Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Just the insinuation raises my hackles. “You know I would never do that—”
“I know.” Dillon raises his hands. “I know that. Just … be careful. Brad’s not the type to lie down. He’ll go up your chain of command and put a bug in your boss’s ear.”
A bug that Freeman will no doubt see as an opportunity. And if Dillon’s warning me about it, it’s because it’s already happening.
With that, Dillon returns to the minivan.
I watch them drive away.
“What was that about?” Logan asks.
“Nothing.” If I tell Logan, he’s bound to take it upon himself to try to protect me again by eliminating me from his life. “I’ll be at your place around seven. Tell Jon to be there with whatever recordings he has.”
Now to get inside and peel off these layers before I pee my pants.
“Inside,” I coax Duke through the garage’s barn door. The dim light shines over the decades of belongings Annie refused to part with. Duke wanders toward Jay’s old pickup truck, sniffing the various scattered boxes along the way. I remember when Jay would take us into town for ice cream or to rent DVDs at the local Blockbuster. I’d be sandwiched between him and Logan on the bench seat. At that age, being anywhere without my parents was exciting.
Jon and Sarah have driven it around the ranch occasionally to keep the engine from seizing, but it hasn’t been off the property in years. Now, the truck’s hood is propped open, and a toolbox sits nearby. Someone’s been working to bring it back to life.
Upstairs, the telltale Hockey Night in Canada tune carries. I whistle for Duke to follow me up, and he dutifully obeys, through the cracked door—an invitation to skip the formality of knocking.
“How did you miss that?” Jon laments from his sprawled position on the couch as Montreal gets its first goal only a minute into the game.
Holt hovers behind him, watching with arms folded.
“You don’t even like the Leafs,” I accuse, pushing the door shut to keep in the warmth. As with everything, Jon is Calgary Flames to the core.
“No, but I dislike Montreal more.” He lifts his bottle of beer in salute as I kick off my boots and shed my winter coat, tossing it on a hook.
“Hey.” Logan’s perched on a barstool in front of the small counter that separates the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, scrolling through video feed on a laptop. The heavy winter gear is gone and he’s in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that hugs his torso and biceps in a delicious way.
A flutter stirs in my stomach. Thank God Jon and Holt are here to serve as a buffer. “Find anything?”
“Nothing.” His eyes drag over my bulky sweater and leggings before his hand reaches out, wordlessly beckoning Duke.
“Logan tells me we’ve got a real problem,” Holt says. “Someone’s been messing with our fences.”
“The evidence points to that, yeah.”
Jon mutes the game and peels himself off the couch. “I just don’t see it.”
“What do you mean? You saw the pictures we took of the fence posts. And these.” Logan holds up the mangled staples we found buried in the snow, now stored in a plastic bag I had in my pocket. They were all we located while sifting. I imagine more will appear with the spring thaw.
“But one of the cameras would have picked up something. I get alerts to notify me of all movement.” Jon shakes his head to punctuate his doubt. “If someone was on the property that shouldn’t be here, I’d know.”
What about someone who should be here? “Not if they knew where the cameras were so they could avoid them.”
“What are you thinking, Emery?” Holt asks, as if sensing my thoughts.
I have my suspicions, but I want more information before I start voicing accusations. “The other time the wolves got into the pastures … when was that?”
“I can tell you in a sec.” Jon’s fingers fly over his computer, opening an aptly named folder labeled “Wolves in pasture” to list the date in question.
“And the day the gate was left open, who was using it?”
“Logan,” Jon answers quickly, earning Logan’s glower.
“And who was working?”
Jon shrugs. “All of us.”
“Including Robbie?”
“Yeah. His last day was yesterday. He’s been showing up, even though he knew we’d be letting him …” Jon’s words drift as he puts two and two together. “You think Robbie did this?”
“How long has he worked here?”
Holt’s brow creases in thought. “About five years. Fresh out of high school. We were looking for someone to do grunt work and Mak knew the kid’s parents.” There’s doubt in his voice as he adds, “The kid’s not the sharpest tool in the box, but he’s a hard worker.”
“Clearly not if he used a claw hammer to pry out those staples,” Logan mutters.