Page 107 of Love Me Dangerous

We pull onto the dirt road just as tiny snowflakes tap the windshield. I tug my zipper up hard, just missing grazing my chin. The snow wasn’t supposed to start until tomorrow night. What was Linnie wearing? Did she have a coat? Gloves?

I force in a series of deep breaths. Lin isn’t stupid. She’ll turn back if it gets worse.

Right now, she’s hurting so much—too much—trying to process big feelings she doesn’t understand and isn’t equipped to handle. Whenour mom left, she shut down—protecting herself, and rightly so—but getting her back took patience and fierce, unrelenting love. I had to prove to her over and over that I wouldn’t leave her, that she was safe. Slowly, she wriggled out of that shell.

Was it just days ago she teased me about Zach in that grown-up way that had my heart gushing with pride?

Yes, I’m worried about her safety right now. But I’m equally worried she’s gone so far inside herself that I won’t ever get her back.

I press my fist to my mouth, but the sob I’m trying to keep inside leaks from my eyes.

Dad sends me a steely gaze. “We’ll find her. If she’s gone up, there’ll be tracks.”

Of course he’s already thinking ahead to how we’ll trace her. He’s two steps ahead of me. It’s what makes him so good at his job.

At Rumble Creek, we drive past the pasture where half a dozen horses are clustered, their manes already collecting snow. Dad’s truck tires chew up the gravel, loud in my ears. I don’t see any tracks in the dusting of snow starting to accumulate on the road, so if Linnie has been here, it was before.

Lyle, the owner, strides from the large shed where a Ford 250 is parked next to stacks of hay bales. He’s dressed in a thick coat, a black watch cap on his bald head. Dad lowers his window.

Lyle squints through the snowy breeze, the airy flakes sticking to his eyelashes. “I drove the road a ways, lookin’, but that was before this.” He gives the sky a scornful glance.

“You or Shelly see her come back?” Dad asks.

“No.” He gives Dad a thoughtful glance. “We used to take the kids up Rumble Creek. Linnie loved that open country.”

“I remember,” Dad says.

“She can’t get too far,” Lyle says with a reassuring gleam in his eye. “You need help? I can loan you a couple of horses.”

“I might take you up on that,” Dad says, glancing at me as if to acknowledge his plan. I know he’s thinking that in the time it would take us to load up two horses and the gear, Linnie would only get farther away from us. “We’ll check that trailhead first, see if there’s tracks.”

“All right. I’ll keep a lookout,” Lyle says, and is about to turn away when his gaze narrows. “You catch that poacher yet?”

“You’ll know when I do,” Dad says with finality.

With a nod, Lyle turns away and shuffles toward the barn.

“Has there been poaching out here?” I ask Dad as he swings the truck around.

“The first one was past Rumble Creek. Near Crooked Pine Pass.”

The snow swirls around the truck as we turn back onto the dirt road, heading for the forest service trailhead.

“Has anyone reported salt licks?”

“No.” He gives me a sharp look. “Why?”

“Zach found a few near Crooked Pine Pass. A couple of days before he got attacked.”

“Why didn’t he report it?”

“He didn’t know what they were until I told him.” This is only a partial answer, but I don’t understand Zach right now and don’t feel like trying.

As we accelerate, a silver truck approaches behind us. The driver flashes his brights once. It’s Henry, with Zach next to him in the passenger seat. They must have followed our tracks in the snow.

“What was he doing up there during hunting season? Is he trying to get killed?” Dad’s words come out tense, like he’s angry.

“I think he’s doing some special project for Stu.”

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