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“What?” Dylan missed the shot he’d just lined up. Looking at the sheriff, he tried to control the sudden thud of his heartbeat as it sped up.
“Three out of five of your family members are sick or injured. Seems more than a coincidence. If that was happening in my town, I’d be curious.”
“Not sure what you’re getting at, Sheriff,” Dylan said, trying to act calm.
“You get used to it, but he relates every situation back to something criminal,” Fin said.
Dylan kept his expression clear as he lined up the next shot, but he couldn’t stop the shiver that tracked through his body.
“Someone walk over your grave?” Jack said, rounding the table.
Was his father lying in a hospital bed because of him? His mother ate something off, or just picked up a virus, and Ava was taking drugs. None of those things pointed to anything suspect. Mickey could be wrong. Nothing to suggest anyone else had played a hand in any of those events. Why, then, was he suddenly feeling as if his skin didn’t fit?
“Hey, Dylan, your shot.”
He turned to face Jack Trainer, and the man slowly lowered the cue.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, just... nothing.” Dylan tried to shake the unease that had gripped him.
“You look like you’ve seen your great-aunt Claire in her underwear.”
Joe walked to where his brother stood and looked at Dylan.
“You don’t look good, bud. What’s up?”
His chest felt tight, and the gentle buzz from the beer was suddenly gone. Was he having a heart attack? Dylan made a fist, then released. His arm felt okay. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t usually react without facts, and he had nothing concrete yet to suggest his family was targeted because of him. He needed to keep his head clear until Mickey arrived.
“I got him thinking.” Cubby was next to appear in his line of sight. “Talking about his family, and what’s going on. Wasn’t my intention, Dylan, I assure you.”
Everyone was now listening, all pretense of playing over.
“N-no, I’m all good,” Dylan stumbled out.
“I know how to read people in my line of work,” the sheriff said, “and I’m sorry if my messing around has you all riled up, but good is what you definitely aren’t.”
“I’m an FBI profiler,” Dylan said for no other reason than he needed to. “I read people too.”
Cubby Hawker whistled. “You guys are next-level good at that kind of thing. It always amazes me how you can get to the point you did with what you have at hand. It’s a skill for sure.”
“Really is.” Ted Hosking handed Dylan a beer. He took it, and a long pull. “My sister went missing, and it was a profiler who found her after months.”
“I never knew that.” Joe looked stunned. “I’ve known you years and I’m only hearing this now.”
Ted shrugged. “It’s not something you bring up in everyday conversation.”
“Is your sister okay?” Luke asked.
“No, they found her dead.”
The calm way Ted said the words told Dylan he dealt with what had happened to his sister by acting like he could handle it. But those eyes told a different story.
“I’m glad we helped bring her home for you, Ted,” Dylan said into the silence.
The man nodded, and an understanding passed between them. She’d suffered, they both knew it, but no one else needed to.
“Sorry for your loss, bud.” Joe cupped Ted’s shoulder. There was no need to say anything else. The scars were deep and ugly, but no words could erase them.
