Chapter 24
Eric
The moment Harmony stepped into the cabin, something in her posture shifted.
It was slight but enough for me to notice.
She didn’t shrink or shake. But she held herself like someone bracing for an impact she’d been outrunning for years.
I closed the door behind us, the latch clicking softly into place.
The wall heater hummed its low, steady warmth through the small space, the kind that usually made the cabin feel safe.
Today, it only amplified the quiet. She hovered near the small table, fingers curled into the sleeves of my flannel like she needed an anchor.
I crouched in front of her, not touching her yet.
Harmony didn’t do well with pressure. She shut down if she felt cornered.
So I waited until her eyes lifted to mine.
“Sunshine,” I urged softly, “talk to me.”
“Someone was close enough to lean against the window. Close enough to watch me sleeping,” she said with a shaky voice. “Why can’t I just be left to live in peace?”
Her eyes closed, lashes trembling. It didn’t look like fear, it was more like shame. The kind she didn’t deserve to carry.
I moved slowly, taking both her hands in mine. “None of this is fair, Harmony. We don’t choose the families we’re born into.”
“So, you think it’s for sure Olivier? Because on some level I think it’s him but. . .” Her voice trailed off like she was contemplating.
“What is it?” I asked my tone soft.
She swallowed hard, her throat working. “I need to tell you something. And it’s… ugly.”
“There’s nothing you can say that makes me leave,” I assured. I knew what it felt like to lose Harmony, and I didn’t want to go through that again. Even if every part of me was terrified of what she’d say.
She drew in a shaky breath. “When I was fifteen, my dad started using me to… help him. Translate things. Handle emails.” Her voice tightened. “Tech work. Encryption. File scrubbing. I didn’t know what I was doing at first, but by the time I did, it was already too late.”
A slow, cold burn lit in my chest.
“He forced you to do his dirty work?” I asked.
She nodded. “Never physical force, he didn’t have to resort to that.” Her laugh was hollow. “His voice was enough. His anger. The way he talked about people who crossed him.” She hesitated. “He brought me deeper without me realizing it was happening.”
My grip tightened. Not on her but on my own restraint. Because if Marcel Bellerose were standing here right now, I’d put him through the wall.
“You were a kid,” I said quietly.
“I was old enough to know I wanted out,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know how.”
Silence pressed between us, heavy and suffocating, until she broke it with words that shattered something inside me.
“The night my mom died,” she whispered, eyes shining, “it wasn’t an accident. Someone tampered with her car. It was meant for Marcel. And I—”
Her voice cracked.
I pulled her against me before she could fall apart, arms wrapping around her waist, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. Her breaths came fast, uneven. I held her the way she’d never been held, like none of this was her fault. Because it wasn’t.
She continued, her voice muffled, “After she died, I started saving copies of everything. Files. Messages. Transfers. All the things I’d helped create. I told myself it was for safety. But really? I think I wanted to burn his world down.”
I leaned back enough to see her face. I knew she was somehow responsible for her father’s arrest, but I didn’t have any details. “So you helped the police.”
She nodded.
A protective instinct surged through me so strong it made my pulse jump. Whoever left that thistle hadn’t just threatened her, they’d threatened the girl who had survived hell. And I wasn’t letting anyone come near her again.
“Whoever sent those messages… whoever left that thistle…” I exhaled slowly. “They know exactly what you did.”
“And what I know,” she whispered. “Things that could get people killed.”
I brushed a tear off her cheek. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” she choked. “I didn’t want you touched by any of my sins.”
“They aren’t your sins to bear, and they touched me the second you came back.” My voice broke despite myself. “You think I’m afraid of your past? I’m more afraid of losing you to it.”
Her eyes softened in a way that nearly undid me. She didn’t cry. She just breathed shallowly, like letting the truth out had stolen a piece of her endurance. I wrapped my arms around her until she melted and her forehead pressed to my chest. A truck rumbled up the gravel.
Harmony jerked slightly. I tightened my hold. Then three sharp knocks came on the cabin door.
Becket.
“Eric,” his voice called. “Open up.”
I guided Harmony behind me before answering. Becket stepped inside, police instincts on full alert. His gaze immediately landed on the crushed thistle on the table.
“What the hell happened?” he barked, not in an angry way but in a nobody touches my family kind of way.
Harmony’s voice wavered. “Someone left a message for me.”
“What kind of message?” Becket asked.
I picked up the photo and handed it to him. “This kind.”
He swore quietly. “I figured something was off. Montreal Crown Prosecutor’s Office called an hour ago.”
Harmony stiffened.
My heart plummeted.
Becket unfolded a paper. “Your father filed an appeal. And someone submitted an anonymous packet accusing you of tampering with evidence.”
Harmony’s breath hitched. “What?”
“Digital trail is advanced. Someone who knows exactly what they’re doing,” Becket explained.
“Who else would want to hurt you?” Becket asked.
Harmony hesitated. And I hated the look in her eyes. She seemed so haunted, searching her memory, trying to land on one name among dozens.
Then she whispered, “There was one man. My father’s fixer. He handled all the digital work. His alias was V. . .”
The lights flickered. All three of us froze. The wall heater buzzed oddly, then settled. But the cabin suddenly felt colder. Then a soft click outside. The same sound I’d heard near the fence line earlier.
I moved before Harmony could speak. “Stay behind me.”
“Eric. . .” she protested; her voice laced with fear.
“Stay,” I urged for her own safety.
My voice left no room to argue. Becket followed, his posture shifting from cop to protect my older brother at-all-costs. We stepped out into the cold air. Frost glittered across the yard. Rows of orchard trees stood still in the early light. Something metallic glinted near the fence.
Becket swore. “That’s a lens.”
I stormed toward it. A camera. Full-spectrum.
High quality. Not cheap. Not amateur. The kind a surveillance someone in tech would use, which meant someone was watching the cabin.
Watching Harmony. I tore it off the mount and shoved it into my jacket.
When I turned back, Harmony was standing in the cabin doorway, hands shaking as she held the frame.
She looked at me like she already knew. My rage, my fear, my resolve, everything in me snapped into something cold and absolute.
I walked to her slowly, pulled the crushed thistle from my pocket, and placed it in her palm.
“A message,” I said quietly.
Her eyes filled not with tears, but with something far worse. Recognition. Resignation.
Like she’d expected this fate to eventually catch up.
She whispered, “Eric…”
I cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at me. “This ends. Now.”
Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t want you dragged into it.”
“I’m already in it,” I asserted with a certainty I had never felt before.
I pressed my forehead to hers. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
She exhaled against my chest, and it sounded like a mix of surrender and exhaustion all tangled together. I pulled her close.
“You’re staying with me tonight,” I murmured. “No arguments.”
She nodded against my shirt.
As Harmony and I reached the cabin door, movement at the far end of the gravel drive made me freeze. A dark SUV idled just beyond the fence line, the stretch of road only family and orchard workers ever used. A man leaned against the driver-side door.
Noah Tremblay. Watching the cabins. Watching us.
I saw the glint off his sunglasses, a deliberate shine, not an accident. When he realized I’d spotted him, he straightened like he hadn’t been caught, gave a small, too-casual wave, and moved to open his door. Becket stepped down from the porch behind me. He stopped cold.
“What the hell is Tremblay doing here?” Becket muttered.
“Good question,” I said tightly.
Noah climbed into the SUV, like he hadn’t just been lurking near our cabins, and rolled slowly down the drive toward the main road.
Becket’s jaw flexed. “He didn’t check in with Dad. Or with me. No one gives themselves a self-guided tour of Maple Valley. Not even the Community Trust guys.”
“He’s been around town too much lately,” I said quietly. “Hanging around the festival grounds. Asking questions.”
Becket nodded once, clipped. “I’ll talk to Dad. And I’ll make a note of this. He doesn’t get to walk onto our property without clearance.”
Harmony hadn’t seen Noah; she was busy pulling her sweater tighter, trying to thaw her hands. Becket looked at her, then back toward the road where the SUV had disappeared.
“He wasn’t lost,” Becket said. “He was watching.”