Page 38 of Mountain Void

“You know what I meant. Your eyes are beautiful.”

“Thank you. But it sounded like you were reading from a textbook on climate change.”

Lorenz’s laugh was low, and warm, and dangerous. Because it suddenly felt like no time had passed at all. And Charlie knew she should say no—no to him driving her home, because there was no way she wouldn’t invite him in. And that was a terrible idea.

Say no.

“Okay.”

13

Charlie

The first hint that something was wrong came as a tightening low in Charlie’s stomach, a quiet, instinctive wrongness she could have blamed on the champagne, except she’d barely had a few sips.

Certainly not enough to explain this feeling.

She shifted in her seat, glancing out the truck’s windshield at the approaching cul-de-sac. Around them, the neighborhood slept. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing moved.

“You’re quiet,” Lorenz said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I’m just tired,” she lied.

They turned onto her driveway. The shadow of her trash can sat exactly where it should be, just beside the edge of the driveway.

Relax.

Everything’s fine.

Lorenz’s hand tightening on the steering wheel was the first hint that things were not fine. The headlights swept forward, showing her what he’d already seen.

At first, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. A splash of red, too bright, too—

Then the paint resolved into a single word.

SALOPE.

It stretched across the width of her driveway in crude, aggressive strokes, the letters uneven but unmistakable on the thin layer of fresh snow.

Charlie’s breath left her in a thin, soundless exhale.

“Oh, my God.”

Lorenz braked hard. For a second, neither of them moved. The red gleamed—wetly—under the headlights.

“Please tell me that’s paint,” Charlie said, her stomach clenching violently. She was going to be sick. “Lorenz… please tell me that’s paint.”

Lorenz got out of the car and kneeled beside the paint, studying it, his expression sharpening.

“It’s paint,” he confirmed after a beat.

His words lent her the courage she needed to step out of the car herself.

“Who—“ Her tongue felt dry. She tried again. “What—“

He was already reaching for his phone. “Vincent. I need your help.” He gave her address and a calm, precise description of what he was looking at.

Vandalism.