.
“I’m having nightmares,” Margo hissed. “Flashbacks. People keep calling me, asking about the murder, the trial, what I remember. It’s constant. I can’t even sleep.”
She wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold, but Griff saw it for what it was. Defensive posture. Panic masked as anger.
