“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.

“So, Mr. FBI profiler, you want to tell me why you’re suddenly so jittery with my questions?” Cubby asked the question into the sudden, uncomfortable silence. It took the attention from Ted and focused it squarely back on Dylan.

Dylan put down the cue he was holding, because suddenly he wanted to wrap it around the sheriff from Lake Howling’s neck.

“No, and it’s time I left.”

“Running never helped anyone.”

He’d turned away, but the sheriff’s words had him spinning back again. “What the hell’s your problem? Not enough crime for you in Lake Howling, that you have to come here and bug me?”