He’d left them up there thinking the worst they’d have to fight was the storm.
“Well,” Burke said, voice hardening, “looks like we’ve got work to do.”
Denton crossed his arms.
“With respect, Sheriff, SBI should lead this. It’s our jurisdiction now.”
Burke turned fully toward him, voice clipped but calm.
“With all due respect, Agent Denton, I’ve got one deputy abducted and another being shot at. If you think I’m about to stand down and let you ‘handle it,’ dream on. Am I glad you’re here to assist? Absolutely. But this is a joint effort. Period.”
McHan looked from one man to the other.
Tessa stepped into the gap before it widened.
“Stand down, Agent Denton.” Her voice carried, clean and sharp. “You’ll coordinate through me. Clear?”
Denton bristled, then caught Burke’s steady stare and let his shoulders drop a fraction.
“You heard her,” Burke said.
Burke could feel the whole scene like a pressure system.
Scout adjusted his sling.
“I’ll sweep the north ridge for tracks.”
Burke nodded.
“Go.”
Scout swung onto a spare sled and gunned the engine. Snow spat up behind him as he vanished into the timber, swallowed by the trees.
That wasn’t distance, Burke thought.
That was damage control.
He turned back to Tessa.
She nodded and turned toward his sled.
Burke fired up the engine. As they started down the ridge, he glanced once toward the path Scout had taken.
Hell of a morning.
23
Sheriff Burke Scott — Back at the Station
The station doors rattled as a cold draft swept through. Scout was at the sink in the locker room, scrubbing dried mud from his hands with methodical intensity. His face was rough with stubble, fatigue creasing the edges of his eyes. He’d showered, but the restless energy hadn’t washed off.
Burke leaned in the doorway, the old coffee pot hissing behind him.
“Conference room in ten.”
Scout didn’t look up. “Copy.”
Burke studied him a second. “Scout—are you good?”
