Page 68 of Hold Me Before You Go

“Look, the storm’s gone and the roads are getting cleared. Denver called me this morning, told me about her—”

“I don’t give a fuck what he told you. You aren’t questioning her until Joseph Grayson is here with her,” Mags growled.

I reached for the doorknob, slowly twisting it and pulling the door open slowly.

“Mags,” the other voice sighed. “Look, I’m fucking tired. I just dragged my ass out here—”

“—and you can drag your ass back into town, Sheriff.”

Sheriff? Michael?

I was moving then, my feet carrying me toward the voices, not stopping until I was in the living room. My eyes went wide at the sight of Mags in all black, his cowboy hat perched on his head like it was meant to be there. My eyes drifted over to the second hat in the room, the one on the Sheriff’s head. Disappointment fulled my veins as I looked at the stranger who was a few years older than Michael.

Both of the men were staring at me now, Mags looking pissed and the Sheriff looking shocked.

“I’m sorry,” the Sheriff began, jerking his thumb to me as he looked back to Mags, “I thought you said you spotted her on the trail camera and found her passed out in the snow.”

I looked over to Mags, my heart skipping a beat. I owed him my life now, and I didn’t know how I was going to return the favor.

“Told you that’s what happened, didn’t I?” Mags shot back at the man before looking at me. “Are you okay?”

I gave him a small smile and nodded. “I’m okay, Mags,” I said softly.

He answered with a small nod before returning his attention to the sheriff, snapping his fingers toward the door. “Get the fuck out, Chase.”

“Actually,” I cut in, taking another step into the space, “I was wondering if I could talk to the Sheriff.”

Ignoring Mags, the sheriff—Chase—stepped forward, holding his hand out to me. “I’m Sheriff Chase Bowen, ma’am. You can just call me Chase.”

I took his hand and gave it a gentle shake. “Carrie Hale.”

“Denver called me, updating me on your situation,” Chase said, shooting a glare to the cowboy behind him. “Come to find out, you have some very concerned friends in Astoria. Sheriff Humbly has been contacting police stations across the west coast looking for you.”

Michael.

Fucking Michael.

I sniffled, looking away from him for a second. “Yes, he’s a good friend.”

Chase said nothing until I met his eyes again. “Carrie, I need to get your official statement.”

I nodded. “Good, because I need to report a possible murder.”

The air in the room shifted, both men stiffening.

Then, slowly, Chase took his hat off, a sad, heavy sigh leaving him. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“What?” Mags demanded. “What is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, crossing the living room to me. “Carrie, what the hell?”

“Before I left—escaped—Brandon attacked Monica,” I told Mags.

He stared.

“You—you know who I’m talking about, right?” I asked and he nodded once, his eyes filled with fury.

“Who are Brandon and Monica?” Chase asked.

“Just the two people hellbent on killing me and taking my trust fund,” I answered casually.

---