Chapter 16 #2
“Suspicious, isn’t it?” I moved deeper into the long, narrow shed, checking each corner.
Riley laughed. “Not everyone with organizational skills is up to no good.”
“True. But not everyone takes such care with a maintenance shed that’s only used occasionally.”
We worked our way through the space, documenting anything that seemed out of place. In the corner behind a stack of lumber, Riley discovered something.
“Dungar,” she called out.
I joined her, kneeling beside the open packing box holding a small wire crate that had been hidden beneath a blue tarp. Inside lay what appeared to be specialized scientific equipment, including a small containment unit with transparent sides, climate control panels, and simple monitoring systems.
“These are designed for transporting living specimens.” I recognized the technology from when we’d imported the first luminooks to the surface. “Maintaining precise temperature and humidity.”
Riley photographed everything. “Expensive equipment. Not something your average tourist would carry around.”
“Or your average maintenance worker would keep in a shed.”
We continued our search. In a desk drawer, tucked beneath repair invoices, I found a shipping receipt that made my blood run cold.
I handed her the paper. “Look at this.”
She read it quickly, her eyes widening. “One specialized specimen containment unit, expedited delivery, addressed to Sillavar Research.” She looked up at me. “I know of Sillavar. They do biological research. They’re affiliated with the Blainsworths. That can’t be a coincidence.”
I tugged her into my arms and held her while she trembled.
“It’s related. I know it,” she said. “They’ve found me. I should run.”
“Stay. Please. We’ll keep you safe.”
Her sigh rang out. “For now, but the moment I sense something’s off…”
She’d be gone, taking my heart with her when she left.
We parted and documented everything with notes and our phones. Riley remained silent until we had finished.
“How do you think they got inside?” she asked, testing the back door and finding it locked.
I hadn’t found any other possible points of entry.
“Someone had the key,” I said. I didn’t want to think Mary, Joyce, and Ava were involved, and them gathering together wasn’t enough evidence to confront them. Enough to watch them, yes, but not suspect them of something as underhanded as stealing luminooks to sell to a biological research firm.
“Yeah.” Riley’s troubled gaze met mine. “Are the master keys kept out in the open where anyone could grab one?”
“Mary has one. Me. All my brothers, but I doubt they leave them where anyone could borrow them. We’ll ask them, however.”
We covered the box with the tarp, leaving it alone for now. We’d arrange for cameras to watch this location.
As we walked back toward the sheriff’s office, Riley’s hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with my much larger ones.
“This feels organized,” she said quietly. “Professional.”
“Yes.” I squeezed her hand. “But so are we.”
“I’m worried, of course.” Her gaze met mine, and while her lips trembled, she lifted her chin. “But I’m not running. Not this time. I’m going to stay here and face this.”
“You won’t face it alone.”
Her face smoothed, her mouth twitching in an almost-smile. “You’re right. I won’t. I’ve got you, Dungar. You and your brothers and everyone else in this wonderful town who’s determined to keep me safe.”
“Always.”
Back in my office, with Greel gone to start his shift at the saloon, I updated our case files with the new evidence. Each photo was labeled, dated, and filed in chronological order. Each observation recorded in my precise handwriting.
While Riley investigated Sillavar Research online, I pulled out the leather-bound journal I kept in the bottom drawer of my desk. Opening to the section I’d started three days ago, I added another item to the list under the header, “Future with Riley.”
The page already contained meticulous entries:
Show Riley the crystal caverns of the orc kingdom.
Build her a proper reading nook in the east window of our house.
Learn to make her favorite meal.
I added: “Protect her always, no matter the cost.”
Closing the journal, I glanced up to find her watching me, her expression soft. She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing on her chest.
“What’s that?” She nodded toward the journal I returned to the drawer.
“Just some personal notes.” I wasn’t ready to show her the list, to reveal how deeply I was planning for a future she might not want.
She studied me for a moment, then smiled. “You changed your house for me.”
The observation caught me off guard. “What?”
“The towels in the bathroom. You moved the rack where you hang them so I could reach them while in the shower without stretching. The coffee mugs are on the lowest shelf now. And you put a step stool in the kitchen so I can reach the orc-height cabinet top shelves.”
I hadn’t realized she’d noticed the small adjustments. “I want you to be comfortable.”
She stood and strode to my desk, perching on the edge of it. “No one’s ever changed their space to make room for me. It’s always been me adapting to fit wherever I landed.”
The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. I stood, moving to stand between her knees, my hands settling on her waist.
“You fit with me,” I said simply. “Exactly as you are.”
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against my chest. “What if I can’t stay, Dungar? What if all this,” she gestured vaguely toward the case files, “is connected to me, and staying puts everyone in danger?”
I lifted her chin with one finger, meeting her gaze. “Then we face it together. I’m not letting you run anymore, Riley James.”
She curled her finger for me to bring my face near and gave me a tentative but hopeful kiss. When she pulled back, her eyes held enough heat to make my heart stutter.
“I should check the mail records,” she said, though she made no move to leave my embrace. “See if there are other shipments here from Sillavar Research.”
“Good idea.” I reluctantly stepped back, letting her slide off the desk.
While she accessed the digital mail logs on her computer, I returned to organizing our evidence board. Each photo, statement, and timeline entry had its place in the larger picture we were assembling.
“Dungar.” Riley’s voice cut through my concentration. “I found something.”
I moved to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder. She nudged her chin toward an invoice record for a delivery a week ago: “Specialized specimen containment unit with biometric monitoring capabilities” addressed to Sillavar Research, care of Lonesome Creek Post Office, Box 437.
“Who rents Box 437?” I asked, already reaching for the post office registry we kept on file.
Riley beat me to it, flipping through the pages until she found the entry. Her finger stopped midway down the page, and she looked up at me with concern in her eyes.
“Box 437 is registered to Franklin Prescott.” Her frown deepened. “Who’s that?”
“I have no idea, but we’re going to find out.”