"That's what I'm thinking. You know this facility better than anyone. Would you be willing to assist?"
The question catches me off guard. I've spent thirteen months avoiding exactly this involvement. No responsibilities beyond my patrol route. No cases. No victims depending on my expertise.
But Viktor's bruised wrists flash through my mind. Those restraint marks. The way he grabbed my sleeve and begged me to run.
"Yes," I hear myself say. "I'll help."
His expression shifts. Relief, maybe. Or approval. Hard to read through the beard.
"Good. I'll need access to employee records, shift schedules, anyone who has keys to restricted areas. And I want a complete walkthrough of the facility. Places where someone could hide victims or stash supplies."
"I can do that."
"Tomorrow morning. Eight a.m. I'll meet you at the main office."
He hands me a card. Sheriff Rhys Blackwater, Whitewater Junction. A phone number. Nothing else.
Our fingers brush when I take the card. Brief contact. My skin tingles where we touched.
He notices. His eyes darken, jaw tightening under all that facial hair.
The attraction isn't one-sided.
"Eight a.m.," I confirm.
He nods once and walks back to his truck. I watch him move. Confident. Controlled. Like a man who knows exactly who he is even if he looks like he's been living in the wilderness for years.
Deputy Wells returns, oblivious to the tension that just crackled through the air.
"Sheriff wants me to take your formal statement. You okay to do that now?"
"Yeah. I'm okay."
But I'm not. Not really. Because for the first time since Baker died in my arms, I felt focused instead of numb.
And the man who made me feel that way is a rough sheriff with a trafficking case that could pull me back into everything I swore I'd left behind.
I give Wells my statement. Answer his questions. Go through the motions while my mind races.
Tomorrow at eight a.m., I'll see Rhys Blackwater again. Help him search the facility for more victims, more evidence.
But tonight, I'm not just making rounds anymore. I'm looking for patterns. For signs someone else might be drugged and hidden. For any indication this wasn't an isolated incident.
I head back to my patrol route after Wells leaves. The equipment shed is sealed with crime scene tape now. Evidence markers where Viktor was found.
My radio crackles. "Harlow, you good to finish your shift?"
"Yeah. I'm good."
The night is colder now. Darker. But my hands have stopped shaking.
Tomorrow morning, Sheriff Blackwater and I start searching for answers.
Tonight, I'm making damn sure there are no more victims waiting to be found.
3
RHYS
