Page 23 of Untamed Hunter Daddy

He pauses.

"There's something else. I got a call from the regional victim advocacy office. A woman named Dr. Catherine Engel. She's been assigned to the mine case and she's been asking about Zoe specifically. She wants to debrief her as soon as the storm clears. Formal intake. Medical evaluation, psychological assessment, victim impact statement. The full protocol."

"That's standard."

"It is standard. And it should have happened a week ago. Dr. Engel was polite about it but the subtext was clear. A trafficking victim has been in the sole custody of a male federal officer for eight days without medical oversight, psychological support, or any contact with the victim advocacy system."

My jaw tightens.

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to prepare her. The transition from your cabin to the system is going to be difficult. She's been in a controlled, one-person environment with a consistent caretaker, which is good for initial stabilization but creates attachment patterns that complicate the transfer to institutional support. Dr. Engel's words, not mine. She'll want to meet with Zoe in Timber Creek within twenty-four hours of the road opening."

"Ryker." Mason's voice drops. "I know what you're feeling. I know what this is."

"Do you?"

"You found her half-dead in a hole in the ground. You carried her through a blizzard. You fed her and wrapped her ankle and talked her through nightmares and panic attacks. You built a world for her and you made it safe. Of course you feel what you feel. The question isn't whether the feeling is real. The question is what you do with it, and the answer has to come from the part of you that wears the badge, not the part that kissed her."

The silence stretches.

"You know I'm right," Mason says.

"Yeah."

"And you know I'm not saying give her up. I'm saying give her the choice. Right now she has one option. You. One person, one cabin, one door. That's not a choice. That's a circumstance. When the storm breaks and the road opens and she has access to professionals and resources and a world that's larger than four walls, let her choose. If she chooses you after that, with options on the table and a clear head, then it's real. If she chooses you because you're the only thing she's got, then it's something else. And you don't want something else. Not with this woman."

I grip the porch railing.

"One more thing," Mason says. "We ran the name Derek Bowen against facial recognition from the Alpha Range traffic cameras. Eighty-seven percent match to the composite sketch we built from Zoe's initial description. This is Tyler, Ryker. He's forty miles from your cabin and he's been there for at least three weeks. He didn't run. He relocated. That means he's got a reason to stay close, and I think we both know what that reason is."

"Get Jax and Kane moving the second the road opens," I say. "I want them here before sunset tomorrow. Also, I should mention… Zoe has a USB drive. Says she recorded everything on Tyler’s laptop.”

“Have you looked at it?” Mason says.

“Wi-fi’s been spotty since the storm.”

“Okay once the storm’s clear we need to access that drive.”

I nod. “Sure thing.”

“And Ryker? Tell her about Dr. Engel. Tell her about the debrief and the system and what happens next. Don't let her walk into it blind. She deserves to know what's coming."

"She deserves a lot of things, Mason."

"Yeah. She does. So give them to her. All of them. Including the ones that cost you something."

The line drops. I stand on the porch and watch the sky. The clouds lift in layers, peeling back from the horizon. The light that comes through is pale and sharp. The ridge line appears for the first time since Zoe arrived. Then the tree line below it. Then the slope and the drainage and the clearing where I found the tracks.

The storm is breaking. The world is coming back in.

I go inside. Zoe’s sitting up in bed with her coffee, watching me through the steam. Her eyes track my face. She sees something that makes her set the mug down and sit up straighter.

"What happened?"

I sit in the chair. Three feet from the bed.

"The storm’s breaking," I say. "The road should be clear by tomorrow. And there are some things I need to tell you."