Page 123 of Love Me Dangerous

Julian gets to work, his fingers whipping past my peripheral vision, and even though I can’t feel the cut anymore thanks to the numbing, the movement and pressure from the needle are distracting.

Sheriff Olson slips into the room, his cheeks a blotchy red from the cold. He’s still bundled in his thick uniform jacket but he’s left his cowboy hat behind.

“Good, looks like you’re almost done,” he says to Julian.

Julian presses a bandage into place, scoops up his supplies, and dumps them with his gloves into the trash. “I’ll get your discharge papers ready.”

The sheriff steps close, a scowl on his weathered face. “What the hell is wrong with you pulling a stunt like that? Do you know how dangerous that was, running through a blizzard, alone?” He jabs a finger toward my head. “I should have them tighten your fuckin’ screws while you’re here.”

He can lecture me all he wants. I’m not going to apologize. Because if I hadn’t gone after Sofie, I don’t know how we would have found her. In that time, Dustin could have hurt her or, worse, left her out there to freeze.

“When we put this plan into action, by no means was I expecting this,” Sheriff Olson says with a grimace, his eyes bloodshot.

When I don’t answer, the sheriff gives a heaving sigh then pulls up a chair and drops heavily into it. “Start talking. I need to know what happened up there.”

The words feel prickly in my throat now that I’m rehearsing them in my mind. I need to trust the sheriff, but it’s not easy.

“I had a theory someone was using dirt bikes on wilderness land to move product,” I say, then exhale hard. “I kept seeing one—or two, I wasn’t sure at first—when I was out.”

“Lotta people ride dirt bikes.” Sheriff Olson cocks his head. I wonder if he’s thinking of his son Gabe. Or Jesse. I know I did.

“It was always on wilderness land, where they aren’t allowed. That became a pattern.”

The sheriff takes out a small notebook and a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles something.

“Three days ago, someone jumped me when I was up there trying to track it. He had a gun, and I didn’t see his face. He gave me a burner phone. Told me if I didn’t do what he said, he’d leak my information to Kristov.”

Sheriff Olson’s brows furrow. “Kristov’s wrapped up in this mess?”

“Not exactly. I think Kristov spread my name through his network. And I think Dustin and Kristov have some kind of connection.”

The sheriff curses. “I’m sorry, Zach.”

I remember my plans to run, until Dustin put William’s safety in his crosshairs.

“So, The Limelight tonight. That was a lie?” Sheriff Olson asks.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

The sheriff scribbles something on his pad. “What happened today?”

“We ran into Dustin. He said he was out surveying and heard the radio and wanted to help us.”

“And you realized it was him.”

I force a slow breath to send the memory of that moment into the abyss. “Yeah.”

Sheriff Olson glances up from his notes, his brows knitted together. “Dustin’s got a history. Drug charges. Did some time for assault in Washington State.”

Anger flares behind my ribs. “How’d he end up managing The Winter Range Project?”

“Nonprofits don’t exactly run background checks on their volunteers.”

“They should,” I grit out. A burst of heat jolts through my temple—either the numbing is wearing off, or the rewarming they’re doing with the IV fluids is working.

“Wait, what’s the name of the prison?” Kristov grew up in Washington, and I know he went to jail there before moving to Alaska because he liked using it to intimidate me.You think you’re so tough, try spending nineteen months at Stafford.

“Stafford Creek,” Sheriff Olson says, giving me a curious look.

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