Page 38 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Home.

The word settled in her chest, warm and terrifying.

They rode back in silence, Blaze's hooves steady on the packed earth as the sun set beyond the ridge. Liv's arms wrapped tight around Mike's waist, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of him even through two layers of cotton. The steady thud of his heartbeat against her hands.

For the first time in months, she felt safe.

Mike's hand came down over hers where they were clasped at his stomach. Squeezed once.

She squeezed back.

Heather was waiting on the porch when they rode up, arms crossed, face unreadable. Lyle stood beside her, one hand on her shoulder.

Mike helped Liv down from the saddle, and Heather walked over, studied her for a long moment.

Then she pulled Liv into a hug.

"Don't do that again," Heather said quietly. "You scared us half to death."

Liv's eyes filled. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Heather pulled back, hands on Liv's shoulders.

"And that’s all we’re going to say on the subject for tonight. Now get inside," she said, steering Liv toward the door. "You're freezing, and I'm making you tea whether you want it or not."

As they walked inside, Mike caught Lyle's eye. "Did Joe find anything?" Mike asked.

Lyle's expression darkened. "He's in the office. Said to come find him when you got back."

Mike nodded and headed inside.

Joe scanned the computer screen and blindly reached for his coffee, nearly knocking it over. Pudge, who was curled in his spot under the side table, cracked open one yellow eye in judgment.

"Yeah, yeah," Joe muttered. "Sorry I disturbed you."

He pulled up the security logs from overnight. Three pings on the system. Small. Almost invisible if you didn't know what you were looking for.

But Joe knew.

And what he saw made his jaw tighten.

The same masked IP that had accessed their guest records earlier in the week was back. And this time, whoever it was had run a specific search.

Langford.

Not Ramsey. Not Liv.

Her real name.

Joe sat back, fingers drumming the desk. Then he opened a secure message thread he hadn't touched in two years.

Johan. Need a favor. Sending you a photo and a name. Olivia Langford. Used to own a bakery in Manhattan. Disappeared two months ago. Someone's looking for her. Need to know who and why.

And I need it yesterday.

He hit send, sat back and drained his coffee, staring at the screen.

The reply had came back in under ten minutes.