North Country(79)

“I haven’t done anything except come here to watch my daughter play hockey.” And slide in a little soft suspect questioning. “And as far as me taking heat for Holly, it’s what happens when a missing person isn’t found. It’s unavoidable. But the investigation is ongoing, and these officers are doing their jobs.”

“They’re gone. On to another case. ”

“They’re following orders from the regional office who pay them. As soon as a new lead comes in, Terry and Schmidt will be on it.”

“There’s no way they looked into every lead. No way.” He folds his arms. “Brad Whitley’s already called me twice today, demanding more officers on the case. And I agree with him. This is unacceptable.”

“More officers won’t magically produce new leads.” I force a wide smile. “And I’m managing with what you voted to give me. Any time you want to add budget, I’ll be more than happy to increase headcount.”

He shakes his head. “You can never handle not having the last word, can you?”

“You want the last word? You’ve got it.” I spin on my heels and march down the hall toward the change room just as Cold River scores.





Chapter 27





Logan




“For fuck’s sake,” Dillon curses as the opposing team ties the game.

“It’s only the first period.” I don’t know why I bother trying to make him feel better. The only thing I like about Dillon is that he’s Emery’s ex and not still her husband.

“Why are you here?” He makes a point of looking around. “At a children’s hockey game.”

I watch the Cold River team trade fist bumps with players on their bench. “Isla invited me.”

“Isla invited you,” he says doubtfully. “And when did she do that?”

“This morning, in the stables.”

“Why are you in the stables with my daughter, Logan?”

I hear the unspoken accusation in his tone, the suspicion. The way he says my name with complete disdain. Any chance of this being a civil conversation has evaporated. “Well, Dillon, we were shoveling horseshit, like we do every morning,” I say calmly. “And if I were you, I’d be way less concerned about that part and more concerned about what Isla’s going through right now.”

“Don’t tell me what I should be concerned about. She’s my daughter, not yours.”

“Only because I wasn’t around,” I blurt without meaning to. But it’s the truth. Emery would never have given this idiot a second chance .

He cocks his head. “Is that what this little thing”—he waggles his index finger back and forth between us—“is about? You’re mad that Emery married and had a child with me and not you?”

“Who says I’m mad?” I smirk. “If I were, believe me, you’d know it.”

Dillon hesitates, as if remembering what I’m capable of. “Bro, it’s not my fault you went away.”

“Bro? You’re not my fucking bro.”

“No, you don’t have one anymore.”

I’m off the glass and moving toward the prick before I realize what’s happening.

“Logan?”

My mother’s voice freezes my momentum. I take a step back as she closes in, her deep scarlet Canada Goose parka marking her anywhere in the rink. It was a Christmas gift some years back. The whole family went in to cover the steep price tag.

My father trails her.

“What happened with Isla?” Worry shines in her eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s for Emery’s daughter or for her son, for what she’s afraid I was about to do.

“Not sure. Emery went to see her.”

“Oh. Okay.” She fastens her zipper all the way up to her chin to ward off the cold.

“Hi, Annie,” Dillon offers cordially.

She responds with a tight-lipped smile. “Donna was looking for you.” Even a stranger can see she despises the man, and she has ever since the day Sandy McAllister broke the news about the affair.

Dillon peers over his shoulder at the stands but doesn’t take the hint.

My father rolls his eyes. He always says that if Annie Landry takes issue with you, it’s one hundred percent your fault because she’s a goddamn saint for all she’s put up with over the years.

I don’t disagree.

Emery reappears from the change room then.

“What’d Isla say?” Dillon pushes.

Her jaw is clenched, her focus locked, as she marches past us without a word, aiming for the stands .

We exchange frowns and then Dillon chases after his ex-wife.

Isla hovers near the door, out of her hockey gear and red-faced, both from the game and from crying.

Like a nickel to a magnet, my mother rushes for the girl.

“You can’t go anywhere without getting into it,” my dad mutters, and I can’t tell if he’s accusing me of something or stating a fact. “What was that all about, with you and him?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“A cheap shot about Jay. He was being a dick.” And reacting with my physical size has become second nature to me.