Chapter 7
LUKE
“So you think there’s a chance the car was trying to hit Isla?” Gabe asks, his voice thoughtful before he takes a long pull from his beer.
“I don’t know, man.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t have much to go on—just the tire marks on the pavement. But something about the whole situation is off, you know?”
Gabe’s brow furrows as his gaze drifts across the half-empty bar, like the answer might be hiding among the scattered regulars and dusty neon signs. “You don’t know anything about her life now?”
“No.” I pick at the label on my bottle. “She cut me off when she left town. I don’t even know where she lives.”
His eyes go distant again, working through possibilities, then refocus on me.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m thinking it might be nothing—just some weird coincidence. Or…” His voice trails off, letting the word hang there between us.
“Or?” I push.
“Or it’s possibly someone with an axe to grind.” He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “Problem is, we have no clue about her life now. Isla might have a jealous ex-boyfriend or a crazed stalker for all we know.”
The mention of “Isla” and “boyfriend” in the same breath lights up something irrational in my chest. My fists clench before I can stop them.
“You could help with that,” I say tightly.
He leans back in his worn leather seat, the creak barely audible over the low hum of conversation and clinking glass. “You’ve never asked me to look into her before.”
I scratch the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how big this feels. “And I’m only doing it now because I have a gut feeling she’s in trouble.”
He smirks. “You know you’re asking me to break the law?”
“Since when have you had a problem operating outside the law?”
He scoffs. “I don’t. But I’m not a cop. I’ve just been respecting your boundaries, Sheriff.”
He’s right. I like things clean, above board. It’s how I’m built. But I can’t help Isla if I don’t know what she’s mixed up in.
My best friend’s a great hacker, and his military background gives him sharp instincts. If he thinks something’s off, too, I’d be an idiot not to listen.
I lean in closer over the worn wooden table. “I want you to find out as much as you can.”
“Okay,” he replies with a grin. “It’s gonna cost you another beer.”
I huff out a laugh and lift my hand to signal Randy, the burly bartender with the bushy mustache, for another round.
Gabe’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“What exactly happened the night of the fire?”
The question catches me off guard. We haven’t gone there in years. Ever, really.
But if we’re going to dig into Isla’s life, it feels like everything is suddenly on the table.
“If you don’t want to get into it, I get it,” Gabe adds. “I left for basic right after, and we never really dealt with it.”
“I don’t open up to anyone about it,” I admit, the words coming out rough. “But maybe I should.”
“I’m all ears, brother.” He leans back, eyes fixed on me, like he’s bracing for impact.
“Part of the problem is I don’t know what exactly happened,” I say. “That’s why it’s always bothered me.”
He nods silently, giving me space.
I take a deep breath, but the memory still steals half of it away. “I went to her house that night, and it was billowing with smoke. I couldn’t get to her, so I smashed in her window. She was lying there on the floor, unconscious. I dragged her out and rushed her to the hospital.”
I pause, taking a long sip of beer. “I didn’t know if she was dead or alive.”
Gabe blows out a long breath. “Jesus.”
“She regained consciousness after a few hours at the hospital. They told me I could see her in about an hour, so I paced the waiting room, driving everyone crazy with my nervous energy until they finally let me in her room.” I toss my wadded-up cocktail napkin onto the table. “And when I went in, she was gone.”
He straightens. “Just gone? Just like that? No note? No explanation?”
“Just like that,” I say through gritted teeth. “She sent a text telling me she left and not to contact her. I tried, of course, but the number was disconnected. It drove me crazy for years trying to figure out why.”
“I can imagine.”
“Then one day, I had to force myself to give up on her. Accept that she just left because she didn’t want to be with me and couldn’t figure out how to say it. Or maybe there was someone else.”
“That’s a fucking insane way to break up with someone,” he mutters.
My eyes widen, remembering the weight of that decision. “I loved that girl. I was going to marry her.”
“I remember.” Gabe’s voice softens. “You two were the perfect couple.”
My back teeth grind together. “It was all bullshit.”
“It wasn’t,” he counters. His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “There’s more to this story than we’re getting.”
“I’ve always thought so.” I rub my thumb over the condensation on my bottle. “But I had to respect her wishes. So, I never looked for her. Even when I became sheriff and had the resources to do it.”
He leans forward and points a finger at me. “I think you should put a detail on her while she’s here.”
I mull it over, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the table. “I don’t have the manpower for anything round-the-clock. But I can have a deputy swing by the inn and her mom’s house a few times.”
“Until we figure out what’s going on, I think that’s for the best.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me?” I ask, not for the first time. I’ve lost count, but this has to be close to the tenth time I’ve asked since he left the Army and came back.
Gabe flashes a lazy grin. “Nah, man. I’m happy with what I’ve got going on.”
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” my sister announces, striding confidently over to our table. Her dark hair bounces with each step, catching the dim light of the bar.
I stand and pull her into a hug. “What are you doing here, Sav?”
Gabe swirls the ice in his water glass. “I never thought of you as someone who hangs out at The Rusty Nail, Sav.”
With a cheeky gleam in her eye, she shoots back, “I never thought of you at all, Gabe.”
Gabe arches a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t all girls have a crush on their brother’s best friend?”
“Not this one,” she fires back. “I like more cerebral guys. No offense.”
Gabe laughs, shaking his head. “None taken. I like less uptight women.”
“I’m not uptight. I just happen to like things a certain way.”
“I stand corrected,” he deadpans. “You’re the epitome of laid back.”
“What are you up to tonight, Sav?” I cut in before they really get going.
“I’m meeting someone here.”
“Like a date?” Gabe asks, eyes widening with exaggerated horror.
“Yes, Gabriel. Like a date.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure even you are familiar with the concept.”
“Who is this guy? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?” I ask.
“So you could run a background check on him and scare him off? No thanks.”
I shrug because she’s not wrong. My brothers and I have always been protective of our sisters. Maybe it’s because my father never acts as if he cares, so we have to.
“I heard there was a bit of an incident earlier today, Luke,” she says, before grabbing Gabe’s water and taking a long sip. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, then I’ll let you two get back to your Mensa meeting.”
Gabe lets out a low chuckle as she strides away, her heels clicking against the polished floor. “Your sister is a ball-buster.”
I lift my beer to my lips. “That she is. That’s what happens when you grow up sandwiched between brothers.”
Gabe nods, then his expression shifts again. “So, just to be clear: how much information are you looking for about Isla?”
My brows draw together as I set my beer down with a soft tap. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, “I can find out as much or as little as you want.”
“I don’t need to know anything unless you think it might be linked to something dangerous.” My fingers absently peel at the edge of the label. “I’m not interested in who she dated four years ago, even if you could dig that up.”
He meets my gaze. “I could tell you what brand of toothpaste she used four years ago, if you wanted.”
I grin despite myself. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“You should be.” He chuckles. “I could blackmail your ass for life.”
We drift into lighter topics, the tension easing, when a guy walks into the bar and slides onto the stool next to my sister. Tailored jacket. Polished shoes. Overstyled hair. He’s clearly not from around here.
Gabe and I exchange a look.
“Well, would you look at that?” Gabe murmurs. “Savannah’s robbing the cradle.”
I chuckle. Sav and I are just over a year apart, and I just turned twenty-nine. This guy looks twenty-four, tops. She’s going to eat him alive.
“Probably from out of town,” I say. “If you want to date around here, you’ve got to widen the radius.”
“Looks like some douche who’d work for your dad,” Gabe mutters. He squints. “He’s probably from Morning Wood.”
Meadow Wood is a college town about an hour away, all business majors and overpriced lattes. Locals slapped it with that nickname decades ago. It stuck.
“He really does,” I agree, leaning for a better look. The guy exudes expensive shoes and cheap confidence.
“I’m surprised your sister would risk the rumor mill by meeting up with someone here,” Gabe says.
“Sav doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.” Pride and exasperation tangle in my voice.
Gabe nods, though his jaw tightens. “Still, I don’t like the looks of the guy.”
“What’s to like?” I murmur, watching them.
We both keep an eye on the scene unfolding. The guy lifts his arm to signal the bartender and sways on the stool, barely catching himself with a clumsy grab at the counter.
I glance at Gabe. His jaw is locked now.
Savannah’s expression shifts too—eyes narrowing, lips flattening. The guy leans in and drops a hand onto her knee like he’s known her for more than thirty seconds.
She brushes his hand away in one sharp, decisive movement.
Gabe sets his drink down with a quiet thunk. “Yeah, that’s enough.”
I stand up just a half-second after he does.
“Hey, Sav. Everything alright?” I ask, eyes fixed on the stranger.
“It’s fine,” she says, voice steady. “Cameron was just leaving.”
Gabe tilts his head. “Let’s get you on your way then, Chet.”
“My name is Cameron.”
“Don’t care,” Gabe returns, and I have to bite back a laugh.
“On your way, college boy,” he repeats firmly.
“Nah, I’m good,” Cameron slurs.
“You’re anything but good,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You’re drunk, and you put your hands on a woman without her consent. So this can go one of two ways: you can take an Uber back to wherever you came from, or you can sober up in jail. My jail.”
A flicker of understanding crosses his face. His shoulders slump. “I’ll call my ride.”
“Excellent decision.” I gesture toward the door. “Let’s go wait outside for him.”
I glance at Gabe. “Will you stay with my sister?”
He nods, and I follow Cameron out.
We stand in silence for a few minutes until a white sedan pulls up to the curb. Cameron climbs into the passenger seat, limbs loose and clumsy.
“Maybe next time don’t show up to a blind date drunk,” I tell him before shutting the door a little harder than necessary.
When I head back inside, Gabe and Sav are sitting in silence, watching the baseball game on the TV above the bar. She flicks a glance my way, then back to the screen.
“Don’t start,” she warns.
“I wasn’t going to.” I know better. She’s a grown woman, and her dating life is her business. Mostly.
“I’ve got to head to the station,” I say.
Gabe glances over. “I’ll be in touch.”
Sav ignores us both, focused on the batter working a full count.
The station is quiet when I arrive, which doesn’t surprise me at this hour. I check in with the night dispatcher, who’s bent over a Sudoku puzzle.
“Hey, Christine.”
“Hey, Sheriff.” She doesn’t even look up, unfazed by me showing up whenever.
“Is Mike out patrolling?”
“He is. Want me to get him on the radio?”
“Ask him to call me,” I say, heading to my office.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
I answer and explain that I want him to swing by the inn and Gretchen Tanner’s house a couple of times over his shift. To his credit, he doesn’t ask why.
I stare at the mess on my desk and decide it can all wait until tomorrow. I give Christine a quick wave on my way back out.
The drive home demands my full attention; the forest crowds both sides of the road, and deer like to treat the asphalt like a suggestion.
Once I step through my front door, the day crashes over me like a wave.
Ravenous, I head for the fridge and pull out mayonnaise and mustard, grabbing what I need for a sandwich.
I can’t help but wish I were a better cook like Dalton.
Hell, even Chase has more kitchen skills than I do, but that’s mostly from flirting with the exotic Swedish chef our father hired one summer.
Sandwich assembled, I drop onto the couch and grab the remote. I surf until I land on the baseball game that’d been on at the bar.
I’m halfway through my sandwich when my phone rings, cutting through the quiet. Mike’s name flashes on the screen, and my pulse jumps.
The sandwich is forgotten as I sit up straight. “What’s going on, Mike?”
“Hey, Sheriff,” his voice crackles over the line. “I was just patrolling around the inn when I saw Isla practically sprinting out and jumping into her car.”
My mind races ahead, already building scenarios of Isla in danger, then mocking itself for caring this much, then racing again.
“She went into The Rusty Nail for a while,” he continues.
My heart pounds louder than the TV. “And?”
“And she just left,” he says. “With Gabe Mercer.”