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home and pop a frozen burrito in the microwave. Just about to head back to the square, Connie’s voice came over the radio.
    â€œWe have a 10-91V at the Nugget Gas and Go. Animal control is ten minutes out.”
    Sloane hung a U-turn and put on her flashing lights. At the gas station she hopped out of her police SUV and went inside the store. A guy in coveralls greeted her and she couldn’t help but notice that he was rather nice-looking. Not as knock-your-socks-off as Brady, but right up there. What was it with this town? She’d yet to meet an unattractive man here, making her wonder what they put in the water.
    â€œAround back,” he said.
    He led her outside, past the garage bays—where a mechanic had his head under the hood of a pickup—and behind the shop. On a flat concrete pad that butted up to a grassy embankment sat a large Dumpster and . . . oh shit, a bear! He’d pulled out heaps of garbage and was sitting down to a picnic lunch.
    Sloane had absolutely no experience with this sort of thing. “Isn’t he supposed to be hibernating?”
    â€œNot all of them do. I read somewhere that fifteen percent of the black bears up here don’t sleep in the winter. I’m Griffin Parks, by the way. You must be Officer McBride. Nice to meet you. Welcome to Nugget.”
    â€œNice to meet you too.” She glanced over at the bear, wary, her hand on her holster. The creature didn’t pay them any mind, just continued to chow on trash. “When I got the call I thought it would be a dog . . . like a pit bull.”
    â€œIt’s my fault for keeping the Dumpster unlocked. It’s a hassle otherwise. He’ll likely take off when he’s done, but I can’t risk it, especially with tourists. You’d be surprised how many of them think it’s a good idea to pose their kids with a bear for a close-up. Or try to feed them.”
    â€œAnimal control is on its way.” Hopefully she sounded like she knew what she was doing because she didn’t have the foggiest notion what the protocol for dealing with wildlife was.
    Griffin nodded. “How you liking the town so far?”
    It’s different, that’s for sure . “I’m liking it. You grow up here?”
    â€œNope. Visited when I was a kid and the place stuck with me. So I bought the gas station two summers ago. Best move I ever made. I hear you’re living in Rhys’s duplex on Donner Road next to Brady.”
    â€œUh-huh.” She didn’t know how she felt about people knowing where she lived, but apparently there was no getting around it in this town.
    â€œIf you’re looking to buy a house, drop by Sierra Heights.”
    â€œThat big gated community? On my salary?” She laughed.
    â€œI’ll cut you a good deal.”
    Was this guy joking? “How’s that?”
    â€œI own it.”
    Surprise must’ve been written all over her face because he smiled. “I thought it would be a good investment, but the truth is, I’m having trouble selling them. Mostly people just want to rent them on a weekly basis for vacation houses.”
    A million questions flitted through her head, like how in the world could he afford an entire upscale development? Perhaps it was the grease-splattered coveralls, but she just wasn’t buying it. They both perked up at the sound of an engine.
    â€œI’ll check to see if that’s our friends from California Department of Fish and Wildlife,” Griffin said, and left her standing there with the bear. Fish and wildlife, huh? And here she thought it would be a dog catcher.
    With one hand on her weapon, she got as close as she safely could, pulled out her phone, and snapped a couple of pictures. Her brothers were gonna die. She quickly shoved the phone in her pocket as Griffin returned. The fish and wildlife guy trailed behind him.
    â€œThis is Ty,” Griffin told Sloane. “He’s our go-to guy for