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I’m starting to want to.

Chapter Eleven

Nora

I know I’m doing something stupid the second I wait for Rhett to leave.

That should probably stop me.

It doesn’t.

The cabin door shuts behind him just after sunrise, his heavy boots crunching through fresh snow as he heads toward the lower ridge line to check traps and storm damage. I watch him through the kitchen window until he disappears into the trees, broad shoulders swallowed by the mountain like he belongs to it more than the rest of us ever could.

Then I exhale slowly and reach for my laptop.

Because if I tell Rhett what I found last night, he’ll lock me in this cabin and throw me over his shoulder if necessary.

Honestly, he’d probably enjoy it.

That thought heats my face in a way that’s deeply inconvenient considering I’m actively trying to investigate corruption and possible murder.

Focus, Nora.

I pull up the files I downloaded from the county records office two days ago while Rhett thought I was researching old hiking trails. At first glance, the documents look boring enough to induce a coma. Land transfers. Permit approvals. Environmental reports.

Except the dates don’t line up.

And neither do the deaths.

I stare at the screen harder, cross-checking names again while snow falls steadily outside the cabin windows.

Three hikers disappeared over the last eighteen months near recently acquired land parcels purchased by Blackwater Ridge Development.

All three were ruled accidental deaths or exposure cases.

All three disappeared near protected forest zones suddenly approved for commercial expansion.

And every single environmental complaint tied to those properties vanished within weeks.

“Okay,” I whisper slowly. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

I click open another folder.

My stomach tightens immediately.

Photos.

Not crime scene photos.

Dumping site photos.

Industrial waste barrels buried deep in protected mountain land, half-covered with dirt and snow. Rusted chemical containers leaking into streams. Dead wildlife.

Jesus Christ.

A timestamp flashes across the corner.

Eight months ago.