❝Marco was never supposed to find out the truth. But then he did, and now he's on the run. Problem is, the truth has fangs and it won't stop until it hunts him down.❞
To Marco Castillo, Whispering Pines has always been more than just a national park...
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"No." Marco snapped, his voice a cold draft in the otherwise heated room. "There is no way you think Tobes or I had anything to do with this."
The Chief sighed, forefinger and thumb already rubbing his temples. "This isn't about what I think," he began, his voice tight with frustration. "It's about what we know — And what we know is that the two of you were missing around the same time Robbie disappeared."
"Really?" Marco's voice carried an uncharacteristic edge of defiance as he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes locked with the Chief's. "Because from right here? From right where I'm sitting? It sure looks like you think we're guilty. Plus we weren't 'missing,' " he scoffed, the word biting. His fingers drew sarcastic quotation marks in the air. "We were late and that's a pretty big fucking difference, Chief."
"Watch your language, Marco," the Chief snapped, his tone stern.
Marco's response was immediate, and his voice rose slightly in challenge. "Yeah? Maybe you should watch your fucking accusations."
The only thing that kept Marco from standing up and confronting the Chief head-on, other than the fact he actually liked having a job and a working jaw, was Tobias. With a discreet but firm grip, Tobias had reached behind Marco's chair and took a tight hold of the back of his shirt.
Not that Marco was prone to physical acts of aggression, but now was not the time to test that.
It wasn't the first time Tobias had kept Marco grounded. The pair had been each other's anchors for as long as either could remember. This time however, Tobias's presence did little to quell the storm brewing within Marco.
In fact, it was actually making it worse.
Tobias, cheerful, dorky, spindly legged Tobias was being accused of possible murder. Or at least kidnapping. Marco was too, but that didn't bother him nearly as much.
Chief Quinlin Paige, whose name was rarely used in favor of his title, was the kind of man that could either play a convincing jolly old saint Nick for the local kids, or beat a rabid raccoon's head in with the heel of his boot - something that he'd actually done once upon an unfortunate Christmas.
It wasn't that he was cruel, far from it, but even on a good day most of the rangers did their best not to annoy him. When it came down to it, Chief Paige did what was necessary. He took care of his rangers, took care of the animals in the preserve, and more importantly helped to make sure the visitors didn't try to take selfies with the local bears.
From the look on the Chief's face Marco figured he'd have better luck pissing off Yogi. Unfortunately, Marco also figured that he'd already hit rock bottom and that he might as well dig.
Mark, in turn, looked about ready to beat his son with the very same shovel.
"Quin isn't saying either of you did it— he's saying that you two are technically the lead suspects," explained Mark. His voice was low, almost strained. "It's not even about what we think - it's about what the Sheriff is going to think when we report this, and he's going to think the two of you had something to do with it."
