Page 121 of Axe-identally Married
It was Chief Souza.
My throat tightened, and I walked faster. “Chief,” I said. “Are you hurt? We can help.”
The police chief, dressed in a thick gray ski jacket and hat, gaped, his jaw unhinged and his eyes wild.
“What are you doing out here?” he barked.
The man next to him backed up. In the dark, I couldn’t make out his features. He was shorter and leaner. He was dressed in a black snowsuit and had a small bag in his hand.
The chief stepped forward, his chest puffed out. “Go home.”
“We wanted to make sure you’re all right,” Cole asked. He was standing in front of me now, shielding me. But from what? What the hell was going on?
“I should have known it’d be a Hebert out here causing trouble,” the chief said.
The other man chuckled.
At the sound, I pushed in front of Cole and shined my light at the other man, who was inching away from us.
“Dennis?”
He squinted and shielded his eyes with a hand, but it was definitely Dennis Huxley. God, that guy had always given me the creeps. “Are you hurt?”
He trudged forward through the snow. “We’re fine. Just having a meeting.”
“On the side of the road at four a.m. during a blizzard?” Cole asked.
Dennis stared at him, saying nothing, still clutching the bag.
“Now, before things get ugly, go on home,” Chief Souza said.
Ugly? What the hell was he talking about?
“Yeah,” Dennis added, his tone strangely menacing. “This is my property. I own Mountain Meadows. I could have him arrest you for trespassing.”
I shook my head. Was the cold messing with my brain? I’d known the chief since I was in diapers, but it sure felt like he was threatening us.
The chief took off his thick gloves. In the light of our flashlights, a large wristwatch glinted, catching my attention. Then he slid his bare hand into his coat. Fuck. Was he reaching for a gun? Why did this feel so strange?
Cole pulled me behind him, his grip tight. “We were only checking to make sure no one was injured. I need to get my wife home.”
“Good idea,” Dennis snarled as Cole pulled me back toward our snowmobile.
“Listen, I’m going to drive by slowly. Can you shine the light at the truck and snowmobile? I think we’re missing something,” he whispered. “See if you can catch the license plate.”
Nodding, I slipped my helmet back on. Once we were settled and Cole was navigating past the truck, I shined the flashlight at the truck, looking at the plate and committing it to memory. The vehicle was huge and, despite the snowfall, looked new. The bed was filled with plastic storage totes covered in a dusting of snow.
I repeated the letters and numbers in my head until we got back to our cottage.
“Write it down,” Cole said as he helped me off the machine.
While he unstrapped my med bag, I ran into the house, dripping with snow, still wearing my coat and boots, and scribbled the plate number on a Post-it, my mind still buzzing.
Cole came in a minute later, his cheeks red and his eyes wide. “I need to call Parker now.”
“What was that?”
He shook his head. “Not sure, but I saw some things.”
