Page 70 of Untamed Sinner

I open a new search window and type in "Whitlock Cattle Company Montana." The results flood the screen.

The Whitlocks aren't just wealthy. They're Montana royalty.

Cattle barons going back five generations. Tens of thousands of acres in the state. Diversified holdings in real estate, energy, agriculture. Political connections at the state and federal level. The kind of family that has buildings and scholarships named after them.

"Jesus," Mandy says, reading over my shoulder. "These people are untouchable."

"No one's untouchable." I pull up the family tree. "But they're close."

The current head of the family is James Whitlock, 67, widowed. Two sons, both involved in the family business. Younger brother, deceased, ranching accident. Former sister-in-law, remarried and living in California. One niece.

"There," Mandy says, pointing. "Click on that family photo."

I click on it.

It's a stiff photo you’d expect from a family like this: a gathering of unhappy people staring with dead expressions, probably taken for a Christmas card. The one bright spot in the picture is a little girl with red hair.

Mandy leans in. “It’s the girl from the notebook. I just know it.”

I nod. She’s younger here—maybe thirteen—but it’s unmistakably the same person. Same eyes, same bone structure, same slight tilt to her chin. I search for Whitlock’s brother’s obituary and three seconds later we have a name.

"Clara," Mandy says softly. "Her name is Clara."

"She's twenty-four now, same age listed in the notebook," I say, checking the dates.

"We need to find her.” Mandy stands. She pushes her hair back. "We need to make sure she’s safe."

“We will.”

“Why would they target her?” Mandy shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense to go after someone so high profile, even if she’s buried in the system.”

That’s the question. I turn back to the monitor, but something else is bothering me. Turner didn’t hide Clara’s photograph—he hid the memory card.

I pull up the directory Marcus sent over and open the folder containing the accessible files.

Mandy sits back down. “What?”

“The photograph told us who she is.” I scan the file names. Photos. Documents. Three encrypted files Marcus is still working on. “But someone cut a compartment into the binding of that notebook to hide this.”

Her expression sharpens. “Which means?”

“It means Clara isn’t the secret.” I click on the first file. “Whatever’s on the memory card is.”

Her eyes narrow. “Meaning whatever’s on it is important.”

“Important enough that Turner didn’t want anyone finding it.” Photos. Documents. Three encrypted files Marcus hasn’t cracked yet. I open the first file.

Finding Clara was the easy part. Now we have to figure out why Turner wanted her—and why every road leading to her seems to run straight through Mandy.

55

MANDY

Clara Whitlock is twenty-four years old, obscenely rich, seemingly invisible, and somewhere out there vulnerable.

I already hate everything about this. Not her—the pattern. I know what it looks like when powerful men stop seeing a woman as a person and start seeing her as leverage.

By the time we make it back upstairs, I need sugar. Bad. I head straight for the pantry and open my donut box.