Page 142 of Heart of Frost and Scars

I met so many people during my residency, befriended dozens of members of the hospital staff, had one-night stands and ongoing sexual relationships with some of them. If the stalker is connected to my past in Anchorage, they could be anyone.

“Yes, sir.” Jasper nods. “I understand.”

Ending the call, he returns my phone and gestures through the window at Carl.

“What did Monty say?” I ask.

“We’ll escort you to the station and wait there until he arrives.” He nods at Carl as he steps outside, relaying the same information.

Carl opens an umbrella, holding it over me as we walk along the dark street in the rain.

One block later, we enter the police station, the stagnant air leaden with empty sadness. A holding ground for lost souls.

Leo and Kody don’t belong here.

Since I don’t see them, I assume they’re getting processed in a back room.

The thought of them being handled roughly, possibly still in a state of feral rage, makes me stabby. I can’t stomach the idea of them in a cold, impersonal cell, trapped behind bars.

They’ve been imprisoned their entire lives.

A lone officer sits behind a worn wooden desk, his eyes glazed with the monotony of paperwork.

The space reeks of disinfectant and stale coffee. Bleak fluorescent lights throw an unwelcoming glow over the linoleum floors and metal benches, the room largely empty, save for a few people in the waiting area, their expressions vacant and tired.

A clock on the wall ticks loudly, each second stretching into an eternity.

Nothing here is meant to be comforting.

The officer behind the desk looks up as I approach, scrutinizing the guards behind me. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for Leonid and Kodiak Strakh. They were just brought in.”

“They’re being processed.” He returns to his stack of papers, dismissing me with a bored flick of a hand at the metal chairs along the wall.

I take a seat with Carl and Jasper standing on either side of me, drawing every gaze in the room.

The minutes slowly pulse by like the ache in my chest. Stress pummels every organ, nerve ending, and brain cell. The quiet hum of ceiling fans, the rustle of paper, the static of florescent lights—all of it grates, adding to the coil of fear, guilt, and worry in my stomach.

Just as the anxiety becomes unbearable, the door to the station swings open. Monty strides in, his dominance commanding immediate attention.

His wintry blue eyes instantly home in on me, flooding me with relief.

As the most powerful man in Alaska, he dresses the part. A crisp white shirt clings to his muscular body, his suit pants molding to his sculpted ass as if tailored by Satan himself.

Dressed to kill, he looks fucking sinful.

I really need to stop admiring him. My desperation to see Leo and Kody is much more pinching.

He crosses the room with purposeful strides, his powerful gait exuding control and unshakable confidence.

“Frankie.” He lowers to his haunches before me, inspecting me for signs of a panic attack or physical injury.

His hand gently cups my face, shooting electricity through my body as his thumb brushes my cheekbone.

For a moment, I allow the touch, needing it.

“Thank you for coming.” I lean back, breaking the connection.

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