Chapter 15
Roadblocks and Red Flags
June
I slide out of the truck cautiously, feeling the deputy’s eyes on me. The scarf around my neck suddenly feels like a brand—visible proof of my connection to Riven. I resist the urge to adjust it.
“What’s going on, Dale?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the anxiety rippling through me.
Dale stands with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, official posture fully engaged. “We’re conducting an investigation into the recent mudslides. Need to ask you a few questions.”
The other officer—a stocky guy with a buzz cut I vaguely recognize from town meetings—nods at me but stays by the cruiser.
“And this requires me stepping out of my vehicle because…?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
Dale’s expression softens fractionally. “Standard procedure, June. Just need a statement since you were up here when it happened.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’ve got deliveries waiting. People need their supplies.”
“This won’t take long,” Dale says, pulling out a small notebook. His eyes flick to the scarf, and his mouth tightens. “Where were you when the slide happened?”
“On Ridgeline Route, heading to my last delivery.” I’m not volunteering Riven’s name or location. Not with Dale’s obvious tension.
“And after?”
“I was trapped on the mountain. Called my dad. Found shelter. End of story.”
Dale’s jaw works back and forth. “This wasn’t just a routine mudslide, June.” His voice drops. “We found evidence of sabotage.”
That gets my attention. “Sabotage? What are you talking about?”
“Deep gouges in the rock face above the slide area.” He makes a clawing motion with his free hand.
“Four parallel marks, about eight inches apart. Too uniform to be natural, too high up for normal equipment. Someone—or something—deliberately weakened that section knowing the storm would trigger a collapse.”
My body freezes as I process his words.
Someone deliberately caused the mudslide? The one that nearly killed me?
“That’s ridiculous,” I say automatically, but my mind is racing. “Why would anyone do that?”
Dale steps closer, lowering his voice. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.
Could be random vandalism. Could be targeted.
But this isn’t the first time something suspicious has happened up in this mountain.
” His eyes fix on mine. “Who were you delivering to that day, June? Which of your… clients… live near where the slide originated?”
The emphasis he puts on “clients” makes it clear exactly what he’s implying. My temper flares.
“If you’re suggesting one of my monster clients deliberately caused a mudslide, you’re way off base,” I snap. “Most of them are hermits who rely on my deliveries. Why would they destroy the only road that brings them supplies?”
“Maybe they weren’t trying to cut themselves off,” Dale counters. “Maybe they were trying to cut someone else off. Or trap someone up there.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach, and I immediately hate myself for even letting the thought form.
Riven had been terrified for my safety. I’d nearly died. He had nothing to do with this.
“You’re reaching,” I say, but my voice lacks its earlier conviction.
Dale notices the shift. His official demeanor softens, and he steps closer, his voice dropping to a concerned murmur.
“June,” he says. “I’m worried about you. Have you considered that maybe whoever did this was targeting you specifically? Either to trap you up there or—” he hesitates, “—or worse?”
The personalized angle hits harder than the general accusation. It forces me to confront a reality I’ve been pushing aside. I was almost killed. If I’d been a few seconds slower, a few yards farther back on the road…
I swallow hard.
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, keeping my voice level. “But I’m not going to help you launch a witch hunt against my clients based on nothing but suspicion.”
Dale’s frustration is visible. “There is evidence. There are marks that could only be made by something with enormous strength and claws. There’s a pattern of incidents—”
“Pattern?” I interrupt. “What pattern?”
He hesitates, then sighs. “There have been other incidents. Property damage. Missing livestock. Hikers chased off from their camps. All concentrated in this mountain.”
“And naturally, you assume monsters are responsible,” I say flatly.
“I’m following the evidence,” Dale insists.
“And right now, the evidence points to something non-human with enormous strength deliberately weakening that mountainside.” He steps closer, his expression earnest. “June, I’m asking you as a friend.
Give me names. Tell me who you were delivering to that day. ”
I meet his gaze steadily. “My clients’ privacy is part of my service. You want names? Get a warrant.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Finally, Dale sighs, shoulders slumping.
“All right. That’ll be all. But please, be careful. And call me if you notice anything unusual.” His sincerity is genuine, and despite my anger, I recognize the good intentions beneath his methods.
“I’ll be careful,” I concede. “I just hope you’ll conduct a fair investigation.”
He nods once, then steps back, gesturing for me to return to my truck. As I climb in and start the engine, the other officer says something to Dale that I can’t hear. Dale shakes his head in response, watching me with a mixture of concern and frustration as I drive away.
The adrenaline from the confrontation fades as I navigate the winding road down to the valley, replaced by a cool, analytical focus. The romantic haze of the past few days dissipates, and the logistics manager in me takes over.
Dale’s investigation will inevitably be tainted by his biases. He’ll zero in on the most obviously “monstrous” residents in this mountain, regardless of actual evidence.
And that ugly seed of doubt about Riven? I need to crush it definitively, not just for my peace of mind but because doubt is poison to any relationship, and what Riven and I have started is too important to risk.
Someone tried to kill me—or at least, someone didn’t care if I died as collateral damage in whatever they were planning. They used the mountain as a weapon. My mountain. The terrain I know better than anyone else in Pine Ridge.
By the time I reach the valley floor, I’m no longer just thinking about my next delivery. I’m planning an investigation of my own.
Dad’s waiting for me on the loading dock when I pull into the Hartwell Delivery warehouse. His face lights up when he sees me, and I’m struck by how much older he looks after just a few days of worry, the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders more stooped.
“Junebug!” He hugs me the moment I step out of the truck. “Thank God you’re safe. When you first called me, I thought—” He cuts himself off, squeezing me tighter.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I assure him, returning the hug. “Takes more than a little mud to stop a Hartwell.”
He pulls back, studying my face. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a wild few days.”
Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press. “Well, you’re home now. That’s what matters.” He gestures to the warehouse. “Got quite the backlog waiting. Most urgent ones are stacked by the dispatch desk. You sure you don’t need to rest first?”
“Oh, I got plenty of rest,” I say, before realizing just how that could be interpreted. “Uh. The guest room had a memory foam bed.”
Dad frowns slightly, before nodding. “Well, all right. I might have to get me one of those then.”
I follow him inside, the familiar smell of cardboard and packaging materials washing over me. After days in Riven’s silk-lined domain, the warehouse feels jarring—too bright, too angular, too ordinary.
“So,” Dad says casually as he sorts through papers at the dispatch desk. “This client you stayed with…”
My heart skips. “What about him?”
“Must be quite something to get my pragmatic daughter to accept that kind of hospitality.” He raises an eyebrow. “I was worried you’d insist on sleeping in the truck.”
I busy myself with checking the priority packages, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, well, he’s… different.”
“Different good or different concerning?”
“Good,” I say a bit too quickly. “He was a kind host. I mean… You know how people are around here. We take care of each other, don’t we?”
Dad gives me a long look, then nods slowly. “All right then. That’s all I need to know.” He hands me a clipboard. “But when you’re ready to talk about it—about him—I’m here.”
I try to hide my relief. This is why I love my dad. No pushiness, no demands for details. Just quiet support and the space to process things at my own pace.
“Thanks,” I say, then turn my attention to the deliveries. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”
For the next hour, we fall into our familiar routine of sorting packages, plotting routes, checking weather forecasts. I’m grateful for the work. It gives my hands something to do while my mind processes everything that’s happened.
“Dale stopped me on the way down,” I say casually as we’re loading the last batch into my truck.
Dad’s hands freeze mid-motion. “What did he want?”
I tell him about the sabotage theory, watching his expression darken.
“He seems convinced someone targeted the road deliberately,” I persist. “Said there were claw marks above the slide area.”
Dad frowns. “Could be anything. Bear. Mountain lion. Hell, logging damage from the old days.”
“I don’t know… He seemed convinced it had to be something big.” I hesitate. “What if he’s right about the sabotage part? Not necessarily about who did it, but that someone did it intentionally?”
Dad studies me carefully. “You think someone tried to hurt you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. The timing was… convenient.”
“For who?”
For Riven, a small voice whispers in the back of my mind. I push it away angrily.
“That’s what I need to figure out,” I say instead. “I know the mountain better than Dale ever will. If there’s evidence up there, I’ll find it.”
Dad’s face creases with worry. “June, that’s police business. If someone really did target that road—”
“Dale’s going to blame the first monster he finds with claws,” I interrupt. “You know it, I know it. And I’m not going to let one of my clients take the fall for something they didn’t do.”
Dad sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re just like your mother. Stubborn as a mule when you think something’s not right.” His expression softens. “Be careful, Junebug. Promise me.”
“You know I will,” I assure him.
He gives me a skeptical look. “That fancy scarf says otherwise.”
Heat rushes to my face. “It was a gift.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dad’s knowing smile makes me want to crawl under the truck. “Must be some client.”
“Can we just focus on the potential saboteur trying to kill me rather than potential suitors?”
Dad’s smile vanishes. “Not funny, June.”
“Sorry,” I sigh. “Look, I’ll be careful. But I need to figure this out. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else.”
“All right,” he concedes. “But no more driving in bad weather until this whole thing gets sorted out.”
I nod my agreement, but my mind is already planning the first steps of my investigation.
I’ve got some people I need to talk to.