“I Need Help With My Daughter,” the Former Navy SEAL Said—She Smiled, “Then We Start With Her Hair”...

Thirty minutes later, the back door of Magnolia & Main opened to admit a tall man in a navy blue flannel shirt and dark jeans.

David Harper had the same warm hazel eyes as his sister, but his shoulders carried the broad, solid weight of ten years on road patrol. He took off his wet baseball cap, his eyes instantly locking onto Grant Mercer.

"Mercer," David said, extending a hand. "I heard you were back in town."

"Harper," Grant said, shaking the officer's hand with a firm grip. "Thanks for coming."

David glanced at Lila, who was now sitting at the salon's small coffee bar, eating a cinnamon pastry while Ranger sat beside her chair like a grey-muzzled statue.

"Camille said this wasn't a standard haircut situation," David said, turning back to Grant and his sister. "What's going on?"

Grant didn't sugarcoat it. In three precise minutes, he laid out Lila's revelation, the white car, the red-haired woman, the cigar-smoking decoy driver, and the blue folder beneath the passenger seat of Natalie's sunken SUV.

As Grant spoke, David's expression shifted from casual interest to a terrifying, professional stillness.

"Rebecca Vale," David repeated, his voice low. "She's heavy in the Port Authority's legal department. She works directly under the district director."

"You know her?" Camille asked.

"I've seen her at county board meetings," David said, pulling a small notebook from his back pocket. "She handles maritime compliance disputes. If Natalie found something regarding illegal imports, Rebecca would have been the one responsible for burying it."

"The police report on Natalie's crash was handled by State Highway Patrol," Grant said. "Not New Hanover County."

"Trooper Miller handled the initial call," David noted, nodding slowly. "Miller's uncle owns the impound lot on Route 421 where the vehicle is sitting."

Grant's eyes narrowed. "Is Miller clean?"

"I don't know," David admitted. "But he cleared out his locker and took personal leave two weeks after the accident. Rumor was he bought a new center-console fishing boat."

"Paid for with cigar money," Camille muttered.

Grant turned to David. "I need twenty minutes inside that SUV. If there's a folder jammed beneath the floorboard rails, I'm bringing it out."

"It's evidence in a sealed impound lot, Grant," David said sternly. "If you break in, anything you find is inadmissible in court."

"I don't care about a court right now, Harper," Grant said, his tone dropping into the cold, flat register of a man who had conducted raids in hostile territory. "I care about the people who made my daughter terrified to speak for three months. I'm going in."

David looked at his sister, then at the little girl eating her pastry, and finally at the former SEAL.

"You're not breaking in," David said, pulling a heavy brass key ring from his pocket. "Miller's impound lot uses a standard padlocked gate for the rear commercial yard. County Sheriff's Office keeps a master key for night inspection rounds."

He detached one silver key and dropped it into Grant's palm.

"You have one hour," David said quietly. "If anyone calls in a trespasser, I'm the one who gets dispatched. I won't drive fast, but I won't lie for you either."

Grant gripped the key. "Understood."

"And Grant?" David added, pointing toward Lila. "She stays right here. Nobody gets past me to that kid."

Grant walked over to Lila, dropping down to pull her into a tight, warm hug. For the first time in eighty-seven days, Lila wrapped both her arms around her father's neck and held on with all her small strength.

"I'll be back soon, baby," Grant whispered into her remaining golden curls. "I promise."