Chapter 5
Chapter Five
River
Maple Ridge mornings were deceptive. It was like they tricked you into thinking the world was calm and quiet before chaos inevitably showed up wearing a smile and carrying a file full of secrets. Oh, wait. That’s exactly what’d just happened to me upon my return to the so-called sleepy little town.
I’d spent the better part of the morning in my office with a mug full of lemongrass-ginger tea warming my hands, and the local police scanner playing faintly from my tablet.
Libby’s playlist of, as she put it, “soothing but dramatic instrumentals” drifted through the air from my Bluetooth speaker, mostly cello-heavy pieces that made everything feel like a prelude to something I couldn’t yet name.
The bits of the Jenkins case file were splayed across my desk.
I’d reviewed the notes three times already, marked them with color-coded tabs, scribbled marginalia, and tried—really tried—to make it all make sense.
The profile was forming. The inconsistencies, the psychological motivators, the likely triggers…
they were all aligning into something that looked plausible.
But something still refused to click into place.
There was a gap I couldn’t fill.
It wasn’t just the missing report or the vague phrases like “community pressure” and “HR interference.” It was the emotional timbre of it all.
By all accounts, Eleanor Jenkins had been cautious but brave, outspoken but calculated.
She’d made waves but not recklessly. And someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make her vanish.
Not just physically, but also narratively.
That kind of erasure wasn’t panic. It was precision.
I took another sip of tea and let the thought settle.
Somewhere, someone knew exactly what had happened to her. And that someone had either a hell of a lot to lose or a legacy to protect. At least, that was my gut instinct.
I was sure Finn would have something to say about that.
A soft breeze drifted through the open window, and I sat back, letting my gaze wander past the potted fern Libby insisted I name—I hadn’t yet—and out into the sleepy pulse of downtown Maple Ridge. Normalcy hummed beyond the glass. Coffee drinkers, shopkeepers, a dog pulling at its leash.
The illusion of peace.
And somewhere amid all of that stillness, danger stretched its limbs.
I pressed my fingers to my temple and exhaled slowly. I could almost feel a storm gathering. I just didn’t know what direction it would come from. I took a deep breath. Today wasn’t about death, though. At least not yet.
“You ready?” Libby’s voice broke through my thoughts as she swung through the office door in a puff of Ed Hardy perfume and unbothered confidence. Autumn trailed behind her with a travel mug in one hand and a stack of true-crime books in the other.
“Define ready,” I said, standing to grab my bag. “Is this a get-dressed-and-go-out ready, or a let’s-pretend-we’re-being-social-but-actually-sit-in-a-dark-corner-and-eat-fries ready?”
“Somewhere between the two, I think,” Autumn said. “Libby promised mimosas. And scandal.”
Libby psshaw’d. “It’s not scandal,” she said sweetly. “It’s local politics.”
“Like I said, scandal,” Autumn returned.
I rolled my eyes but smiled. I needed this. Some time to breathe, laugh, forget. For just a few hours. I needed to put aside the fact that I’d walked back into a town full of secrets and in front of a man who still had a lock on part of my heart—no matter how much I pretended otherwise.
We ended up at The Briar Patch, a charming café with vintage photos on the walls and a farm-to-table menu that changed depending on the owner’s mood. Autumn dove into the local political gossip, Libby ordered an almost offensively pink drink, and I let myself enjoy it all.
Until the front door chimed, and I saw Finn walk in with Rand and Cade.
Because…of course.
He looked relaxed, like he belonged. Like he hadn’t cracked my rib cage wide open with a single look four nights ago and then widened the gap the night after.
I ducked my head, a little too late, and Libby caught the shift.
She leaned in to whisper, “Want to go?”
“No,” I said, straightening my spine. “We both live here now. They’re allowed to come out for brunch. Even if their timing is absolute crap.”
Cade saw us first and waved. Rand offered a polite nod. Finn met my gaze and held it.
The room suddenly felt too small. The air was too still.
“Just breathe,” Autumn said softly, clearly noticing my distress. She put her hand over mine and gave my fingers a little squeeze.
I did.
When Finn passed our table on the way to theirs, he didn’t say a word.
But he didn’t look away, either.
Autumn sipped her mimosa and inclined her head toward the corner where the guys were now laughing over something Rand had said. Cade had practically doubled over, and Finn was shaking his head with that half-smile of his that had once felt like home.
“If you don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice soft but curious, “you can tell me to kick rocks. But what happened between you two?”
Libby’s eyes darted to mine. She didn’t say anything, but her face was already a plea for gentleness.
I took a breath and traced the rim of my bloody Mary glass with one finger, watching the condensation bead and run. “It’s…complicated.”
“This is my shocked face,” Autumn deadpanned, but her tone was kind. Coaxing.
I tried to smile but couldn’t quite get there.
“We met in college, technically—after Libby transferred—but it was back here that things really started. After I moved home, Finn moved with me. Got an apartment with Cade, actually. My dad was on the force, then—a sergeant—and Finn had just finished at the academy. He was new to the department. And they worked together.”
“So, was it a secret, scandalous romance between the rookie and the boss’s daughter?” Autumn said, waggling her brows.
Libby snorted into her drink.
“Not exactly,” I said, shaking my head. “It wasn’t scandalous at all, really. He was kind and intense and so ridiculously noble. And there I was, struggling with what I wanted to do next. He made it feel okay to be a little lost.”
“But obviously something changed,” Autumn prompted.
“My dad got pulled into a case,” I said slowly.
“Something big, though I honestly can’t remember what it was about anymore.
Maybe I’ve blocked it out.” I shrugged, realizing that my manner of speech had changed, my sentences shortening to something that maybe wouldn’t be quite as painful.
“There were whispers about mishandled evidence, some bad calls. I thought it was just politics, you know? People in power, turning on each other. But Finn…” I glanced at him again, watched him tip his head back as he laughed once more.
“He wouldn’t let it go. Even when they moved him on to another case. ”
Libby’s smile faded. She knew the next part.
“He kept digging,” I said. “And then he came to me one day and uttered the words that would shatter my entire world. He told me he thought he’d found evidence that my father was involved. That he’d doctored some evidence. Took bribes. He said he didn’t want to believe it.”
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the rest. “When I argued and told him there was no way, said I knew my dad, knew he’d never…
that he was the best man I’d ever met, it was like he wouldn’t even listen.
He was stuck on what he’d found and his beliefs.
Told me he had a duty to the badge, to the truth. Whatever that truth was.”
The images in front of me blurred, and I realized that my eyes were tearing up. Both Libby and Autumn noticed, and they each reached out to take a hand.
“Not long after,” I continued, “despite me tirelessly telling him he had to be wrong, that what he’d found must be misleading somehow, he told me he had uncovered something concrete. Enough for them to open a formal investigation.”
Autumn’s brow furrowed. “What happened then?”
I shook my head. “They did just that. Finn gave Internal Affairs everything he’d found, testified, and they went after my dad.”
“Oh, River. I’m so sorry. What was the outcome?”
“Despite everything, I still didn’t believe it.
I just couldn’t. There was no way. I was convinced it was a mistake.
Maybe Dad had been working on the case and things looked the way they did for a reason.
I asked him, but all he’d say was, ‘Let it go, jellybean. It’s too dangerous.
’ I tried talking to Finn again, but he wouldn’t listen.
He just…refused. It ultimately broke us. ”
“So, what happened with the investigation?” Autumn asked, and Libby gave me a sympathetic look. I knew she was telling me without saying it aloud that I didn’t have to say more, but something in me wanted to tell Autumn the rest.
“Not long after he was put on leave,”—my voice cracked on the words—“I came home from work and found him locked in the garage. He’d used a hose to asphyxiate himself.”
“Oh my God, River.” Autumn reached for my hand again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Naturally, I blamed Finn,” I said, staring into my drink like it held answers to the past. “My logical brain knows he was just doing his job, but at the time…it felt like a betrayal. A big one. Like the man I loved chose the job over me and my family, and it cost me everything.”
Libby sighed beside me, the sound somewhere between guilt and grief. “She left town not all that long after the funeral when things with the estate settled down,” she told Autumn. “Packed a bag and disappeared.”
“I couldn’t breathe here,” I said. “Every corner reminded me of Dad. Of Finn. Of everything I couldn’t fix.”
“What about your mom?” Autumn asked.
Libby and I shared another look. “My mom was institutionalized when I was twenty-one. She died there not long after.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Autumn said, then stood and came around behind me, wrapping me in a hug. I crossed my arms and put my hands on her forearms, soaking in her warmth.
She gave me one last squeeze and then retook her seat. “So, yeah.” She pursed her lips. “I get why you left. But now?”
“Now, I’m back,” I said simply. “Older, though not sure about wiser. However, I do see things more clearly. But it still hurts, you know? Seeing him. Being around him.”
“You still love him,” Autumn said gently. It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer. Not directly, at least. But I didn’t deny it, either. There was a fine line between love and hate.
Libby gave my shoulder a soft squeeze. “Just…go easy on each other, okay? You’ve both bled for this town in different ways.”
I nodded, but my gaze strayed to him again, the ache I’d thought I buried a long time ago blooming to life once more. Slow and steady, but impossible to ignore.