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I’d spent the rest of the night getting buzzed while looking into the town’s history and disappearances. Donny was right; there were an awful lot of camping accidents, disappearances, and hinky deaths for a small town.

It didn’t mean anything on its own, but I had a good sense for weird shit at that point. And Dreadwood Falls was giving me that dread at the base of my spine that I got when I knew things were bad.

I’d really thought it was going to be as easy as coming in to kill a werewolf—hopefully the one that killed my parents so I could wrap up all my trauma in a nice little bow, get my vengeance, continue on with my life, and never have to come back here again.

But shit was never easy for me.

So I was not only sleep-deprived, I was also hungover from drowning my sorrows. Therefore, coffee. And not shitty motel coffee either. Not that I was fussy. I’d drink swamp water if it were caffeinated.

But if I had the option of getting something that didn’t come from an ancient coffee maker with stale coffee, I was going to take it.

And because Dreadwood Falls had rich citizens and a decent tourist trade, good coffee was an option.

Unfortunately, good coffee in a small town meant waiting in line because everyone else, apparently, had to come for their morning cup right when I needed it.

Fuck, I hated people.

Luckily, none of the people in the line looked familiar to me, not that I’d gone out of my way to look at anyone. I was staring down at my phone, reading through one of the old case files from ten years ago, sucking my teeth and trying my best not to headbutt the guy at the counter for ordering some complicated fucking drink with oat milk. How in the fuck did one milk oats?

“Hadley?”

Mother fucking fucker.

I instantly recognized the voice.

It was deeper now. More masculine. Older. Weathered, almost. If a voice could be weathered.

It was different; it had lost some of that boyish lilt, some of that cocky drawl. But it was still familiar.

God, I really did not get a break.

three

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, preparing myself.

I turned, my expression blank as I took in the man in uniform.

And fuck could he wear a uniform. Traditionally, I was not a woman impressed by uniforms. The people wearing them tended to want to arrest me. Credit card fraud. Assault. Drunk and disorderly. Impersonating an officer. Murder, if they could pin it on me. Which, luckily, no one had been able to. Yet.

“Colton.” I kept my tone even, though it sounded hoarse. Like I’d smoked a pack of cigarettes last night. Which I didn’t. I smoked half a pack.

Smoking wasn’t cool anymore on account of it actually killing you, which was precisely why I smoked. I liked having that close contact with death on a daily basis. Kept me sharp. Plus, there was no fucking way I’d survive this life long enough to die of lung cancer.

In addition to sounding like I’d smoked a pack of darts last night and hadn’t slept a wink, I looked like it.

My hair was pulled into a messy knot at the top of my head, and I was still wearing yesterday’s makeup, which meant my eyes were likely more smudged than usual.

I’d thrown on some old band tee and ripped jeans with my boots.

I looked like some groupie who got rode hard then put away wet.

Colton, on the other hand, looked great.

Did I mention the uniform?

Yeah, I supposed it wasn’t a surprise to see him in a police uniform, considering who his father was, but I’d been sure he’d wanted to go to college, play ball—do something different with his life.

Then again, I’d thought I’d go to college, marry Colton, have a bunch of his babies, and live happily ever after.