“You’re very flexible,” Mrs. Morgan said, looking past Ian and right at Shelby. “Enjoy it while you’re young. Pretty soon you try some of that and your hip is just going to go straight out.”

The deputy turned almost as red as Shelby. “Mom.”

“Sorry, Alan, but it’s true,” Mrs. Morgan said with a shrug before turning her attention back to Shelby. “And don’t worry. Clyde didn’t watch, and I made sure to edit what we got off the cloud so it ended when things got—ahem—heated.”

Her focus slid over to Ian, and she let out a little sigh.

“Okay, we need to bring this back to the matter at hand,” Alan said, pulling out a notebook, his hands shaking just the slightest bit. “I’m gonna need identification from both of you.”

“Wallet’s on the table,” Ian said in his all-too-familiar gruff rumble. “We each have a rental agreement for the cabin. We are not trespassing and I sure as hell do not appreciate being under surveillance.”

“Like we would rent out our family cabin,” Mr. Morgan harrumphed. “Not in this lifetime.”

Eyes wide, Shelby exchanged a worried look with Ian. Not a rental? That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. What kind of weird-ass game were these people playing at? They had good cop, bad cop, and actual cop, but none of it made sense.

“Your identification, miss?” Alan asked.

“My driver’s license is in my phone case,” Shelby said, a shot of nervous panic making her shiver.

“Can we at least get some clothes while we do this?” Ian asked.

“Oh my Lord, you must be freezing,” Mrs. Morgan said as she reached down and picked up a pile of their clothes on the floor in front of the fireplace and started walking toward them.

“Faith,” Mr. Morgan grumbled. “They could attack you.”

Mrs. Morgan eyeballed Ian. “Imagine that.”

While they got dressed under the covers and the watchful gazes of the Morgans, Alan opened up Ian’s wallet and pulled out his driver’s license.

“Petrov?” Mr. Morgan asked after peeking over his son’s shoulder. “What is that, Russian? You some kind of spy?”

“Hockey player,” Ian said.

Mr. Morgan scoffed. “We watch good American football up here.”

“Baseball in the summer,” Mrs. Morgan added.

“That’s right, and baseball in the summer.”

The deputy glared his parents into silence. “You have a copy of your rental agreement?”

“They’re on our phones and they’re out of juice,” Shelby said.

Alan rubbed his chin as he glanced around the cabin. “Okay, well, let’s head down to the station to get all of this worked out.”

“Don’t you have to read them their rights, honey?” Mrs. Morgan patted her son’s forearm. “They always do that on TV when they’re arresting someone.”

“I’m not arresting them, Mom.”

“Why not?” Mr. Morgan demanded.