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And while there were some very well-regarded people doing investigative work in and around Portland, so many were connected to the logging industry. Given the stakes, we couldn’t risk compromising the investigation we’d started.
Law enforcement had been no help. Even after my brother Remy and his wife Hazel were literally chased by drug traffickers through logging territory this summer.
It was all related. Dad’s death, Henri’s accident, the cache of pills and guns Remy and Hazel had stumbled upon.
“Can we hurry this along?” She smoothed the front of her dress. “I’ve got someplace to be.”
My stomach clenched. Did she have a date? I had invited her to dinner. It would take as long as it took. Did she seriously plan to meet up with some dude after I bought her an overpriced gourmet meal?
“We have business to discuss,” I said coolly, dropping one forearm to the table and sitting back in my chair.
Her mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “I promised to hear you out. I did not promise to stay for dinner or take the job.”
There was no way in hell she was leaving here looking like that. I would keep her fine ass in that chair until she agreed to take the damn job. Then I’d insist she go straight home to start working on it.
I gave the waiter a confident smile. “I’d like a bottle of the Evenstad pinot noir to start.”
“Water for me.” Parker huffed.
The waiter, likely a local college kid, looked uncomfortable.
“Two glasses.” I held up my fingers. “And oysters.”
“Very good, sir,” he said, scurrying away.
“Are you shitting me?”
I leaned back in my chair again and folded my arms. “Nope. Do you have any idea what the culinary options are like where I live? I’m going to relish every second of this meal. Even if the company is subpar.”
She sat silently for a moment, with her hard eyes fixed on me. I took the opportunity to unabashedly study her face. High cheekbones, square jawline, and a thick and undoubtedly bitable bottom lip. She was using some sort of cop trick on me. Sit silently so the opposition gets uncomfortable, thus securing the upper hand.
I’d love to say it wasn’t working, but my collar felt tight and desperation coursed through me. I needed her.
I scratched my beard. Or whatever this was on my face. I had lost a bet with my baby brother, Remy. He’d competed in the National Timbersport Championships last summer. And I told him if he won, I’d grow a beard.
The bastard placed fifth overall, but won the speed climbing event, setting a record in the process. Here I thought I was the smart one of the bunch, but I’d neglected to clarify whether winning a single event counted. So my siblings voted, and I was forced into growing a beard.
I’d always been a clean-shaven guy. Beards were the standard in Northern Maine; it was far more distinctive to show the world my jaw.
I’d never been a country boy like either of my brothers. Sure, I was born and raised in Lovewell, but my heart had always been elsewhere. Or maybe it was my head. Not sure I’d ever had much of a heart, really. If I ever did, it was nonexistent these days.
I had to fight the urge to pick up my phone and check my email again. I had been gone two days, but I had been checking in on operations back in Lovewell every few hours. Things were finally picking up. We were looking at a really strong upcoming season, and the work I had been doing to clean up the finances was finally falling into place.
My fingers itched as I eyed the device in its crushproof rubber case. It was an impulse I struggled to control. The constant need to check on everyone and everything. Texting my mom every morning to make sure she was alive. Though I never voiced my concerns so blatantly. That would be crazy. Instead, I’d send her a funny meme or random quote or my Wordle score, just to get her to respond.
Other times, I would stop by my brother’s house to talk to his kids about how school had gone that week. Then there were the daily calls to Richard at camp. Those allowed me to verify that our guys were safe and that things were proceeding according to plan. There were so many variables in the woods. So many things that could go wrong. It only made sense to keep on top of things.
I took a deep breath and forced my mind to focus on the task at hand, convincing Parker to take the case.
“Let me walk you through some of the background,” I said, breaking what could only be described as a torturously long silence.
She gave me a single nod in response.
I dove into our story, feeling more unnerved by her beauty and backbone by the second.
First, I ran through the basics of the timber industry—how we operate and manage and maintain our roads and land. Then gave her a brief overview of the families and our history. I went into a little more depth about how the logging roads allowed opioid traffickers from Canada to reach the US undetected.
She nodded along thoughtfully. At one point, she opened her massive purse to remove a notebook. I paused while she scribbled notes, considering how I should play this. Go with honesty and tell her how desperate we were? Or play it cool? Option two was my default. Except our brief interactions alone told me she wouldn’t be swayed by my bullshit and bluster.
