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He’s voicing the exact concerns that just rang through my own mind, but the solution isn’t abandoning Ashley.

“I’ll make it safe for her here,” I reply.

“You’re being stubborn as fuck.”

“What am I supposed to do, Cameron?” I demand. “Run scared? Send a woman away when I… when I… Fuck.”

“Love her? Do you?”

“Fuck,” I reply.

“Okay, man. I can’t pretend to understand because I’ve never been in love, not really. But this isn’t something that’s just going to blow over. There’s already been bloodshed. And it’s all because people hate her and you’re helping her.”

“So, it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that,” Cameron replies. “I just think it would be easier if–”

“Not looking for easy,” I interrupt. “Only for what’s right. And some punk-ass bitch who sneaks onto my property in the middle of the night isn’t going to dictate my life. You know me better, man. I’ll fix it. Fix him. Trust me.”

We arrive at the back of the property, and Bandit barks to tell us that we need to get on the other side of the fence. I lift him over and then scale it myself, Cameron close behind us.

He’s being a real pain in the ass, but I’m still grateful he stuck with me.

“Good boy, Bandit,” I say. “Find. Okay? Bandit, find.”

But after walking another fifty feet, Bandit sits down as though his work is done.

Dread pools in my gut because I feared this exact situation was going to happen, but I needed to try anyway while hoping we were fast enough.

Scout’s body was still warm.

“No, Bandit,” I beg. “Find. Please, buddy.Find.”

But the sweet hound doesn’t move. He just barks to let us know that he’s completed the job we asked him to do. Bandit led us to fresh tire tracks and stopped because the scent is gone.

Whoever killed Scout – maybe some dickhead in a black Chevy – drove to the edge of my property, scaled the fence, did his dirty work, and then left the same way he came in.

“Fuck!” I scream at no one in particular.

But my outburst scares Bandit, who did a very good job. I drop down to his level and pull him close to me, giving him all the love and affection he deserves.

“Good boy, Bandit,” I murmur against his fur. “You did so well, buddy. I’m sorry I scared you. Good boy.”

Holding his warm, furry body reminds me of Scout and, Jesus, grief is like a fucking knife disemboweling me.

Cameron is standing a few feet away, probably freezing his ass off. But Bandit’s fur is wet and there’s only one explanation, so I can’t get up.

Not yet.

“Hey, man,” Cameron says softly. He yanks me up to my feet and gives me a bear hug. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you, even if you are a crazy motherfucker. If you’re going to jail, so am I. We’ve got this.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Let’s get back home.”

“Scout,” I protest, the word cloaked in misery. “We have to–”

“Already texted Cade,” Cameron says. “He came for Scout. He’s going to have him cremated and get a paw print impression done for you.”