But she hadn’t been—at least about shoplifting. Thank fuck, he didn’t have to haul her in. Yeah, it was sexist, but arresting a woman bothered him. Protect the women and children had been one of Gramps’s dictates. Mako, also, had lived by that code.

Gabe scowled. Even if Ms. Wilson was innocent of stealing from the store, his “guilty” sensor had gone off. The woman was hiding something.

When she’d first seen Gabe, her big eyes had filled with fear. That had hurt. But the fear hadn’t left when she’d realized he was a police officer. If anything, her worry had escalated.

Very astute of you, Ms. Wilson.

He didn’t like secrets. Might be he’d take an interest in finding out what she was hiding.

And, appealing or not, that’s all he wanted from her—her secrets. Women were…

His mouth thinned, remembering when he’d quit the LAPD. To derail an organized crime investigation, the subjects had bribed a woman to set up the detectives. Gabe had been shot. His partner had died. When interviewed, the woman had shrugged and laughed. “Who gives a damn if a pig or two dies?”

He lost his taste for serve and protect that day.

Enough. Shaking his head, he forced away the rancid memories. That was then; this is now.

He walked through the glass-fronted double door and into the two-story municipal building. The wide entry held a receptionist desk guarding the door to the police station on the left, the stairs to the second-floor city hall offices and the health clinic on the right. A handful of folding chairs served as a waiting area. The off-white walls were freshly painted, but the hardwood floor still needed a good sanding and some coats of varnish.

The receptionist desk wasn’t staffed. Something else to worry about.

Turning to the right, he walked into Caz’s health clinic.

Mako’d been damned proud when Caz had joined the Army Special Forces—the sarge’s old branch—and even more so when Caz became a medic. After his discharge, Caz finished his Master’s with a Family Nurse Practitioner license and set up practice in Anchorage. Every so often, he’d disappear for months to do volunteer work in third-world countries.

With his FNP license, he could run a health clinic without a doctor in residence. And Rescue needed a clinic here. Even if the drive to Soldotna or Seward wasn’t long, a snowstorm or avalanche could render the Sterling and Seward Highways impassible for a couple of days.

Inside the clinic, a dented metal desk blocked the door to the various exam rooms and offices.

Hearing the thunk of something hitting the wall followed by another two thunks, Gabe paused. The thuds were accompanied by cursing that started with chinga-something and ending with cabrón.

When irritated, Caz pulled out his throwing knives. Sounded like someone was in a pissy mood.