Page 21 of Backtrack

“He doesn’t want to go,” Mim said.

“She’s right,” Cutter said. “This is kind of an emergency.”

“Skibidi,” Matthew said, pooching out his bottom lip. “You sure have a lot of emergencies.”

Michael, the more contemplative of the twins, gave a slow nod. He’d apparently grown tired of the slang. “What happens if Uncle Arliss isn’t around when the baby comes?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “What if he’s away on a big case?”

Cutter patted Mim’s belly. “No case bigger than this one.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I like how you said that.”

“Sounded better in my head,” Cutter said.

Constance met her mother’s eye and then shooed the boys out. “Come on, hellions,” she said. “Let’s set the table.” She closed the door behind her. Then, more quietly, when she thought her mother couldn’t hear, “And speak English when you’re with me or I’ll kick your Skibidi asses!”

Mim started to say something, but Cutter patted her hand. “Go easy on her,” he said. “She just said what we were thinking.”

“Who’d have thought Constance would be the sensitive one?” Mim said, as if to herself. “Do you mean what you said about making sure you’re here?”

“Mim,” he said. “Nothing will keep me away. I’ll give Jill my two-weeks’ notice tomorrow if—”

“And do what?” She rolled her eyes. “Sell wood carvings? Come on, Arliss. I’d sooner lose a leg than see you quit marshaling.”

He patted her thigh. “I’m kinda partial to these legs.”

“You know what I mean. You’re a man hunter. Baby Ursula and I will not be the ones to take that away from you.”

Cutter nearly choked. “Ursula? Not in a million years will we saddle our child with my mother’s name!”

Mim grinned. “I guess Joellen’s off the table, then.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Seriously, though,” she said. “What is your plan?”

Cutter groaned. “Lola and I have been putting off a couple of warrants in Ketchikan. We can fly down late tomorrow and make our arrests. That’ll get us there well before the ship docks the next morning. I’ll get a feel for the situation and then fly right back home to you.”

“Lola’s not going to be happy about traveling.” Mim beat her head softly against the pillow. “She still working on those homicides?”

“TBO, she calls them,” Cutter said. “The Branded Ones. I call them way the heck outside our swim lanes.”

“Dead bodies, all of them with a wolf or bear head branded on their necks …” Mim shuddered. “Sounds like one of the true crime podcasts your mother listens to. Still, a couple of the victims were Marshals Service prisoners.”

“They were,” Cutter said.

“Seems like that’s right in your wheelhouse.”

“Nope,” Cutter said. “We hunt down outlaws and put them in the slammer. Something happens to them while they’re there, we can investigate the jail’s procedures. The FBI takes the homicide.”

Mim rolled her eyes. “Friggin’ FBI …”

“They’re okay,” Cutter said. “The agents, anyway. I’m not so sureabout their bureaucracy—or ours, either, for that matter. Lola’s just let these cases get under her skin. It’s all-consuming. Not good for her.”

“Says the one who is consumed about virtually every case he works.”

“Anywaaay,” Cutter said. “We had a relatively slow week planned. I told her she could run down what few leads she’s been able to come up with. Maybe I should let her sit out this Ketchikan trip. I can get some locals to go with me.”