Chapter 30
Emery
It’s midafternoon by the time Logan delivers me back to my house, with a back that screams and a bladder that’s about to explode.
I groan at the sight of Dillon’s minivan parked in my driveway. I was hoping to get home before he arrived to pick up Isla.
Logan eases the snowmobile next to the porch. I should have told him to go around back.
“We’ll talk later!” I yell over the noise, hoping he catches the gentle dismissal.
He cuts the engine instead, flips his visor open, and rests his elbows against the handlebars, making it clear he’s not going anywhere.
I don’t know what words were exchanged between Logan and Dillon that night at the arena—I never bothered to ask—but I sensed they weren’t pleasant.
Dillon steps out, saying something to Donna and Tanner inside before shutting the door. “Isla said she’d be ready,” he announces, fussing with his coat zipper as he strolls over to us.
“You’re early.” I climb out from my seat, unfastening my helmet.
“It’s a four-hour drive, and Donna wants to get settled at the hotel before we have to head to the arena.”
Whatever Donna wants … Mention of her reminds me that I should be a mature adult. I cast a reluctant wave.
From inside, an equally reluctant wave answers.
“So …” Dillon surveys the snowmobile but doesn’t acknowledge Logan. “Fun ride?” Two simple words and yet they’re steeped in allegation.
“I wouldn’t call it that, no,” I say evenly. “Someone’s been tampering with the fences on the Landry property.”
Dillon’s eyebrows arch. “What’d they do?”
“We’re not sharing details at this time,” Logan cuts in. “Not until we figure out who’s behind it.”
Dillon snorts. “What? You think I had something to do with it?”
Logan stares at him. “Did you?”
“I’m not even going to grace that with an answer.” Dillon shakes his head. “As if I don’t have far more important things to focus on. As does Emery.” He turns his annoyance on me. “Holly Monroe is still missing and you’re out here, riding around on a Ski-Doo with him, investigating fences?”
“It’s Saturday, and what I do on my own time is my business.”
“You sure about that?”
The door swings open then, and Isla comes crashing out, tossing her overnight bag onto the porch first, followed by her equipment bag.
Dillon shifts personas, his voice softening as he calls out, “Let’s pick up the pace, ’kay? We’ve got a long drive and they’re calling for squalls.”
“I’m trying.” She heaves her hockey bag onto her shoulder.
Logan’s out of his seat in seconds. “Give me that.”
“Thanks.” She hands it off to Logan before darting back up the stairs.
“She’s capable of carrying her own things,” Dillon snaps, too harshly.
Logan ignores him and strolls toward the minivan, Isla following closely behind.
Dillon tracks his movements with a scowl on his face. “I told you, I don’t want him around her,” he hisses.
Is it Logan in particular or any man, I wonder.
Dillon hasn’t had to face the prospect of having another father figure in his daughter’s life.
“Go ahead and tell her that. See how that goes.” Instinct tells me he’s going to lose that battle.
There is a quiet bond growing between Isla and Logan, nurtured by their early-morning routine in the barn and the occasional horse ride around the property.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t please me to see that Isla has gotten over her initial skepticism about Logan’s return.
She doesn’t seem hung up on his history at all.
It certainly hasn’t kept her away from the Landrys.
And for Logan’s part, I see glimpses of a softer side of him whenever she’s around.
“You’ve got Biscuit’s stall for me?” Isla calls out as Logan heads back toward the snowmobile.
“And I’ll take him out for a ride. After I learn how to skate again.”
“Jon’s got one of those walkers you can use.”
“Smart-ass.” Logan chuckles. “Give ’em hell.”
I gesture for Isla to come back for a hug. “I’ll be watching the live stream, okay?” I smooth a strand of hair off her forehead. “I love you. Be safe.”
I get a mumbled “Love you” back as she piles into the van, greeting her stepbrother.
To Dillon, I whisper, “Make sure she eats enough. She hasn’t been eating.”
“Yeah, Donna noticed that.” Dillon’s brow furrows, his genuine worry for his daughter instantly overshadowing any conceived issues he has with Logan. “I’ll make sure she texts you when we’ve arrived.”
“Thank you.” A decency we’ve both agreed on in this tumultuous co-parenting ride, even if I have apps to track her phone.
Dillon’s focus shifts back to Logan, reseated on his snowmobile. “If someone’s messing around with their livelihood, I hope you figure it out. But be careful, Emery. There’s a lot of talk goin’ on, about you protecting him at the expense of finding out what happened to Holly.”
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.
“Robbie?” Jon’s mouth gapes with disbelief. “But the kid is so quiet.”
“Being quiet doesn’t mean he can’t be angry or hold a grudge about losing his job. Even more so if he’s worked hard and earned his place, only to be let go as soon as the convict comes home. No offense,” I add after a beat.
“Some taken,” Logan says dryly.
“We found three other spots where the fence had been tampered with, and all three were parts that Logan had worked on. It’s as if someone’s trying to make him look incompetent.”