North Country(27)

I spent the better part of last night staring at my bedroom ceiling fan as I pondered all this, in between waves of fresh, hot tears that came out of nowhere. I haven’t cried like that in years.

A horse gallops in the distance, and I recognize it right away as Biscuit by his white coat. But that’s not Isla on his back. She never rides him that fast. Nobody does. Jon won’t even attempt to climb on him again and, besides, I don’t see his telltale hat.

There’s only one person I know who would ride with such reckless abandon.

Despite this unbearable weight that’s crushing me with Logan’s return, I smile as I watch a glimmer of the boy I used to know race across the field.





Jim Dolan is hunched over his desk when I stroll into work early Monday. My fifty-two-year-old admin sergeant filled the role when my father was here, and there isn’t a better person suited to the job. He revels in paperwork—ensuring every facet of station compliance is met with vigor. I’ve half-jokingly told him he can’t retire until I do .

“Good morning.” I pause at his office door. “How was the weekend?”

“’Mornin’ to ya.” He salutes lazily. “Uneventful. You?”

I wouldn’t know where to begin. “Same,” I say before I walk on.

It’s quiet. Shift change has come and gone, and my platoon sergeant and constables are out patrolling the 13,000 square kilometers that make up our jurisdiction, leaving only Dolan and the two admin clerks in the station.

And Dan, I discover, as I enter the kitchenette that serves as our cafeteria and social gathering spot. It hasn’t changed since I was a kid, visiting my father here. Even the mundane beige paint color remains the same.

“What time did Benoit sober up enough to go home?” I ask by way of greeting, collecting a fresh mug from the rack and holding it out wordlessly.

“Oh, hey, boss. Was just about to get back on the road. It was late. Had himself a good sleep.” Dan pours piping-hot black coffee for me before filling his own travel mug. “Snores like a chainsaw.”

“So I’ve heard.” Our court guard, Nathan, describes it as an ungodly sound. “Did he complain about his tickets?” That had to have hurt, especially given his recent unemployment.

“Not a word. Called his wife to come get him. They could hear her shrieking through the phone.”

“Can’t blame her.” She would’ve had to fetch her car at the Bale House. “Anything else exciting?”

“Same old.” He dumps a heaping spoon of sugar into his coffee that makes me cringe. “Andy said a woman hit two deer last night on the highway. One of them was a big buck. Her truck’s totaled, but it sounds like she’ll pull through. And Collier’s cows were roaming the road again. Took hours to get them back in yesterday afternoon.”

I shake my head. “The amount of time we spend wrangling wayward cattle, we might as well hang up our guns and pick up lassos.” But if we don’t get involved, one of those cows is liable to cause a major car accident.

“Right? I’ll take cows over Benny the Hulk any day,” he murmurs through a sip. “Oh, also, Sue booked Shane Murphy last night.”

Murphy. That name haunts me all these years later. Every time it crosses someone’s lips, my thoughts lead directly to Logan, and it crosses a lot of lips around this station. In this case, it’s Ian Murphy’s youngest son, so the connection is that much more instant. “For what?”

“Pulled him over in a U-Haul and found a bunch of brand-new flat-screens in the back. Get this, though. Total retail on them comes to $4900.”

“Clever little bugger can do math.” Theft under $5000 will keep him from serving a serious sentence, even with the two priors he already has. “You’d think someone in that family would learn to stop stealing.”

Dan shrugs and offers up, “Axel’s record is clean.”

“Yeah, jury’s still out on that one.” Axel is Ian’s oldest, raised by his grandparents after his mother took off for greener pastures. He spends a lot of time with his uncle Hank, Ian’s older brother, who is no stranger to us. Hank served time for tampering with VINs and crushing cars without registering them at the auto wreckers where he worked for years. “Just because we haven’t caught Axel yet doesn’t mean he’s not up to something.” The tow truck he owns is the perfect cover for transporting illicit shit.

“Damn, when’d you get so jaded, Staff?” Dan teases.

“I like to call it wise.” I hold my mug in the air in a silent salute of thanks as I stroll to my office and the onslaught of meetings waiting for me, the most painful one being a video conference with my regional commander, Doug Freeman. He’s a lazy prick who was tapped for promotion three years ago and has spent nearly as long trying to find fault in the way I run things.

If I were the suspicious sort, I’d think he has a promotion in mind for someone—a buddy, a protégé, some owed favor—and he’s decided Cold River is the perfect place. It’s a small detachment, the command spot filled by a staff sergeant rather than a higher-ranking inspector like in larger centers. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t think a female is capable of running things. Those types still do exist, unfortunately. Or—and Freeman has dropped enough subtle comments to hint at this—having a McAllister heading the town’s detachment for twenty-six years breeds a sense of tenure that he feels isn’t healthy for the community .