I believed him.
The closer we got to Deever’s, the more my pulse picked up. His place looked run-down—an old hunting cabin slouched between two lodgepole pines, the kind of place that looked abandoned even when someone was living in it.
Griff parked and cut the engine. “Stay behind me and let me do the talking.”
“I’m not making any promises,” I muttered, determined to figure out if this man had ties to my uncle.
He knocked hard. The kind of knock that meant business.
The door creaked open and Deever’s bloodshot eyes blinked back at us. He wore a stained thermal shirt and track pants, like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Well, well.” His gaze flicked to me, then landed on Griff. “Didn’t expect a house call.”
“You’ve been making a lot of moves lately,” Griff said. “Figured we’d return the favor.”
Deever smirked. “If this is about that lodge?—”
“It is,” I cut in. “We found Caleb’s notes. We know you were the one pushing him to sell.”
His expression barely changed. “Man was sitting on a goldmine. He just didn’t know it.”
Griff took a step forward, and Deever’s smirk slipped a little. “He knew. He just didn’t care. And when he told you no, you didn’t back off. You pushed. Then he ended up dead, his will in probate court, and his niece got threatened. That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“You can’t pin that on me.”
“We don’t need to,” I said, my voice steady. “We just need to make something crystal clear. The land is staying in the family. I’m not selling. I’m staying.”
Griff’s voice dropped an octave. “You so much as send another message—or let your developer buddy anywhere near her—and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Deever’s jaw tightened. “You think you can scare me off?”
Griff didn’t flinch. “I don’t have to.”
He took a slow step forward, the kind of movement that didn’t seem like much but shifted the whole balance of power.
“We’ve got footage,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm. “Trail cam caught someone near the lodge the morning that rabbit showed up. Clear enough to see the tread on their boots.”
Deever’s mouth twitched. “You can’t prove that was me.”
Griff gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen boiling water. “Maybe not. But if anything else happens to her, I’ll make sure that footage ends up in the sheriff’s office, the local paper, and the inbox of every townsperson who’s ever had a run-in with you. And you and I both know, that’s a damn long list.”
Deever shifted his stance, but he didn’t say a word.
“And as for your developer friend?” Griff leaned in until the tension practically hummed. “Tell him if he wants a war with this mountain, he’s welcome to try. But he won’t last a week. Not here. Not with me around.”
Deever opened his mouth again, but Griff cut him off with one last, lethal hit.
“And while you’re passing along messages, tell him to withdraw the offer on Caleb Blake’s land. That bullshit deal you’re dangling in front of the family hoping the win in probate court? You make it clear to the family, the lawyers, and whoever else is listening that you’re done. Take it back. Today. Or next time, we won’t be talking.”
We turned and walked away, not giving him the satisfaction of looking back.
Deever didn’t follow. He didn’t try to argue.
His defeated silence was the sound of a man realizing the mountain wasn’t up for grabs anymore. It belonged to us now.
I sat in the front seat of Griff’s truck, adrenaline still pumping through my veins at the way we’d put Deever and his buddies in their place. As we neared the edge of town, the sound of laughter and music drifted in through the open window. Griff slowed as we rounded the corner, and I caught sight of a banner stretching across Main Street:
Waffle Breakfast Fundraiser
