Chapter Seven

“You’re gonna wanna get up real slowly and make sure I can see your hands.”

If there was anything that would make Shelby wake up in an instant, it was those words spoken by an unfamiliar voice. Heart hammering, she sat straight up, clutching the comforter to her chest. Ian shifted so his body blocked hers from the older couple in head-to-toe plaid flannel—including matching fuzzy hats with ear flaps—and the sheriff’s deputy. The trio stood in front of the fireplace right next to a large framed photo on the mantel showing the same older couple surrounded by about a million grandkids ranging from toddlers to college-age.

“There’s obviously been some kind of mistake,” Ian said, clearly making an effort to keep the situation calm. “Officer, we haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong! You just thought you could get away with it again, huh?” the man said. “Well, this time we caught you, and we have the video surveillance. I hope you like jail, because we are most definitely pressing charges.”

Jail? Charges? Video? A frigid blast of fear went straight through her, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. “What’s going on, Ian?”

“No fucking clue,” he grumbled. “Stay behind me.”

The man let out a sharp, crowing laugh. “You finally got caught—that’s what’s going on.”

The deputy who barely looked like he could grow a full mustache kept his hand loosely on his holstered service weapon and turned his attention to Ian and Shelby. “Mr. and Mrs. Morgan received a silent-alarm call prior to the storm. Once the storm had passed, they contacted the sheriff’s department and requested assistance.”

“Listen to you,” Mrs. Morgan said, turning to the deputy with a proud smile. “You sound just like a real law-enforcement officer.”

“Mom,” the deputy said with a sigh. “I’ve been on the force for eight months now.”

“And we couldn’t be prouder of our baby boy.” She clapped, making the charms on her bracelet rattle. “Look at you making your first arrest. Your father wanted to call the sheriff himself, but I told him no, this could make Alan’s career. You’ve arrested the cabin bandits!”

“Arrest?” Shelby nearly jumped up but then remembered that one, she had no clothes on and two, that might not be the best idea when facing a fresh-behind-the-ears deputy with his hand on his gun. “Who’s getting arrested? And who are you? What is going on?”

“Like you don’t know,” Mr. Morgan said, chest puffing out. “Sure, the first time we thought maybe we were mistaken, the second time the upstairs beds had definitely been slept in, and the third time half the groceries were gone and liquor cabinet emptied. That’s when I added the bear.”

He pointed to a stuffed bear set on the bookshelves under the staircase. It looked like a normal bear, but judging by the absolute glee in Mr. Morgan’s eyes, it was not. Nanny cam. Had to be. And it was pointed so it would catch everything from the front door to the fireplace to the couch.

Her stomach dropped way past her toes down to the core of the earth.

Oh. My. God.

She had a sex tape. Embarrassment burned her cheeks. Beside her, Ian stiffened, every muscle in his back tensing and his jaw going so square as he clamped his teeth together that someone could probably use it to measure a ninety-degree angle.

“You’re very flexible,” Mrs. Morgan said, looking past Ian and right at Shelby. “Enjoy it while you’re young. Pretty soon you try some of that and your hip is just going to go straight out.”

The deputy turned almost as red as Shelby. “Mom.”

“Sorry, Alan, but it’s true,” Mrs. Morgan said with a shrug before turning her attention back to Shelby. “And don’t worry. Clyde didn’t watch, and I made sure to edit what we got off the cloud so it ended when things got—ahem—heated.”

Her focus slid over to Ian, and she let out a little sigh.

“Okay, we need to bring this back to the matter at hand,” Alan said, pulling out a notebook, his hands shaking just the slightest bit. “I’m gonna need identification from both of you.”

“Wallet’s on the table,” Ian said in his all-too-familiar gruff rumble. “We each have a rental agreement for the cabin. We are not trespassing and I sure as hell do not appreciate being under surveillance.”

“Like we would rent out our family cabin,” Mr. Morgan harrumphed. “Not in this lifetime.”

Eyes wide, Shelby exchanged a worried look with Ian. Not a rental? That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. What kind of weird-ass game were these people playing at? They had good cop, bad cop, and actual cop, but none of it made sense.

“Your identification, miss?” Alan asked.

“My driver’s license is in my phone case,” Shelby said, a shot of nervous panic making her shiver.

“Can we at least get some clothes while we do this?” Ian asked.

“Oh my Lord, you must be freezing,” Mrs. Morgan said as she reached down and picked up a pile of their clothes on the floor in front of the fireplace and started walking toward them.

“Faith,” Mr. Morgan grumbled. “They could attack you.”

Mrs. Morgan eyeballed Ian. “Imagine that.”

While they got dressed under the covers and the watchful gazes of the Morgans, Alan opened up Ian’s wallet and pulled out his driver’s license.

“Petrov?” Mr. Morgan asked after peeking over his son’s shoulder. “What is that, Russian? You some kind of spy?”

“Hockey player,” Ian said.

Mr. Morgan scoffed. “We watch good American football up here.”

“Baseball in the summer,” Mrs. Morgan added.

“That’s right, and baseball in the summer.”

The deputy glared his parents into silence. “You have a copy of your rental agreement?”

“They’re on our phones and they’re out of juice,” Shelby said.

Alan rubbed his chin as he glanced around the cabin. “Okay, well, let’s head down to the station to get all of this worked out.”

“Don’t you have to read them their rights, honey?” Mrs. Morgan patted her son’s forearm. “They always do that on TV when they’re arresting someone.”

“I’m not arresting them, Mom.”

“Why not?” Mr. Morgan demanded.

“Because I’m taking everyone back down to the station so they can charge their phones and we can figure out what is going on before making any arrests.”

“Oh, that’s very smart.” Mrs. Morgan looked over at Shelby. “He gets the brains from my side. Albert here is guided by his passions. It can be overwhelming at times but also very worth it. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Shelby squeaked—literally—out something that sort of sounded like an answer, and a few minutes later, they’d gathered all their stuff and were piling into a truck with a sheriff’s logo painted on the side and a snowplow attachment on the front. Ian and Shelby took the back while all the Morgans took the front seats, and they headed down the mountain. Heart racing as she drummed her fingers on the space between them, Shelby looked over at Ian, trying for a we’re-gonna-be-okay smile and failing miserably. Mug shots were very much not her thing. Ian let out a soft signature grunt and took her hand—and some of the tension in her shoulders eased a bit. She wasn’t alone in this. And the fact that that made her feel so good let her know that she was in trouble, because whatever had happened between them had to stay at that cabin.

…

The Buffly County Sheriff’s Office break room had fresh coffee, actual heat coming out of the vents, and—best of all—electricity. Sure, Ian’s screen was a mass of spidery cracks, but all he needed was for there to be enough visible screen to read the email Lucy had sent that would clear up this mess. He plugged in his phone using the cord Deputy Alan handed him.

“Don’t suppose you have an iPhone Four charger?” Shelby asked, the contents of her oversize purse scattered about on one end of the break room table. “I swear I packed mine, but it’s not in my bag.”

“You have a Four?” Ian and Alan shared a what-the-fuck eyebrow raise.

“Hey, don’t mock.” She started tossing things back into her bag. Notepad. Six pens. Three ChapSticks. Hand sanitizer. So many gum wrappers. “It works great. I also have a regular Crock-Pot, a top-loading washer, and the first-generation Kindle Paperwhite. I like what I like.”

“Sorry,” Alan said with a cough that sounded a lot like he was trying to cover up a laugh. “I only have the lightning chargers. I’ll ask around. Someone might have one in a drawer somewhere, but we’re running on a skeleton crew with the storm and all.”

Mrs. Morgan—still giving him the hey-baby eye—sat down across from him with a cup of coffee, steam rising up from the mug. Her husband took the seat next to her, ignoring the mug in his hands in favor of glaring at Ian and Shelby.

“Well, mine should have enough power soon to show the email,” he said, turning his attention to Alan and not his way-too-intense-for-different-reasons parents. “Lucy sent us the same one for Six Melchers Way.”

“Six?” Mr. Morgan asked.

Shelby nodded. “Yeah.”

“Our family cabin is number nine,” Mrs. Morgan said before taking a sip of her coffee.

“No, I definitely saw the sign at the end of the drive even in the snow.” It had been dark and the wind had picked up, but there had been no missing the weathered sign with the big wooden number hanging from it. “It said six.”

“Albert,” Mrs. Morgan said, her lips flattening into a tight line. “You didn’t really fix it, did you? I have asked and asked and you told me you’d taken care of it.”

A teenage girl in a Buffly Sheriff’s Office volunteer shirt came in then, delivering a plate of doughnuts. Ian snagged one with sprinkles while Shelby got the double chocolate. None of the Morgans took one. They were all too caught up in what sounded like an argument that had been raging for years.

“I hooked it up to the old nail. Bree was with me when I did it,” the older man said, nodding at the volunteer. “Sure, it was wobbly, but it worked.”

“Yeah, right up until a storm started to blow in,” Shelby said, earning a thank-you-very-much nod of agreement from Mrs. Morgan. “So if you’re number nine, then where is number six?”

“That was the old Wilkes place,” Alan said, finally reaching for a doughnut. “I think their kids did put it on the the rental listings. They don’t have a sign, though, and if you came through when it was snowing, their drive is easy to miss. Even locals miss it sometimes.”

Ian glanced over at Shelby, expecting to see her at least shaking her head in amazement at everything that had happened to get them both at the same cabin before the storm. But instead of relaxed and amused, she was drawn up tight, her fingers doing that nervous drumming thing on her thigh as she chewed her bottom lip. He reached for her hand again, like he had in the truck, but this time she slipped free of his grasp.

He was trying to process the change when Mr. Morgan tapped the table in front of Ian.

“That cleared that up,” the older man said. “But if you two weren’t crashing our cabin during the weekends, then who was?”

“Someone was at your place, Gramps?” The girl in the volunteer shirt nearly stuffed a whole doughnut in her mouth but kept talking around it. “That’s just wild. What makes you think someone was there? I mean, it’s not like you two go up in the winter.”

All the Morgans sitting at the table turned and put the teen in their view.

“Bree,” Alan said. “What do you know?”

The girl shrank down in her chair, swallowed the doughnut, and pulled up the round collar of her T-shirt over her mouth. “Nothing.”

“Bree Elizabeth Morgan,” Mrs. Morgan said in the type of voice that no one with any sense would argue with. “You better spill it, young lady.”

“We only went up there a couple of times. I used the hidden key Grandpa showed me when we fixed the sign and then just left it unlocked.” It came out as a wail, a pitiful teenage I’ve-been-caught wail. “It was only a small group of us, but then a bunch of people heard and half of my class was there. It was like one of those movies, but I swear no one threw up on the couch and the bunny statue got knocked over by accident before they found the key to the liquor cabinet.”

“Young lady, we are going to go have a chat with your parents. Let’s go.” Mrs. Morgan’s chair squeaked on the linoleum floor when she pushed it back and stood, pointing her granddaughter to the door. “I’m so sorry about the confusion—and the video.”

“You’ve got to delete it and hand over this copy,” Ian said.

She nodded in agreement and then had the grace to look shame-faced as she and her husband led their wayward granddaughter out of the room, each of them talking over the other with the girl’s plaintive whining ribboning through it. Yeah, Ian had been there. Neither of his parents had put up with shit, but he’d tried his best anyway. It was his mom who usually caught him and set him straight, especially since his dad spent most of Ian’s childhood on the road.

Yeah, having a second family and banging whichever other puck bunnies he came across.

His good mood disappeared and before he’d exhaled, he was feeling just as salty as Shelby was looking sitting next to him. And what was that all about? They’d gone to bed happy, and then everything had gone to shit. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but then again, when did anything involving his life ever?

“My sister is going to ground that girl until she’s eighty,” Alan said, shaking his head. “Sorry for the trouble. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get you two back up the mountain. I’m happy to bring you over to the Wilkes place.”

“Actually,” Shelby said, her voice going up even higher than usual as she looked down at her hands clasped together in her lap. “I think it might be best if I head back to Harbor City.”

Ian flinched. “Why?”

She didn’t look over at him, instead keeping her attention on her hands. “I can prep for work and maybe go in Monday and get a head start before the new job officially starts on Tuesday.”

He stopped himself, just barely, from pointing out that it was only Saturday because he already felt like he’d been cross-checked into the boards. There was no reason to beg for her attention. They’d both gotten what they wanted, had fun, and now it was over. Just like they’d agreed. Great. Perfect. Fucking amazing. He couldn’t be happier.

Yeah, that’s totally believable if you don’t have two brain cells to rub together.

“I think this is for the best,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “I’ll shovel my rental out and head back to the city. You stay. Enjoy the cabin just like you’d planned.”

Suddenly, a few days alone to drown himself in a bottle of scotch and feel sorry for himself seemed like the most miserable self-indulgent activity ever. It was fucking whiny. He might as well be a soccer player going into dramatics because he’d gotten bumped into on the field.

“I’ll head back, too,” he said. “I’ve lost interest in a weekend in the mountains.”

“You have a rental?” Alan asked, snagging a doughnut for himself.

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t need a car in the city.”

“Is it a four-wheel drive?”

She shook her head. “I never thought there’d be a snowstorm this late in the year.”

He made a tsk-tsk sound. “Then I recommend you call someone to come get you down here. It might be a week before we can get the mountain roads plowed well enough for regular cars to travel safely.” He got up from the table and walked over to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. “Is there someone you can call to come pick you up? The local rental folks can get the rental once the snow melts. They do it all the time. Trust me, you are not the first tourists to find yourselves on the bad side of Mother Nature around here.”

Shelby looked down at her phone that was, for all intents and purposes, a very expensive door stopper at the moment. “I don’t know anyone’s number anymore.”

Ian reached for his phone and powered it on. “I can bring up someone with the team’s front office who can help. It would serve Lucy right if she had to come up here and get us.”

After fifteen eternity-lasting seconds, it came on. However, staring down at the Ice Knights logo on his home screen was like viewing it through a kaleidoscope. And when he hit the touchscreen, nothing happened.

“Don’t suppose the car rental place is open now?” Ian asked.

Alan shook his head. “Buck’s on vacation in Florida, the lucky son of a bitch. It’s closed until next week.”

Ian bit back a groan. There were two numbers Ian knew by heart. His parents’ landline and his former best friend’s cell. He hadn’t dialed either of them for weeks, didn’t want to call either of them for the foreseeable future, if ever. But he and Shelby were stuck. He didn’t have a choice. He had to pick the lesser of two assholes. Hating it, he picked up the phone and dialed Christensen.