Chapter Twelve #2
"Three months ago, right after I arrived, I started investigating reports of illegal hunting in the county," I continued, organizing the facts as I would for an official briefing.
"Specifically, poaching of black bears for their gallbladders and paws.
There's a black market for those parts—they're used in traditional medicines, fetch a high price overseas. "
"On McKenzie land?" Knox asked sharply.
I nodded. "The northwest corner, where your property borders state forest. Remote enough that regular patrols don't cover it, but accessible if you know the back roads."
Ransom cursed under his breath, the rockers of his chair scraping against the porch boards as he shifted forward. "We don't allow hunting on our land," he said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "Not for decades."
"I know," I said. "That's part of what makes it attractive to poachers. The animals have learned it's a safe zone, so they concentrate there. Easy pickings for someone who doesn't care about permits or hunting seasons."
Harlow's hand finally moved to cover mine, his touch grounding me as I continued.
"Two weeks before my accident, I found evidence of a poaching operation—blood trails, improperly discarded carcasses, tracks from vehicles that had no business being that deep in the woods.
" I took a deep breath, remembering the grim discoveries.
"The next day, I found a warning on my windshield at the station.
Just a note that said 'Mind your business. '"
"You report it?" Knox asked.
"To Sheriff Hardesty, yes. But with no fingerprints and no witnesses, there wasn't much to go on." I shrugged. "I kept investigating anyway. Found more evidence, including what looked like a temporary processing camp on the far edge of your property. That's when my brakes failed."
Ransom stood abruptly, pacing the length of the porch with barely contained fury. "Someone's using our property for illegal hunting, and they tried to kill a cop to cover it up?" His voice was deadly quiet, more frightening than if he'd been shouting.
"That's what it looks like," I confirmed. "They're coming in through the old logging road that cuts across your northwest corner. Probably at night, using spotlight hunting techniques that are illegal even during regular hunting season."
Knox was already on his feet, his tactical mind visibly working through scenarios. "How many people involved, you think?"
"At least three, based on the tracks I found," I said. "Possibly more. This isn't small-scale—they're supplying an established trafficking network. The bear parts move through Portland, then overseas."
Harlow's hand tightened around mine, his concern palpable. "That's why you were on that back road when your brakes failed," he said softly, connecting the dots. "You were checking the northwest corner again."
“The cover story was about an abandoned vehicle, but yes.” I nodded, something warm unfurling in my chest at his quick understanding. "It's the most direct route from town. I'd received a tip about activity that night."
"A setup," Knox stated flatly, not a question but a conclusion.
"Most likely," I agreed.
Ransom stopped his pacing, turning to face us with an expression that would have sent most men running for cover. "They used our land," he said, his voice vibrating with rage. "They tried to kill a cop. They nearly took someone Harlow cares about."
The progression of his statement wasn't lost on me—each offense building on the last, with the threat to someone Harlow cared about clearly being the most unforgivable sin in Ransom's book.
"And they're still out there," I added quietly. "Still operating. I've been gathering evidence, but carefully. If they were willing to sabotage a deputy's car once, they won't hesitate to try again."
Knox's posture had shifted subtly, the suspicion that had been directed at me now redirected toward this external threat. "You have a plan?" he asked, his tone suggesting he expected nothing less.
"The beginnings of one," I admitted. "But I was working alone. Limited resources, limited backup. And now..."
"Now what?" Ransom prompted when I trailed off.
I looked at Harlow, then back at his brothers. "Now I'm involved with someone they might consider leverage if they realize what he means to me. That changes things."
Understanding dawned in both brothers' eyes simultaneously.
The danger had expanded beyond me, potentially placing Harlow in the crosshairs as well.
The transformation was remarkable—their protective instincts, initially wary of me as a potential threat, were recalibrating before my eyes to include me within their defensive perimeter.
"Well, Deputy," Ransom said after a moment, his voice carrying a dangerous edge, "looks like you brought more than just flowers to court our brother."
Knox stopped pacing abruptly and turned to face me, his expression hardening into something that reminded me of steel being forged. "This isn't just about you anymore," he said, gesturing between Harlow and me with a quick, decisive motion. "This is family business now."
The words hung in the evening air, weighted with meaning that went far beyond the immediate threat. In the span of a single sentence, Knox McKenzie had done what I'd thought impossible an hour ago—acknowledged me as someone worth protecting, someone connected to the McKenzie name through Harlow.
Harlow's warm hand found mine again, squeezing gently.
"Told you they'd help," he whispered, his deep voice carrying such obvious pride that my throat tightened in response.
The simple faith he had in his family, despite their earlier resistance to our relationship, made something inside me ache with both tenderness and envy.
I'd never known that kind of unconditional loyalty.
"You've been tracking this alone for months," Ransom said, settling back into the rocking chair but perching on its edge like a predator ready to spring. "That stops now. We know every inch of that land. Every trail, every hiding spot."
I nodded, unexpected emotion making it temporarily difficult to speak.
This was what Harlow had tried to explain to me—the fierce, unwavering protection of the McKenzie clan once you were counted as one of their own.
I'd witnessed it from the outside during my recovery at their farm, but experiencing it directed at me was something else entirely.
"We need a plan," Knox said, military training evident in his precise tone. "Something that draws them out without putting any of us at unnecessary risk."
"They're professionals," I cautioned, finding my voice. "And they're spooked already. They know I survived the accident, and they know I'm back on duty."
"But they don't know you've connected them to our land specifically," Ransom pointed out. "Or that you've shared that information."
"True," I acknowledged. "As far as they know, I'm working with incomplete information and limited backup."
Harlow shifted beside me, his weight causing the porch swing to creak gently. "Could use the game cameras," he suggested, his quiet suggestion drawing all our attention. "The ones we set up to track deer movements last season. They're still in the equipment shed."
Knox's eyebrows rose slightly, impressed. "Good thinking. We could position them at strategic points along the likely entry routes."
"I can do it," Harlow offered, his deep voice steady with confidence. "I know where to put them so they won't be spotted. They'll think they're just wildlife monitoring stations."
Pride swelled in my chest at how quickly Harlow had contributed a practical solution. While others might underestimate him, his brothers immediately recognized the value of his suggestion—and so did I.
"We'll need more than just cameras," I said, leaning forward. "We need to catch them in the act. That means a coordinated operation—eyes on the ground, communications, backup."
Ransom's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're talking about a stakeout."
"Essentially, yes," I confirmed. "But one that doesn't tip them off that we're watching. The northwest corner has that ridge overlooking the old logging road, right?"
I looked at Harlow for confirmation.
He nodded. "Good visibility from up there. Could see anyone coming or going without being spotted."
"That's where we set up," I said. "Small team, minimum equipment. If they follow their pattern, they'll come in after midnight, work until just before dawn."
Knox was already nodding, his tactical mind clearly running through scenarios. "We'll need to coordinate with the sheriff's department for the actual arrests. Can't have civilians making arrests, even on their own property."
"Sheriff Hardesty will want to be involved," I agreed. "But we need solid evidence before bringing in the department resources. Too many leaks otherwise."
"So we gather the evidence first," Ransom concluded. "Track their movements, document their activities, then bring in the cavalry once we know exactly when and where to catch them."
"Exactly," I said, impressed by how quickly the brothers had aligned with the approach. "I was thinking we could start surveillance tomorrow night. New moon, so maximum darkness. Perfect conditions for poachers, which makes it perfect for us to observe without being seen."
"I'll handle the cameras," Harlow said, his deep voice steady with purpose. "Can have them in place by noon tomorrow."
Knox moved to the railing, staring out at the darkening property with a calculating gaze. "We'll need to work out shifts. Three-person teams, I'm thinking. Always have at least one person awake and watching."
"I can access departmental resources without raising flags," I added. "Night vision equipment, radio communications."
"And I know a few spots where we can park vehicles without leaving obvious tracks," Ransom contributed. "Used to sneak out that way as a teenager."