Chapter 1
Claire
The road into Val-Du-Lys narrowed just after the turnoff, the highway giving way to trees and quiet stretches of pavement that made it feel like the world was slowly narrowing to my past. To a time when I took the same drive with Sophie and her mom, Celine.
An evening when everything was supposed to go as planned.
I’d grown up a few hours from here, but everyone knew of the infamous crime family in Val-Du-Lys.
The Bellerose’s were a force. There wasn’t much crime that didn’t revolve around them.
I rolled down the window and let the air into my beat-up old car.
The smell of pine and something sweeter filled the car.
It was late spring and the sun was shining.
The GPS said I’d arrive in twelve minutes.
I’d been watching the time tick down for the last half hour.
I told myself it was nerves about the job.
About the orchard. About showing up somewhere new with dirt under my nails and a notebook in my bag like I belonged.
Val-Du-Lys had come up more than once in my research over the past year.
Mostly in offhand mentions. In the kinds of cases that never made it into journals because there wasn’t enough to conclude.
I was working on my master’s degree in criminology, and this was my opportunity to research and write my thesis.
Val-Du-Lys was a small town, they were a tight community and they’d experience a lot of crime.
I’d written about places like this in abstract terms, about how proximity complicated justice, how families learned to live alongside unanswered questions.
I hadn’t planned on living in this town or using this research for my master’s thesis, but it made sense.
The orchard job had been easy enough to secure.
It was seasonal work that provided living quarters and the money I’d make would cover rent and tuition for school without putting me further into debt.
It gave me a reason to be here and possibly find a way to put the past behind me.
I tapped the steering wheel and glanced at the passenger seat, where my phone sat against a stack of printed articles. I picked it up and called Mom before I could talk myself out of it.
She answered on the second ring. “You almost there?”
“Ten minutes,” I said. “Maybe less.”
“Are you holding up, okay? I’m worried about you being there. I don’t want this pushing you back into...”
“Mom, I’m strong. I can handle this. I promise,” I assured.
After Sophie disappeared, I fell apart and became depressed, but grief has a way of gutting you then putting you back together.
Maybe I was stronger now for having gone through that pain.
What I did know was that my best friend deserved justice. She deserved to have peace.
She hesitated. “You’re sure about this place? I read in the paper that the head of the crime ring didn’t die in that shooting. I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”
“Mom, I’m working in an orchard that belongs to the police director. I’m sure he has security covered.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. I thought back to when I saw the job posting online months ago. Orchard manager seeking seasonal help. Lodging provided. Quiet town.
“The job will allow me to research my thesis properly. And the money helps.”
“I know.” She exhaled. “Call me tonight once you get settled in.”
“I will.”
When I hung up, the silence in the car pressed closer. I dialed Jamie next.
He picked up immediately. “You made it?”
“Almost,” I said. “I’m just outside town.”
“Wow,” he said. “It’s been a while since anyone I know voluntarily went there.”
“Yeah, well I have a thesis to write and I need answers,” I said.
“Just be careful. A lot of bad things happens in that town. They’re always on the news,” he stated.
“I will be,” I assured. “How unsafe can it be to work on an orchard?”
“Good point,” he replied.
Jamie had been one of the few people who stayed in touch after high school. We’d bonded over shared history more than proximity, mutual memories that didn’t need explaining.
“Did you tell your mom where you’re working?” he asked.
“Of course. I don’t hide anything from her,” I said.
“And she didn’t lose it?” he chuckled.
“She’s acting like she’s holding it together. She knows I need to do this. It’s been six years. I need answers,” I explained.
“I know,” he said solemnly. “But it’s going to be hard.”
I tightened my grip on the wheel. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t push. Jamie never did, and I didn’t open up either. Obviously it was hard returning to the town where I last saw my best friend.
“You’re working at the Thorne orchard, right? The place is called Maple Valley.”
“That’s the one,” I chimed.
He hesitated. “You know that land belongs to the police director.”
“I know,” I said.
“And you’re still going?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes.” I tried to hide the exasperation from my tone. “I did my research.”
Another pause. “Of course you did. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I’m banking on it,” I replied. “This whole situation with Sophie has consumed me.”
He sighed. “I know, you haven’t been the same since it happened. It would be nice to have the old Claire back.”
“Jamie,” I swallowed hard. His words had caught me off guard.
I knew my family and old friends worried about me but they tried to hide it and did a pretty darn good job.
I thought about Sophie. About six years of unanswered questions.
About files that went nowhere because there was nothing solid to chase.
“I think being there will be good for me. And maybe I’ll find answers. Maybe I can finally bring Sophie peace,” my voice trailed.
“Maybe,” he said sounding worried.
“There must be a reason why her disappearance stayed buried,” I said cryptically.
Jamie didn’t say anything for a moment. “Call me if it gets heavy,” he finally said.
“I will.” Most of my friends found it eerie the way I spoke about Sophie’s disappearance. I knew they were sad to lose her and considered it a tragedy but it also seemed they were happy to move on. It was me who had a hard time letting go.
I hung up just as the orchard came into view, rows of trees stretching back into the distance, neat and orderly, the land open in a way that felt deliberate.
I slowed, scanning for a sign, a building, anything that said this is where you’re supposed to go.
I’d barely cut the engine when someone stepped out from between the trees.
I slammed on the brakes out of instinct, gravel spraying as the car jerked to a stop.
He didn’t move. Just stood there in the middle of the orchard road, hands on his hips, watching my hood stop far too close to his legs.
I rolled down the window. “Are you serious?”
He glanced at my tires, then back at me. Calm. Annoyingly calm.
“You always drive like that on private property?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.
“I didn’t see you,” I snapped. “There’s a curve. And no sign. And you’re standing in the middle of the road.”
“Looks like a road,” he said. “Walks like a road.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s smart to jump out in front of a car.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. He was tall, broad-shouldered and built like someone who spent time thinking about what his body could do. Dirt clung to his boots, sweat darkened the collar of his shirt. He didn’t look impressed.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I pushed the door open and got out before I could stop myself.
“I’m Claire Segal. I’m here for the orchard job.”
“You’re late.” His lips pursed.
“I’m five minutes early,” I countered as my stomach dipped.
He checked his watch anyway. “Didn’t get a call.”
“I emailed the time I was coming in,” I said. “Twice.”
“Didn’t see it,” he repeated like a broken record.
“Then that sounds like a you problem,” I countered. As handsome as this guy was, he was getting on my nerves.
Something sharp crossed his face, irritation or maybe something more personal. He stepped closer, and I resisted the urge to step back.
“You don’t start a job by arguing with the person running the place,” he said.
“I don’t start a job by being interrogated in the driveway.” I held my own. I wasn’t going to let this small-town jerk with his big ego make me feel bad about nothing in particular. Silence stretched between us. Up close, I noticed his eyes dark, focused and guarded.
“Claire,” he said. “Right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Asher. It seems you took a side road into the property instead of using the main entrance.”
Oops.
He didn’t offer his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I said flatly.
“Debatable.”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He exhaled slowly. “People come here with stories all the time. Temporary work. Quiet town. Fresh start. It usually means trouble.”
My chest tightened. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble.”
“Everyone says that,” he bit back.
The words hit harder than they should have.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I said.
“You’re right,” he said. “But I know this place.”
“And what exactly do you think I’m looking for?” I asked.
He hesitated. Just a second too long. “Running from someone,” he said, “or digging something up?”
Heat rushed behind my eyes. “I’m here to work,” I said tightly. “If that’s a problem, tell me now.”
He studied me for a long moment. “No,” he said. “It’s not a problem.”
It wasn’t an apology.
“Good,” I said. “Because I’ve already driven three hours.”
“Park over there.” He pointed and turned away.
I followed, anger buzzing under my skin.
“So,” I said, “is this how you usually greet people?”
“Depends on the person.” He shrugged.
“Lucky me,” I muttered dryly.
He shot me a look. “You always this hostile?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being polite. It’s you who doesn’t have manners.” We stopped near a small building at the edge of the orchard.
“Rules are simple,” he said. “Show up. Work hard. Keep your head down.”
“I’m a quiet, hard worker, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” I said quietly.
“Good,” he countered.
“Good,” I repeated.
He showed me around the orchard, and then he took me to a cabin. “This’ll be your place. We appreciate it if you keep the place clean and take care of it. Keep parties to a minimum.”
“I’m not the party type,” I muttered.
He gave me a once-over and shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Wow, I don’t see how I’m going to be able to work for someone who has your attitude,” I bit back.
He blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his medium-length brown hair. “We got off to a bad start. I don’t take almost getting run over well.”
“My apology, but you spawned out of nowhere,” I said.
“Fair enough,” he said and forced a small, crooked grin. If he wasn’t such an ass, I’d think he was hot. “Okay, let’s start over. Asher Thorne. My family owns Maple Valley. I need someone reliable to help me on the orchard since I have another job in town.” He offered his hand.
“Claire Segal, and I’m your gal,” I said, shaking his hand.
Then I winced because why the hell did I say that?
It sounded horribly awkward. But I already knew the answer.
I found Asher hot, and when I was attracted to someone, it tended to make me nervous.
“I mean I plan on working hard and minding my own business.”
“Right,” he said, with a quirky smile. It felt more like he was laughing at me than smiling at me. “Get settled. Training starts at four a.m. Oh, and here’s the key for your cabin. Don’t lose it. It becomes a pain in the ass if I have to get the spare from the main house.”
“Got it.” He dropped the silver key in my hand.
“Four a.m. sharp,” he repeated.
“Right, okay.”
Asher walked off. I was left staring at his fine behind in those jeans. I bit into my lower lip. Damn, he was dangerously attractive but such an ass. It didn’t matter anyway because I had a job to do and he was the boss.