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Chloe should not have been surprised. She certainly shouldn’t have shrieked. Another joke gift. She should have known—she had known, but she’d wanted to live in hope that somewhere along the line, the name Brink hadn’t been garbage. As long as this chest had remained closed, she could pretend there were nice family heirlooms inside. Artifacts of a family line that wasn’t just waste.

She should have sucked it up, been a realist and dealt with this a million years ago. Because now she had to deal with it in front of Jack. Served her right, she guessed.

“It was a dumb thought,” she managed to say, though her voice was rough. She moved forward, tried to keep her arms from shaking and failed as she flipped the lid closed. “No one’s after this. Just his usual stunts. Probably laughed himself all the way to jail on this one.”

Jack took her by the arm, started steering her out of the garage. Away from the chest, thank God. What was she going to do now? She needed to haul it out of here. She needed...

“You go on inside,” Jack said. His voice was gentle, but cop gentle. Devoid of real emotion. Just getting the job done. “I’m going to call in Bent County. I’ll put on gloves and look through it while we wait for Hart or Delaney-Carson to get here.”

Panic spurted through her. No one needed to see this. No one needed to start sorting through all the gross, messed-up pointlessness of a childhood with Mark Brink as a father.

Worse than that, the idea of Jack sorting through all those horrible, gruesome dolls when she knew something worse might be lurking.

Dear old Dad had made sure to be clear that it could always, always be worse.

She didn’t pull out of Jack’s grasp, but she did move in front of him and plant her feet so he couldn’t keep ushering her out. “Don’t do that, Jack. Not alone. Not...” She couldn’t articulate how little she wanted Jack wading through this. “He did this kind of thing. It’s not—”

“Someone was sneaking around your place, willing to shoot at an officer. There are dead bodies buried on a ranch with your name on the deed. A mutilated snake was purposefully left on your porch. All in the span of forty-eight hours. We need to look into everything. No matter how off the wall it feels. No matter how little you want to.”

“You think he did it. Murdered your parents. Buried them on his ranch. You think this is a clue, but—”

“ You think he did it, Chloe,” Jack said gently, and the grasp on her arm softened, his palm sliding down to her hand. He covered it with his, squeezed. “I don’t know what to think. So we’ll take it a step at a time. I don’t want you seeing this. I’ll go through it. You go inside.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat that just kept growing. “There could be worse in there. I don’t want you going through it. What if there’s something...”

“Something?”

“He’s an abusive, violet criminal. Those dolls could be just a scare tactic he thought was funny, or they could be hiding something worse.”

Jack studied her face, something grim and...looking a lot like fury seeming to darken his gaze. Emotionless cop gone, just like that. “Were the joke gifts he gave you when you were a kid usually hiding something worse?”

She held herself very still, purposefully blocking out old memories she didn’t want to show on her face. Her father’s had never stuck around long. She liked to pretend he hadn’t been there at all.

But he’d done damage in what little spaces he’d had. It didn’t take a lot of bad experiences to know he was capable of awful things. Only one, and the threat of a repeat.

She did not want Jack knowing that, but she couldn’t seem to come up with a lie to get that protective look off his face. Like he could go back in time and make it all right.

“It doesn’t matter,” she managed.

“Chl—”

“I said, it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t. This isn’t about... It was a mistake to think this is connected. It’s a mistake to start digging into...” But she couldn’t finish that sentence because if her father was responsible for the dead bodies on the Brink Ranch—and God knew that was looking more and more likely—everything he’d done back then would be examined under a microscope to determine motive, means and opportunity.

She wanted to throw up.

“What happened to you when you were a kid isn’t—”

She couldn’t take his pity. She wouldn’t. “I’ve had therapy, Jack. I’ve dealt with my garbage bin of a childhood. I don’t need you and your perfect one psychoanalyzing me.”

She sucked in a breath, immediately regretting everything she’d just said. She could have punched herself for how insensitive it was. Sure, he’d had a great childhood—but then, he’d also spent every second of his adulthood stepping into his missing parents’ shoes. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head like it didn’t matter. But it did. This all mattered, and she hated it.

She moved her hand so she was grasping his instead of the other way around. She looked into those dark, fathomless eyes, and she didn’t care if she was begging. She just needed this to not explode on her. “Please. I wouldn’t ask this of you if it didn’t matter. Please. Don’t.” She wouldn’t cry. “Let the detectives handle it. With the right gear, the right warning.” She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Jack—her boss . Because that’s what he was right now.

Not the guy who’d kissed her this morning like she was special. It didn’t do any good to think about that completely separate moment.

“Okay.” His free arm came around her, pulled her close. Even though they both wore their uniforms. Their gun belts. Their radios. He shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t let him.

But she didn’t pull away, because she was shaking, and if he held her, maybe she could find some anchor in the midst of all this mess.

J ACK COULDN ’ T CONVINCE Chloe to go inside, but he did get her to sit down on the stoop of her cabin porch—where he’d just cleaned up snake remains yesterday.

Only forty-eight hours. No, he didn’t like this, or that it pointed to something more current happening around a very old potential murder.

He glanced back at her. She’d been startled by the snake, but it hadn’t really affected her. This? It had shaken her. He’d never seen her quite so affected by anything , not that he couldn’t blame her for it. The dolls were creepy enough on their own—add the fact that it was clearly and purposefully done to mess with her by her own father...

Jack supposed it was a good thing Mark Brink was in prison over a thousand miles away, because the way all this information settled inside him was testing his usually impeccable control.

As it was, he focused on the present. He didn’t sit next to her on the stoop. It seemed to agitate her more. So he stood just out of reach, waiting for Bent County to arrive.

When they did, Jack handled everything. He wasn’t sure that was what she wanted, and he knew he could be overbearing—his siblings made sure he knew. He didn’t mind it when it came to them, but it bothered him with Chloe.

She had a say too, but this was... Like anything else, he couldn’t protect her from everything . But he would protect her from what he could.

Besides, he was the sheriff.

So he instructed the deputies to take the chest away and search it with the utmost caution and keep everything as potential evidence for the time being. When the detectives arrived, Jack explained the situation, and they did what they were supposed to do.

Hart separated Jack from Chloe and asked him questions about what had happened while Laurel no doubt did the same with Chloe. Jack didn’t like it, but he understood they were doing their job. A job complicated by the fact that the people involved were also cops.

Jack could see Laurel and Chloe on the porch, but Hart had pulled him out by his cruiser close to the street, so he had no idea what Laurel was asking or how Chloe was answering. But he had to focus on the questioning he was part of.

He explained what had led them to look at the chest, what he’d seen, what Chloe had said about it. Hart noted down his answers, and once he was satisfied, he switched gears to all their other issues.

“Since Mark Brink would have lived on the land at the time of your parents’ disappearance, we’ve already been looking into him,” Hart explained, “in regards to the remains. Just to get an idea of the players if the ID is positive. We called the correctional facility in Texas, and they got back to us this morning.”

Jack could tell by the way Hart said it that the news wasn’t going to be good.

“He got out on parole last week.”

Jack swore.

“So far he’s cooperated with his parole officer. It’d be quite the feat for him to get up here, wait around until the cabin was empty, do all that with the mutilated snake and then get back for his check-in.”

“A feat, but not impossible.”

“No, not impossible,” Hart agreed. “We’re arranging to have an interview with him. It might be another day or two. Lots of red tape to wade through.”

“Isn’t there always,” Jack muttered. He really had no idea what to do with this information. It was such a strange thing, to have all these answers visible but out of reach. There was still the off chance those remains weren’t even his parents’—though he didn’t hold out any hope for that.

Maybe he hadn’t given up on hope, on answers, but he hadn’t thought they’d land on his doorstep one random day with Chloe in tow. Surrounded by all these seemingly disparate events.

“Speaking of red tape,” Hart continued. “Zeke got us hooked up with a forensic anthropologist. She got here this morning. We’ve got to get through some paperwork to make sure everything goes smoothly from a legal standpoint, but she should be able to get to work tomorrow. Once she can examine the remains, she’ll have an ETA on identification. We’ll keep moving forward with the investigation, but it’s going to take time to narrow down time frames.”

Jack nodded stiffly.

“We’re sorry we don’t have more clear-cut answers for you just yet, but we’re working on it.”

“Luckily, I know how it all works.”

“Not sure how lucky that is.”

Jack tried to force a smile but knew he didn’t manage. He glanced back at the porch, where Laurel and Chloe were still talking. Chloe had definitely put her cop mask back on. She didn’t look upset or rattled.

But it was lurking underneath. How could it not?

“Look, I know Brink is one of your deputies,” Hart said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper even though Chloe wouldn’t be able to hear them from this distance. “But this is bound to get messy. It might be better if you kept some distance. I’m not sure her and Ry Brink being in the Hudson Ranch-Hudson Sibling Solutions circle is the best move here.”

Jack let Hart have his say, and he didn’t bother to argue or defend himself. He just said his response in the simplest terms there were. “It’s the only move here.”

Because he’d be damned if he was going to keep his distance from Chloe when she might be in some kind of danger. He walked away from Hart, not about to wait for the man’s permission.

He was a sheriff. Head of the Hudson clan. And damn if he was going to be scared of messy when Chloe might have to pay the cost of that fear.

Laurel moved away from Chloe before Jack reached the porch, and she nodded at him. “I’ll keep you updated on what we find. We’ll treat it like a joint Sunrise-Bent County venture for as long as that makes sense. Unless you want to be kept out of this part too?”

Jack shook his head. “I want to know everything about that chest.”

Laurel didn’t say anything, but she didn’t hide the fact she was studying him either. Then she shrugged and walked over to Hart, and the two took their leave.

Chloe approached Jack, chin up, eyes fierce and a little bright. He could already tell there was a storm brewing deep underneath.

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he said. His temper was already on edge due to a million things, and he didn’t need whatever she was gearing herself up to say to send him over.

“Why not?” she replied.

“Because I can tell it’s going to tick me off.”

She shook her head. “It’s better if we don’t stay with you, Jack.”

“Better for who?” he returned, just barely holding on to that thread of calm.

“Everyone involved,” Chloe said, and her expression was set, her voice firm, but there was something hiding underneath that cop mask. “Certainly better for you guys getting the answers you deserve.”

“Did Laurel put that in your head, or is it your own wrongheaded thinking?”

She scowled at him, but he wasn’t about to relent.

“Jack—”

“You and Ry are guests of the Hudson Ranch until we have some answers on the threats against you. I don’t care what anyone, including you, has to say about it. That’s what’s happening.”

“There aren’t any threats against me. That snake could have been for Ry. Whatever my dad was pulling with those dolls happened six years ago. I’m not in any danger.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t.”

“And Jack Hudson’s feelings trump all else?” she demanded, but the heat wasn’t there. She was just trying to pick a fight.

He was feeling a bit like letting her, but he took a deep breath. Reminded himself that whatever that chest of dolls was or wasn’t, it had hurt her. Deeply enough that he’d seen all her usual masks fall.

He didn’t want to add to that hurt. He never wanted to be even a contributing factor to her hurt.

But he had been. Not like this. Not deep, childhood wounds. But the nature of everything they’d been for the past year had not always been easy, and he knew...no matter how careful he tried to be, that she’d been hurt by the secret nature of what they did together outside of work.

And he knew she still believed it was for all the reasons she saw when that wasn’t it at all. Maybe he’d have liked her to have given him more credit, to admit to herself that wasn’t him , but... That wasn’t very fair of him. He saw it more and more clearly as time went on, as little things about the way she’d grown up came out.

How she trusted anyone or anything, saw the good in anyone, laughed with people was beyond him. He was in awe of her.

Even as she kept going, determined to have that fight he couldn’t muster up the anger for.

“Did it ever occur to you that I can handle me? And I can handle Ry? And I can handle this ?” she demanded, working up to mad so she didn’t have to be sad, scared, hurt. Clearly .

It killed him how easy it was to see through it, even as she kept on.

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t need this Jack Hudson, king of the world, ‘I’ll protect everyone and everything the sun touches just because I slept with you’?”

It was the strangest out-of-body thing. To watch her get mad as hell, to watch her gear it toward him, and not find himself being reactive at all. No, it was like all those walls he’d carefully erected for so long just crumbled to dust. Not even dramatically. Just slowly and silently to ash that flew away on the breeze.

“Well?” she demanded, her cheeks pink with anger, her hands on her hips and everything about her combative.

But he saw that little kernel of vulnerability she was trying so hard to protect, and for the first time in his life, he found himself handing over his own without even thinking about it.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m in love with you?”