Page 56 of Outlaw Ridge: Ryker
Hallie nodded. “Yeah. She’s twitchy but not hostile. Said she had info and insisted on speaking to you both.”
Ryker’s brow lifted. “You lock down the files?”
“Already done,” Hallie said. “Evidence board’s off, case folders are in the drawer. I didn’t want her seeing anything she shouldn’t.”
Then her expression shifted slightly, a thread of seriousness weaving through. “Also, lab called just before you got here. They finished DNA testing on some blood found in the house. Ethan and Charlotte’s place.”
Ryker felt his chest tighten.
“It’s Ethan’s,” Hallie said. “A clean match.”
Emma let out a breath beside him.
So Ethan really had been there. He’d attacked them. Or… someone had managed to get a sample of his blood. But Ryker’s gut said no.
That had beenEthan.No mask. No body double. No stunt.
“That was Ethan,” Ryker said. “I’d bet everything on it.”
Hallie gave a grim nod, but Ryker’s mind had already shifted forward.
It was Ethan. Ryker had no doubt.
And if he was that hurt, if he hadn’t walked away from that explosion like they’d assumed, then maybe he’d finally burned out his last escape route.
Ryker’s jaw tightened.
Then where the hell was the body?
The scent of bacon and fried egg hit Ryker the moment the deputy walked in with the brown paper bag, hot breakfastsandwiches from the diner, just like he’d asked. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
He took the bag with a muttered thanks and set it on his desk in the bullpen. It would have to wait.
Emma was already heading down the hall toward the cold case office, and Ryker followed, pulling the door shut behind them once they stepped in.
Celeste Harper stood by the window, her arms crossed, gaze fixed on the swirling snow outside like she was still debating whether she should’ve come in at all.
She turned as they entered, posture rigid. Early forties, Ryker guessed. Lean and weather-worn, her skin bronzed from sun, her hands calloused. She wore scuffed boots, jeans, and a waxed canvas coat, ranch gear, plain and practical. A ball cap rested on the table beside her, bearing the stitched logo of a feed store from about thirty miles west.
But there was tension in her shoulders, in the way her eyes flicked between them, and Ryker didn’t miss the way her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her sleeve.
“Celeste Harper?” Emma asked gently.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m Deputy Bonetti. This is Deputy Caldwell. You asked to speak to us?”
Celeste gave a small, cautious nod and sat down in one of the visitor chairs. Ryker and Emma took their usual seats behind the desk.
Without a word, Celeste pulled out her phone and turned it toward them.
On the screen was a photo of a well-dressed older woman, silver hair in a sleek chignon, a pearl necklace around her throat, pale cashmere draped over her shoulders. Elegant. Reserved. Expensive.
“This is my mother,” Celeste said. “Veronica Harper.”
Ryker raised a brow. The contrast between them was stark.
Celeste gave a humorless smile. “Yes. I know. Not exactly cut from the same cloth.”
