Riven had been terrified for my safety. I’d nearly died. He had nothing to do with this.
“You’re reaching,” I say, but my voice lacks its earlier conviction.
Dale notices the shift. His official demeanor softens, and he steps closer, his voice dropping to a concerned murmur.
“June,” he says. “I’m worried about you. Have you considered that maybe whoever did this was targeting you specifically? Either to trap you up there or—” he hesitates, “—or worse?”
The personalized angle hits harder than the general accusation. It forces me to confront a reality I’ve been pushing aside. I was almost killed. If I’d been a few seconds slower, a few yards farther back on the road…
I swallow hard.
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, keeping my voice level. “But I’m not going to help you launch a witch hunt against my clients based on nothing but suspicion.”
Dale’s frustration is visible. “There is evidence. There are marks that could only be made by something with enormous strength and claws. There’s a pattern of incidents—”
“Pattern?” I interrupt. “What pattern?”
He hesitates, then sighs. “There have been other incidents. Property damage. Missing livestock. Hikers chased off from their camps. All concentrated in this mountain.”
“And naturally, you assume monsters are responsible,” I say flatly.
“I’m following the evidence,” Dale insists. “And right now, the evidence points to something non-human with enormous strength deliberately weakening that mountainside.” He stepscloser, his expression earnest. “June, I’m asking you as a friend. Give me names. Tell me who you were delivering to that day.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “My clients’ privacy is part of my service. You want names? Get a warrant.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Finally, Dale sighs, shoulders slumping.
“All right. That’ll be all. But please, be careful. And call me if you notice anything unusual.” His sincerity is genuine, and despite my anger, I recognize the good intentions beneath his methods.
“I’ll be careful,” I concede. “I just hope you’ll conduct a fair investigation.”
He nods once, then steps back, gesturing for me to return to my truck. As I climb in and start the engine, the other officer says something to Dale that I can’t hear. Dale shakes his head in response, watching me with a mixture of concern and frustration as I drive away.
The adrenaline from the confrontation fades as I navigate the winding road down to the valley, replaced by a cool, analytical focus. The romantic haze of the past few days dissipates, and the logistics manager in me takes over.
Dale’s investigation will inevitably be tainted by his biases. He’ll zero in on the most obviously “monstrous” residents in this mountain, regardless of actual evidence.
And that ugly seed of doubt about Riven? I need to crush it definitively, not just for my peace of mind but because doubt ispoison to any relationship, and what Riven and I have started is too important to risk.
Someone tried to kill me—or at least, someone didn’t care if I died as collateral damage in whatever they were planning. They used the mountain as a weapon. My mountain. The terrain I know better than anyone else in Pine Ridge.
By the time I reach the valley floor, I’m no longer just thinking about my next delivery. I’m planning an investigation of my own.
Dad’s waiting for me onthe loading dock when I pull into the Hartwell Delivery warehouse. His face lights up when he sees me, and I’m struck by how much older he looks after just a few days of worry, the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders more stooped.
“Junebug!” He hugs me the moment I step out of the truck. “Thank God you’re safe. When you first called me, I thought—” He cuts himself off, squeezing me tighter.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I assure him, returning the hug. “Takes more than a little mud to stop a Hartwell.”
He pulls back, studying my face. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a wild few days.”
Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press. “Well, you’re home now. That’s what matters.” He gestures to the warehouse. “Got quite the backlog waiting. Most urgent ones are stacked by the dispatch desk. You sure you don’t need to rest first?”
“Oh, I got plenty of rest,” I say, before realizing just how that could be interpreted. “Uh. The guest room had a memory foam bed.”
Dad frowns slightly, before nodding. “Well, all right. I might have to get me one of those then.”
