Then, just as I watch him swallow with a face of remorse, the broad-shouldered cop reads me my rights.

Logan

By the time I get to the pier, they’re already gone. There is only one patrol car left, but I don’t know the cop and he won’t give me any information, no matter how aggressively I demand it.

There’s one person I can call, and I’m desperately hoping he can help me.

As I jog back to the shop, hoping Murph will be there to lend me his car so I can get to the station, I dial up Rafe on my phone.

He doesn’t answer on the first dial. Bullshit.

I dial again.

“I’m a little busy right now,” Rafe growls on the other end of the line.

“Don’t you fucking dare book her. It’s me you want,” I bark as I yank open the door of the shop.

“I can’t do this right now.”

The line goes dead. That asshole.

Murph is standing behind the counter and takes one look at me.

“I need to borrow your car.”

“Tell me what happened first,” he demands.

“I can’t.” Which is true. I can’t speak about this, not yet. Not until I get her out of this mess. Because if I speak about it, then that makes it true. Sierra is in fucking jail—because of me. She should be packing up to head home after another harmless week spent at Wickett, but instead, she’s in jail. For me.

“Please,” I growl through my teeth. My body is a live wire, ready to snap if I don’t fix this now.

He keeps his brow furrowed and his eyes on me as he pulls his keys from his pocket and tosses them in my direction.

“You know if you need backup…” he says, but I don’t stay for the end of that statement. I don’t need to. I already know.

I pull up to the station a moment later. Wickett Beach Police Station is small and only fully staffed during this week of the year. So the first thing I see when I fly through the front doors is Rafe standing behind the counter and Sierra in the back of the room, her hands in cuffs and her head hanging.

Rafe looks up at me with a scowl. “Don’t make a scene,” he demands.

He rounds the counter before I can barge through the door to the back of the room. His hands land squarely against my chest as he pushes me toward the exit.

“Let’s go have a chat,” he orders.

I let him push me toward his office, but only after my eyes lock with Sierra’s. She is miserable, terrified, and behind all of that is a layer of pissed off.

So am I.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Hale double-crossed us. He must have traded Sierra’s freedom for his immunity.

Rafe’s office is small, and the two of us barely fit in there together, but that doesn’t seem to matter much because he is in my face.