“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
