Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
River
By the time Finn pulled up at my place, my pulse had finally come down from DEFCON run-for-your-life—but only barely. The Lodge Hall was miles behind us, yet the sense of being watched clung to my skin like humidity before a summer storm. Every shadow felt sharper. Every sound too intentional.
Finn killed the engine but didn’t move. The cruiser ticked as it cooled—the sound oddly loud in the small, suspended silence between us. His hands stayed locked on the wheel, knuckles pale, shoulders coiled tight. Like if he let himself breathe, everything inside him might shake loose.
“Thanks for the assist,” I said softly. “Would’ve been awkward to explain to the county why I was lurking around their secret meeting spot.”
He huffed out a humorless breath. “Yeah. Not exactly a group known for transparency.” His jaw flexed, a tell—quick and sharp. Then, he said, “You okay?”
God, the question shouldn’t have hit as deep as it did. But he didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t give me the softened version. And he didn’t look at me when he asked, like caring was dangerous and he knew it.
“I’m fine,” I lied, unbuckling. “You?”
Nothing. For a long moment, his silence felt like another presence in the car. Then he shifted, turning toward me. The interior light blinked on, painting him in amber. He looked exhausted—bone-deep tired. Not from running or adrenaline, but from carrying years of weight he couldn’t set down.
“River,” he said quietly, “whatever those people were doing out there, it’s bigger than missing files or a runaway report. Something’s really…off.”
“I know.” I swallowed. “I felt it.”
His gaze held mine, searching, like he could see the churn inside me if he stared long enough. Once, he could have. Before nostalgia could sink its claws in, I pushed the door open. Cold air rushed in, snapping everything back into place.
“Get some rest,” I said. “I’ll text you in the morning.”
“River.”
I paused, one hand on the doorframe.
“You need to be careful,” he said. It wasn’t an order, nor a warning. It was something heavier. “We don’t know who’s involved yet, and I can’t—” He stopped. Exhaled. Tried again. “Just…watch your back.”
It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Not by a long shot.
I shut the door gently. “You watch yours, too, Finn.”
He waited—actually waited—until I was inside and the entryway light flicked on before pulling away. Only once the cruiser disappeared did I realize I’d been standing there holding my breath.
The silence in the house hit me like a blow.
Too loud. Too empty—the kind of emptiness that echoed.
I kicked off my shoes, gave Fox a pet, and paced to the kitchen, replaying everything in loops.
The voices. The red eyes. The roster of threats and the cold dread that came with it.
And beneath all of it…Finn. Solid. Steady.
Close enough to touch, but still oceans away.
I grabbed my laptop and notebook, setting them on the dining room table like I could drown everything out with research. I spent some time looking through some things and grabbing something to eat, but when I flipped the notebook open, a vibration tore through the quiet.
My phone.
Nivea.
I snatched it up. “Hey, what’s—?”
“River, you need to get to the library. Now.”
Her voice trembled. It didn’t sound like fear exactly, but something adjacent. Controlled panic.
“Autumn found something in the archives,” she added.
“What kind of something?” I asked.
A shaky breath came across the line. “The kind that changes everything.”
I took the library steps two at a time. The heavy door groaned open, the old building breathing me in like it knew my secrets and wanted more.
The air downstairs was thick—old paper, cool stone, and the faint ozone tang of tension. They were all waiting.
Autumn stood at the head of the table like a prophet preparing to drop a revelation. Her glasses were perched crookedly on her head, strands of hair escaping her bun. Her hands shook as she set a single leather-bound ledger on the table like it was a bomb she wasn’t sure was disarmed.
Libby wouldn’t meet my gaze. Myra’s arms were crossed so tightly her fingers had gone white. Nivea paced in tight circles, that pink streak in her hair flashing each time she turned. Cade leaned against a shelf, his jaw ticking, eyes sharp.
And Finn…
He stood near the microfilm cabinets, arms folded, watching everything. The overhead lamp carved brutal shadows along his cheekbones, and he looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath since he’d left my driveway.
I hated how relieved I felt at seeing him.
Autumn didn’t waste any time. “This isn’t the public Benevolence Fund ledger,” she said. “This is the real one. The one the Civic Committee kept locked in the mayor’s private archive.”
My heart stuttered. “How…did you even get that?”
“I flirted,” she said simply. “Page forty-two.”
I walked over and flipped to it. The world narrowed to ink on paper.
Marta Bennett – 3/14/2011 – $18,000 – Extended treatment allocation – Stonybrooke Estates
Eleanor Jenkins – 9/22/2010 – $5,000 – Voluntary relocation incentive
Alexine Reed – 11/03/2010 – $7,500 – Confidential severance
My mother’s name sat there like it had been waiting for my eyes. The ledger blurred. Finn was suddenly beside me—not touching, but close enough that the heat of him grounded me.
“There’s more,” Autumn whispered. She turned to another page.
Seven names were there: Eleanor’s, my mother’s, and five others I didn’t know. Three were crossed out in red ink, and my mom’s had a red question mark beside it with some text.
“‘Handled differently,’” Autumn murmured.
The words hit like ice water.
“Your mom started asking questions,” Libby said softly. “I found copies of her notes hidden in some donation files. She thought the Fund was paying to make people disappear.”
My stomach twisted, sharp and sick.
Finn straightened, his voice low and lethal. “Who else has seen this ledger?”
“Just us,” Autumn said. “But whoever hid it will likely notice it was moved.”
Nivea stopped pacing. “We’re not the only ones working tonight. Andra just texted. Someone tried wiping Eleanor’s digital personnel file. She blocked it, but…they know.”
Myra stepped closer and gently took the ledger from my shaking hands. “Look at me, River.”
I did.
“We have evidence now. Real evidence. But we just painted targets on all our backs.”
A broken laugh escaped me. “Good thing I’m used to running.”
Finn’s hand finally settled on my wrist—warm, steady, calloused. “You’re not running anywhere.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Not bravado. More like a promise.
Something inside me snapped—not apart, but into focus. Cold. Sharp. Unbreakable.
“Then we finish this,” I said, steel entering my tone.
Cade cracked his knuckles. “About damn time.”
Libby’s smile was small and vicious. “Tomorrow, research teams at dawn. We take this Fund apart brick by brick.”
Everyone scattered, grabbing laptops, whispering strategies, already dividing tasks.
I stayed rooted, flipping back to that page and staring at my mother’s name until it blurred and burned behind my eyes.
Only when the others drifted toward the stairs did Finn move.
He slid the ledger into an evidence bag with deliberate care.
Then he looked at me.
Really looked.
“I should’ve fought harder for you back then,” he said, his voice sandpaper-rough. “When your dad…” He took a deep breath. “I let them shove me into a corner. Thought I was protecting you. I wasn’t.”
A lump rose in my throat. “I slammed the door on you. I was scared and angry and you were the only person telling me the truth. I hated you for it.”
His breath hitched. “I never stopped—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching hard. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It might,” I whispered.
We were close—so close I could smell the outside from earlier still clinging to his jacket. His pulse fluttered at his throat. My breath tangled with his.
Finn lifted a hand, slow enough to give me every chance to pull away.
I didn’t.
His thumb brushed my bottom lip—the touch barely there, like he was memorizing what was under it, and my heart stuttered violently.
“River…” he murmured, his voice breaking on my name.
“Guys?” Libby’s voice floated down the stairs. “We’re locking up. You coming, or planning to move in?”
The moment shattered. Finn stepped back. His hand dropped, and his expression shuttered. Then, he turned and headed up the stairs.
I stayed where I was for a beat, under the flickering lamp, letting the quiet settle around me as I envisioned my mother’s name one last time.
They thought they could bury things with money. With power. With silence.
They were wrong.
I had a club full of brilliant, furious weirdos. A sheriff who still looked at me like I was the only fixed point in his universe. And years of rage sharpening into purpose at last.
Let them come. We were just getting started.
I flicked off the light and headed up the stairs. Before Libby could leave, I got her extra key from her and told her I’d lock up after I made some copies and grabbed a book I wanted to look at. She agreed and gave me a hug before filing out with the others. Finn stayed behind, too.
The quiet that followed once everyone was gone felt heavier than the storm clouds pressing over Maple Ridge.
Finn stood near the circulation desk, slipping on his jacket. “You heading home soon?” he asked.
“Eventually.” I held up the photocopies. “I want to scan these first. If that ledger vanishes, we’ll still have proof.”
He nodded once, gripping the evidence bag with said ledger. “Good idea.”
The scanner hummed softly as I fed the first page through. The machine’s light slid over the ink, the words glowing briefly before disappearing again. Marta Bennett. Eleanor Jenkins. Alexine Reed.
My mother.
The knot in my chest tightened.
Finn leaned against the desk beside me, arms folded, watching the process like he was memorizing every name. “You notice something?” he said after a minute.
“What?”
He reached past me—not touching, but close enough that the heat of him skimmed my shoulder—and tapped the margin of one page I’d set aside after scanning. “Dates.”
I squinted, looking into what he pointed to.
“And the relocation payments,” he added.
My stomach dropped. “They spike right after the county approved the additional funding for Stonybrooke Estates,” I said slowly.
The upscale assisted living and mental health facility on the edge of town. Maple Ridge’s crown jewel. The place donors loved to brag about at charity galas.
Finn’s jaw flexed. “I’m pretty sure that place was Sean’s project,” he said quietly.
My phone buzzed on the scanner tray. Then Finn’s, half a second behind.
We both looked.
It was Autumn. A group text, sent to the whole club.
AUTUMN: Archive flagged a missing record twenty minutes ago. Someone knows the ledger’s gone. I’m so sorry.
Finn set the evidence bag down slowly. Deliberately. Like he was thinking through exactly what that meant.
“So they know we have it,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Which means they’ve been watching us for long enough to know we’d find it,” I said.
“The break-in at my office. The Lodge Hall. Those photos under your couch.” I looked at the ledger, thought about my mother’s name inside.
“They weren’t just telling us they could see us.
They were making sure we knew it. And now they want it back. ”
“Yep,” he said.
We looked at each other across the humming scanner. The ledger sat between us in its clear bag, my mother’s name inside, and I understood. It was the clarity that only came when something stopped being abstract. We weren’t just holding evidence.
We were holding something they could hurt us to get back.
A chill crawled up my spine. “You think the Fund was moving people there for reasons other than what it was built for?” I asked.
“Or moving them through there.”
The scanner beeped again. Outside, wind rattled the tall windows. The building suddenly felt very, very old.
I turned toward him. “Do you think—?”
“I don’t know what I think anymore,” Finn said, cutting me off. “Something about the people we saw is still niggling at me. I think I recognized someone, but I haven’t been able to place it. And the threats…”
His voice wasn’t angry. Just tired. Bone-tired. The kind of tired that came from realizing the world you trusted might have been rotten all along.
Silence stretched between us. Then he said quietly, “You shouldn’t walk to your car alone tonight.”
I snorted softly. “Sheriff Callahan, are you implying Maple Ridge isn’t safe?”
His gaze lifted to mine. “No,” he said. “I’m saying someone has already tried to erase too many people.”
The humor drained right out of me. “Point taken.”
The last page slid through the scanner. I stacked the copies and slid them into my bag. When I straightened, Finn was still watching me. Not the pages. Me.
His eyes softened slightly. “You always did that,” he said.
“What?”
“Pretended you were fine while the world was burning down.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Funny,” I said. “I remember someone else doing that.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah. But I was worse at it.”
The memory hovered between us. Late nights at this same library. Arguing about psychology theories and police procedure. Him pretending he didn’t care when he very obviously did. Back before everything shattered. Before my father. Before my mother. Before the Fund.
Finn pushed off the desk. “Come on,” he said.
“Where?”
“I told you. I’m walking you to your car.”
I grabbed my bag.
Outside, the night air smelled like rain. Clouds rolled low over the mountains, thick and heavy. The storm was coming. Finn walked beside me down the sidewalk, quiet but close enough that our shoulders brushed once. Neither of us moved away. At my vehicle in the lot, he paused.
“You text me when you get home,” he said.
“That an order, Sheriff?”
“Suggestion.”
I opened the driver’s door, then hesitated. “Finn?”
“Yeah.”
I turned back. “Thanks for…caring.” The words felt awkward. Too small for everything they meant.
But he understood anyway. He always had. His expression softened in a way I hadn’t seen in years.
“I never stopped,” he said.
The words landed somewhere deep in my chest. Neither of us moved, and the rain started to fall. Just a few drops at first. One landed on his cheekbone and slid slowly down.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “My place. Dawn. Bring breakfast. And…whatever’s left of your sanity.”
I managed a shaky laugh. “Eh. Sanity’s overrated.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. I think it was the first real one I’d seen from him since I moved back to town. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he just stepped back.
“Drive safe, River. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I climbed into the car before I could do something reckless. Like kiss him. As I pulled away, I saw him still standing there under the streetlight in the rain, watching until my taillights disappeared around the corner.