Page 26

Chapter 25

Mila

I couldn’t sit still. My body was pulsating with excitement. I stood and spun, realizing I’d barely left this room in two days.

Jude had dragged me to the kitchen last night and insisted I eat, then coaxed me into the shower. Then he massaged my shoulder until I fell asleep sitting up on the couch.

He carried me to bed without disturbing me, as always, but this time when I woke, he was lying next to me.

I should have been naked and orgasm-drunk with my lumbersnack. Instead, I was holed up, pulling every single dangling thread I could find on this thumb drive.

At first, I couldn’t understand why the charitable donation records of a construction company would interest me. But as I clicked on files, it dawned on me. Each one was filled with several years’ worth of money laundering transactions.

Including some involving Hebert Timber back when Jude’s dad ran the business.

Shell corporations, offshore accounts, random real estate holdings in Quebec, sketchy charities. It was a smorgasbord of shady shit. But how did it all fit together?

One thing was certain: this was much bigger than I had imagined.

I used the restroom, then padded to the kitchen to make myself another cup of tea and find snacks.

Jude was practically perfect in all ways. Physically a specimen out of a men’s fitness magazine, but with the ironic T-shirts and hipster glasses. He was kind and decent and brushed my damn hair and adored his dog. His dick was straight and thick and he knew how to use it. Truly masculine perfection.

But the man did have a flaw. A major flaw. His obsession with healthy food. Yes, I was well fed. In fact, I was slowly gaining back some of the weight I’d lost over the past year. But sometimes a girl just needed a dose of high-fructose corn syrup after a hard day.

I rooted around in the cabinets, eventually settling for fruit leather and pistachios.

Ripley appeared, tongue lolling, clearly wanting a treat.

I plucked one from the cute container on the counter, and before I even gave her the command, she sat happily, her tail thumping on the tile floor.

As she chomped on it, I let out a sigh. “Ripley girl, what is going on? What’s happening on Friday the thirteenth?” I slumped against the counter. “And more importantly, where is it happening? And why the fuck is a real estate company involved?”

She tilted her head and hit me with those sweet doggie eyes. While I was generally anti-emotional attachment, I couldn’t help but love her. When this was over, if I managed to survive it, I’d get a dog.

The problem was that I didn’t want any dog. I wanted Ripley.

I stroked her fluffy ears. Leaving her would be impossible. And I didn’t even want to think about leaving her owner. Nope. Wasn’t doing that. Danger bang. That’s all. Nothing more.

I finished my snacks and got back to work. This mess was not going to untangle itself.

Hours later, when the front door opened, I launched myself out of the makeshift office.

“Jude,” I screamed, running down the hall. Ripley perked up and followed me, galloping across the living room.

He stood in the entry, his face creased with concern, as I ran at him. Without slowing, I jumped into his arms.

“Careful,” he chided, holding me to his chest. “Your shoulder is finally starting to heal.”

“Jude,” I said, my heart pounding. “I figured it out.”

He blinked at me from behind his lenses.

“The bats.” I threw up my good arm, causing him to wobble. “The fucking bats.” I shimmied out of his hold and danced around while he hung his coat and toed off his work boots.

“Explain.”

I grasped his hand and dragged him into the spare room. There was so much to fill him in on. How could I distill years of spreadsheets into a simple explanation?

“Look.” I pointed to a series of photos and newspaper clippings. “It all comes back to the bats.”

He frowned. “The bats?”

Anticipation zipped through me. “Yes, the northern long-eared bat. They’re endangered.”

“I’m aware.”

“Hugo and the Maine DEP track and study the bat habitats. It’s illegal to drive on or cut on those lands.”

“Yes.” He dipped his chin. “This is my job, Trouble.”

I took a deep breath and worked to organize my thoughts.

When I’d found some semblance of order, I cleared my throat. “It all comes back to the money. The trail. It’s all here.” I pointed at the stack of papers.

“I’m trying to decipher what the hell you’re saying, but I’m lost.” He scratched at his beard.

“They’re using the bat land to traffic the drugs. That’s why they haven’t been caught. There’s no movement, no surveillance. Nothing allowed on those lands. That’s the path they’re taking from Quebec.”

“How?” It was a single-word question, but the answer was far more complicated.

“We already know they have law enforcement in their pocket. They must have someone in environmental control and even border agents.”

“And Hugo?”

“I think he discovered that they weren’t actually protecting the bats. Maybe he pushed back or refused. I don’t know. But he hadn’t been on the job long, and from what I could find, it looks like he’d been auditing reports from previous years.”

“So the attack wasn’t random?”

I shook my head. “I think he was targeted.”

“Shit.”

“He was only doing his job.” Emotion welled inside me, my eyes filling with tears. “He loved his job. He loved being outside. Protecting nature and wildlife. Mom was so proud of him.”

He grasped my hand. “I’m so sorry. But you’re doing it. You’re gonna get justice for him.”

More than anything, I wanted him to wake up. I wanted him healthy and whole. But the chances were slim. So finding the fuckers who’d done this to him felt like my only salvation.

“The fucking FBI,” I said, the sadness morphing into anger. “They never took this seriously. They told my mom he was involved in a drug deal gone wrong. My brother had nothing to do with drugs.”

Emotion bubbled up, threatening to overtake me. But I choked it back. I couldn’t sink into the familiar cycle of rage and grief. Not when I was so close to justice.

I pulled him over to the wall. “Here.” I tapped at the massive map he’d brought home. “Before 2002, the bats were mating and nesting here.” I pointed to a region outlined in yellow. “I got the records and the agreements made between the state and Hebert Timber, Gagnon Lumber, and a couple other smaller companies. When the regulations went into place. This was the area that was protected.”

He nodded, head tilted, studying the map. “That makes sense. That’s the most mountainous area. Near the gorge.”

“Exactly. The bats nest and give birth in caves. But over time, the protected area has shifted. That was 2002. Your dad was running day-to-day operations. And this one.” I spun and snatched up a printout I’d been studying. “Three years later, in 2005, this is the zone. See how the protection area has moved?”

Bringing one hand up to his chin, he adopted a traditional thinking pose while he scanned the page.

“And,” I said, “that’s when Huxley Construction started donating generously to bat protection efforts.”

He straightened, his eyes going wide. “What?”

“Oh yes. I’ve got the charitable giving reports from the IRS. Charles Huxley was lieutenant governor at the time, and he advocated for the protection of native Maine wildlife species. The northern long-eared bat was classified as endangered by the state of Maine, but only threatened at the federal level.”

“Is the difference important?”

I nodded. “They weren’t considered endangered on that level until a few years ago, but he was leading the charge. That meant even more protection against habitat loss. Now…” I shuffled through pages until I found the one I was looking for. Then I laid it on the desk. “This is the map from 2010.” Again, I’d outlined the protected area with yellow highlighter.

“Oh shit. They moved the bats.”

My pulse flickered. He got it. “I think so.”

He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his T-shirt. “And the road? See here.” He traced his finger along what looked to be a path. “That’s the old road. See how it moves along with the river?”

I nodded.

“Before the Golden Road was built in the ’70s,” he said, settling his glasses in place again, “there was a network of old roads. They’d been used since the 1800s. Back when lumber companies floated logs down the river or used horse-drawn trucks to transport them to the mill.

“When the Golden Road was built to accommodate all four of the big timber companies, they stopped using and maintaining those roads. They were never even paved, so it didn’t matter much.”

“And now?” More pieces of this puzzle were coming together.

He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t been out there in years, but I’d assume they’re overgrown hiking trails.”

“The one you pointed out is visible, but there are more, right? Could you add them to the map?”

He plucked a Sharpie from the penholder on the desk and traced a line along the river, then through the forest. “I’m pretty certain this is the main road. And this up here”—he continued drawing—“is not precise, but that goes west.”

“To the border,” we said in unison.

Straightening, I locked eyes with him, my skin breaking out in goose bumps.

I shook off the sensation and squinted at the microscopic words labeling the town the route led to. “Sainte-Louise.”

“It’s not a border checkpoint anymore. When the new highways were built, it all changed. But my grandpa mentioned it when he’d tell stories. Lumber came in and out of there. Canadian whiskey during prohibition too.”

It was all coming together in my head. I’d heard that name many times while I was gathering evidence. Only now, though, did I realize what they’d been talking about.

“Is that where they’re going on Friday the thirteenth?”

If they’d been doing this for almost twenty years, there had to be some significance here.

I turned on my heel and paced, my heart pounding and my head spinning.

“Trouble,” Jude said, gently holding me by the shoulders. “This is amazing. But you need to breathe. Process. This is a lot.”

He guided me to the living room and urged me to sit on the couch. Then he was gone, only to return a moment later with a glass of water.

“I’ll call Parker.”

“No,” I said sharply, my stomach twisting into a knot. “Not until I’ve got it all put together. There’s all kinds of stuff in there I haven’t touched. For now, I’m still working out what’s happening on the thirteenth.” This felt too raw, too precious right now to bring in law enforcement. “I need to be totally certain.”

He sat beside me and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You don’t have to do all this alone, Trouble. We can help.”

I nodded, my eyes unfocused. “You’ve been helping. I need a little more time. I promise.”

“Okay.” With a long exhale, he put an arm around me.

“I know you think I’m nuts,” I said softly as I rested my head on his shoulder. “But there are some things I can’t let go of. That I just can’t forgive. I know that’s a character flaw. It’s why I’ve bounced around career-wise. It’s why I don’t own a home and haven’t had a long-term relationship.”

Ripley sat in front of me and put her head in my lap, sensing my distress.

“I’m not built like everyone else. I’m not built like you,” I admitted.

I’d known it since childhood, though I’d never fully said out loud. But I trusted Jude, and although I doubted he’d understand, he was the type of person who, at the very least, listened, and it had been a long time since anyone had truly listened.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

I turned my head and gazed up at his handsome face. “Look at you. You are clearly great at adulting.”

A laugh rumbled out of him, vibrating through me.

“I mean it. You own a home; it’s decorated. You have a headboard and bookshelves and art hanging on the walls. You keep an animal alive and have a career.”

He grunted. “I cut down trees.”

“Don’t minimize it. You’re director of operations. You manage a big team of people. You’re impressive. And you’re stable. You’ve got a whole life.”

He pulled me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin. “It may look that way on the outside, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. I made my world small, and now I’m stuck in a rut because I never forced myself to stretch and grow.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who felt like a fuckup all the time.

“I’ve never had big dreams like my brothers. I like quiet and the woods. All my life, I wanted nothing more than to continue the work my father and grandfather had done. But it’s all changed. And I’m still the same. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

I pulled back and put a hand on his chest. “You have to do what feels right.”

He locked those dark blue eyes on mine, his jaw clenching, like he was holding something back. “I wish I knew how. But I’ve missed some things. I was so concerned with making my life safe and predictable that I missed out on the magic. And the thing about magic? Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air between us. Playing his words over in my mind, I sagged against him, drawing on his strength and warmth. His masculine smell, the delicious meals he made me, his sweet dog, and his comfy bed all comforted me. I’d been on my own for so long, but my life had changed so much in these last few weeks. And it was all because of Jude.

I wanted him to have everything he desired, all the magic he could wring out of life. But I feared that, like me, it would be out of his reach.

I closed my eyes, and a deep sense of peace settled in my chest. I should have been panicking and researching. But for what might have been the first time in my life, I wanted to sit still. I wanted to enjoy the magic of this moment for just a little longer.