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“That’s the pits. I’m sorry, man.” Dylan admired the day-in, day-out grind that Wyatt lived as a detective.

“You know what’s really odd, Dylan? Wexler has zero signs of regular drug use. And she mentioned that even though she’d fallen on tough times, she’d been sober for several weeks. She was trying to turn her life around. She’s definitely an alcoholic, though, based on her liver and kidney profiles. The very fact that she survived the level of alcohol in her bloodstream when Aiden found her proves it, too. Only an alcoholic with a high tolerance could have done that.”

“Has she told you anything else?” Dylan was eager for any tiny bit of information on not only the killer, but Slim’s and Rex’s activities.

“Only that she remembers living in her car, and being taken from there. One of her abductors said, ‘You’re the perfect candidate,’ but she has no clue what that really meant. Again, she was near death when Aiden found her, from alcohol poisoning. We’re lucky she remembered as much as she has so far.” Wyatt’s compassion for the victim’s ordeal was evident.

“Let’s both hope her memory returns. Until then, I’ll see what I can dig up on her. Maybe she was a Frisky patron that Veronica knew or heard of.”

“That’d be great. I’m not working with the task force, as you know, but I do know Veronica is. She’s good people, Dylan. You two worked together when you were briefly here, if I recall.” The unasked question floated between them. Were you more than colleagues?

“Uh, yeah, she’s a true professional.” He coughed. “I gotta go, Wyatt. Thanks for the intel and let me know if you hear more from Wexler.”

“Will do. You do the same, if you and Veronica uncover anything at Frisky about her.”

“Will do.” Dylan disconnected as quickly as he could without being rude to Wyatt. It was bad enough that Cal had asked about his working relationship with Veronica. He didn’t need Wyatt bugging him about it, too.

But as he dismantled the burner, his gut sank with the truth. His brothers were only affirming what he’d run from for the last five years.

His un-relationship with Veronica.

The next week, Veronica came into Frisky and was relieved to find her office empty, for once. It was an hour before opening and she relished the quiet time before Hank appeared, his nervous energy enough of a distraction from her focus on observing the nightly happenings and gathering intel for the sheriff’s team. Add Hank’s fevered demeanor to the constant flood of patrons seeking the “highest quality product in North Dakota” and the almost absurd amounts of cash that flowed, it was as if she was working in constant chaos.

Being on alert for another surprise entrance from Rex didn’t help her own nerves, either.

You’re a professional. You’ve got this.

All she had to do was remember her visit to Tawny’s final resting place with Mom last week. That kept the fire for justice burning in her belly. And her mind off Dylan, who seemed to have moved into her life as though he’d never left, even though they weren’t seeing each other as much as she led Hank to believe.

She quickly set up her desk for the cash flow that would commence in just under an hour, ensuring there was enough to make change of higher bills, and piling empty cash bags at her feet under the desk. Three short raps on the office doorjamb was her only warning before she looked up into the eyes of her unexpected visitor. Her stomach flipped and excitement thrummed through her.

“Hawk.”

Dylan nodded. “Monique.” He closed the door behind him.

And then her gut plummeted. What was he doing here, at this time?

“What the heck are you doing here? We open shortly, and Hank’s going to show up at any minute.” She didn’t have to tell him that Hank would immediately relay the information to Rex, who would wonder why Dylan had come to Frisky again without his personal bodyguards. That’s how a “real” dealer would operate. But Hawk had established himself as his own person, too.

Dylan’s eyes revealed nothing, but she noted the grim set of his mouth. He knew the time constraints as well as she.

He looked at her desktop and raised a brow. “Expecting another busy night, I see?”

“Between the product you’ve supplied, and now Rex’s amounts doubling after your…‘meeting’—” she coughed “—we can’t make the transactions fast enough. It’s busier than the corn dog stand at the State Fair.”

“Good. I won’t take much of your time. I’m here for one reason. Have you ever heard of a woman named Hannah Wexler?”

Recognition dawned. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the other servers mention her. Let me check.” She walked over to the row of rusty file cabinets and pulled out the top drawer, eliciting a loud creaking noise. “You’d be surprised how detailed their employment records are, considering the way this place looks.” She pulled out a thick file. “Frisky doesn’t want to attract the attention of local tax or unemployment agencies, that’s for sure.”

Walking back behind her desk, she ignored how Dylan’s scent—obviously a choice for his Hawk persona, as it was such a strong sandalwood cologne and nothing like the woodsier note she previously associated with him—filled the room and made her uber-aware of his masculine presence.

“Let’s see…” She ran a perfectly manicured, pointy, long red nail down a payroll column from the month before she was hired as Frisky’s manager. “Here you go. Hannah Wexler, age twenty-nine one year ago, resident of Red Grove, let go after a year working here for—” she fought to make sense of the scribbled letters “—looks like she was a no-show for work one too many times.” She looked up at Dylan, who remained standing in front of the desk. “Does that tell you anything you’re looking for?”

“Yes—”

The slam of the exit door to the back parking lot made her jump.

“It’s Han—” But before she could finish, Dylan had rounded the desk, hauled her up from her seat, pressing her body close to his. A quick glimpse of his half-closed eyes was all she was afforded before his lips crushed hers in a kiss.