When Zach calls, I put him on speaker. “We didn’t get a call, but it might have gone to Clearwater County.”
Heat flushes up my cheeks. Gibbs is near the county line, something I should have remembered. “Good point.”
“I can head your way, but I’m down south dealing with an overturned semi so it’d be a while. Have you tried your dad?”
“He’s in a meeting. My whole staff is there.”
“Okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can. You know what to do?”
I calm the hackles jumping to life with a slow exhale. Zach’s just trying to be helpful. “Yes.”
“Hang tight.”
Ten minutes of tense driving on snowy roads later, I come to a long, forested straightaway with a red Chevy Tahoe, its hazard lights flashing, pulled to the side.
When I step out of the truck, my stupid shoes slip on the plowed, slick shoulder, forcing me to take dainty steps.
A guy steps out of his SUV, dressed in a Filson jacket, jeans, and boots. He’s probably early forties, with neatly trimmed black hair and small dark eyes.
He offers his hand, and we shake.
“She’s across the road.” He points to the ditch.
I force in a calming breath, check both ways for traffic, then make my way across.
One glance at the doe, and I have my answer, so I force myself to turn around and head back to the Tahoe. Animals die all the time. From natural causes. From hunters. From accidents like this.
The best thing I can do right now is end her suffering. Quickly.
Back at the Tahoe, Jason’s rubbing the back of his neck. “I hear there’s a crew who will come pick it up and donate the meat, like, to the hungry?”
“There is. I’ll notify them.” But first, I need someone in law enforcement to get here, and fast. Zach’s probably an hour away. Dad won’t answer thanks to the meeting.
If you can manage to not screw this up…
I walk to my truck and rifle through my backpack for my wallet. With shaking fingers, I dial the number on the napkin.
Chapter Eighteen
I spreadthe map crisscrossed with a maze of forest service roads across my warm hood, then double check the landmarks. I’m in the right place, but there’s no sign of our poacher, not even fresh tire tracks in the snow. And the road I’m supposed to access has a locked gate. Why the hell would Rowdy send me all the way out here?
From the pocket of my jacket, my phone chimes. It’s probably Rowdy, finally calling me back.
“Did you know?—”
“CJ?”
I blink at the logged hillside rising into the clouds. “Linnea?”
At least, I think it’s her.
About fucking time.
“Are you available? I, um, could use some help with something.”
There’s an edge in her tone that I don’t like. I snatch the map and hurry to climb behind the wheel. “Tell me what you need.”
“There’s an injured animal. On South Fork Road. She’s been hit, and I…” She breaks off with a shaky sigh. “Where are you?”