The sheriff met me inside, a broad-shouldered man with tired eyes and a firm handshake.
“Chris,” he said. “Alpha Cooper filled me in.”
“Appreciate you letting me stop by.”
He nodded, then lowered his voice as he led me down the hall. “Name’s Jimmie Hodge. Local. Keeps to himself. Lives out past the old logging road.”
The door buzzed open.
“He’s human,” the sheriff added. “Bit of a loner. Doesn’t mix much with the town. Been spotted around the show more than he needed to be.”
That tracked. He stopped outside a cell and gestured me forward.
“He’s all yours,” the sheriff said.
Then he left. Jimmie Hodge sat on the bench inside the cell, his elbows braced on his knees. He was thin, red hair hanging messily into his eyes, freckles stark against pale skin. He looked up when I stepped closer.
He looked wary, and strangely familiar. My wolf stirred sharply. I’d seen him before. He’d been lurking near the obstacle course, watching everything.
“Jimmie,” I said calmly. “Mind if we talk?”
He scoffed. “Looks like I don’t have a choice,” Jimmie muttered.
I rested my hands loosely on my hips. “You’re in for tampering with multiple obstacles,” I told him.
“The police made a mistake. I just was watching the show,” he shot back. “That’s not a crime.”
“No,” I agreed. “But tampering with equipment is.”
Silence stretched.
“Why the dogs?” I asked. “Why risk hurting them?”
His jaw tightened. “I didn’t hurt any dogs,” he pointed out.
“But you could have.”
He didn’t answer.
“Were you working alone?” I pressed.
His eyes flicked away for just a fraction of a second. There it was.
“Who else is involved?” I asked quietly.
He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I want a lawyer.”
I studied him for a long moment, letting the silence do the work. My wolf paced, uneasy.
Finally, I straightened. “We’re not done, Jimmie.”
He smirked. “You don’t have anything on me.”
Not yet, my wolf answered silently. I turned and walked out, my certainty settling cold and firm in my gut. Jimmie was lying, and he wasn’t alone.
11
JAIME
