Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Finn
The wind had teeth tonight. It snapped at the cruiser as I eased us off the road and into the shadow of the tree line, headlights cutting out with a final blink.
The Lodge Hall loomed ahead like a wounded animal—half-collapsed roofline, boarded windows, graffiti peeling where the weather hadn’t already claimed it.
A lone floodlight on the south corner buzzed in that way old lights do, the kind of sound that makes your skin twitch.
Beside me, River tightened her jacket and stared straight ahead, knee bouncing like there was a storm brewing under her skin.
I shouldn’t have let her come. Should’ve called Cade or Atlas.
Should’ve done a dozen things differently.
But when she’d looked at those photos—with that damn red eye scratched across each building—her determination had been volcanic.
It always had been. Nearly a decade apart hadn’t changed that.
And if I hadn’t let her come, she’d have done something reckless alone.
“Lights off,” she murmured, already pulling binoculars from her bag.
I flipped the knob, and the cruiser went dark. Only moonlight and the far-off flicker of the floodlight touched the clearing.
“Anything?” I asked quietly.
She scanned the lot. “Still nothing. But there’s definitely movement in there. I can feel it.”
I didn’t comment. River’s instincts were usually dead-on. And the more we uncovered about the Benevolence Fund, the more I felt the ground under this town shifting, cracking, ready to swallow something whole.
“Why the eye symbol?” she asked, lowering the binoculars. “It’s too deliberate to be random tagging.”
“No idea.” I leaned back, keeping my gaze fixed on the side entrance. “Could be a mark. A warning. A way to claim space. Or, yeah, those old ghost stories. Teenagers used to spray the symbol all over the quarry.”
She snorted. “Teenagers aren’t running a town-wide slush fund with deep pockets and blackmail tendencies.”
Her tone was sharp, but not at me—at the truth unraveling around us.
Another thirty minutes of silence stretched, thick and weighted. The kind that made you aware of your heartbeat and the way it thudded too loudly in your rib cage. Somewhere in the woods, an owl hooted, three short bursts like a countdown.
River suddenly sucked in a quick breath. “Movement. Left side.”
I followed her angle. A hooded figure slipped between two loose boards and into the building.
Quick. Purposeful. A faint gleam of red flashed when the floodlight sputtered overhead.
A second figure followed. Taller, heavier build.
Something in the silhouette tugged at a memory, but my brain wouldn’t grab it.
My pulse kicked. “I’m going in,” I whispered.
“Like hell you are going alone,” she hissed, sliding her binoculars back into her bag.
Before I could stop her, she was opening her door. I cursed under my breath and followed. We moved low, staying to the darkest pockets of the trees. The wind carried the faint scrape of metal shifting against wood, followed by the murmur of voices.
At the corner of the Hall, I caught River’s wrist, dragging her behind a dumpster. Her pulse thudded under my fingers like a hummingbird.
“Just hold,” I breathed.
For once—miraculously—she listened.
A door creaked inside. Then a voice came, sharp and annoyed. “…too close. They found her.”
River’s eyebrows snapped together. My gut tightened.
“They were supposed to handle it,” another voice said—the taller figure, judging by the silhouette moving inside. “Melissa’s already shredding what she can.”
“Melissa?” River mouthed.
I shook my head. Not now.
“I tried,” the first said, defensive. “The scares haven’t worked.”
“Then fix it. Or you’re done.”
My hand curled into a fist against the dumpster’s rusted edge.
Another voice—this one low and gravelly—cut in. “I didn’t sign on for murder.”
“You took the money,” the second snapped. “The Fund’s not a charity.”
My breath stuttered. River’s fingers found the back of my jacket, anchoring. The Benevolence Fund. Had to be. And murder?
Every worst-case scenario slithered into my mind at once—Eleanor, River’s mom, the weird gaps in financial records, the blackmail structure we’d only half uncovered. And now someone else—
River leaned closer. “They’re talking about scaring someone. Trying to push her.”
“Or silence her,” I whispered.
A clatter inside drew our attention. The hooded figure emerged just long enough to spray another red eye symbol across a rotted exterior plank. Quick strokes, practiced. Like it was code. Definitely a message.
The taller figure paced near the doorway. “Callahan’s not stupid.”
My heart slammed so hard I went still. River’s hand tightened.
The first voice lowered, barely audible. “Then redirect him. Or that accident your wife could so easily have…gets real.”
Ice crawled down my spine. My throat closed.
My name.
That oddly familiar gait.
The tone.
Recognition flickered on the edge of my mind like a faulty lightbulb but wouldn’t click.
River’s breath hitched. Her anger was a livewire against my back. Protective. Fierce. And afraid for me.
A set of headlights swept across the lot, shattering the darkness. I ducked, pulling River with me. A county-plated vehicle rolled in and idled beside the Hall. Two new figures stepped out, silhouettes sharp against the floodlight.
“What the hell is this?” River whispered.
“Something organized,” I said, voice barely audible. “Something bigger than we thought.”
They spoke to the first two, but we were too far away, and the wind carried the wrong direction. When they disappeared inside the building, I jerked my head toward the trees.
“Go. Now.”
We sprinted, long grass whipping our legs, breath stinging our lungs. Once the cruiser came into view, we broke into a full run, dove inside, and quietly pulled the doors shut.
River braced her hands on her knees for a second, panting. Then she laughed—a harsh, incredulous sound. “Well. That was illuminating,” she said breathlessly. “In that ‘I-need-a-therapy-session-and-a-drink’ kind of way.”
“No arguments here.”
Her shoe had bent awkwardly from the sprint, and she fixed it absently, her hands trembling a bit. “That eye symbol,” she said quietly, “isn’t just tagging. It’s communication.”
“Agreed.”
“And the Fund…Finn, whatever they’re doing, it’s not just corruption. It’s dangerous. Deadly.”
I stared through the windshield at the empty road ahead. My pulse still hadn’t slowed.
She reached out—instinctively and without looking—and her fingers brushed mine. A small touch. Electric. Anchoring and destabilizing at the same time.
I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Too much was rattling in my head—my name in their mouths, the threat against the guy’s wife, the realization that someone inside Maple Ridge’s decision-making circles was actively orchestrating something violent.
As I started the engine, the Lodge Hall receded in the mirror, shrinking but not losing its weight.
River exhaled shakily. “We’re really in this now, aren’t we?”
I didn’t answer immediately, but the truth settled heavily in the cab. We weren’t just pulling a few threads anymore. We were unraveling the whole damn sweater.
And someone out there already knew more than we wanted them to.