Page 97 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

Is it really possible?

Even if they did an autopsy, the type of blunt force trauma inflicted by someone else using a weapon could easily be mistaken for a horse kick…and that’s assuming they even bothered with the examination when everyone assumed the most obvious cause of his death.

A shiver rolls through me that has nothing to do with the chilly breeze lifting the branches and rustling the leaves all around me.

Something flutters in my peripheral vision—a flash of white that definitely isn’t natural up here. At least, not until the snow starts.

Squatting, I snag the tiny piece of paper before it gets carried away with another gust. I narrow my gaze, trying to read the letters on the scrap that appears to have been torn off of a larger document.

The familiar handwriting taunts me.

Rage floods my veins as I shove to my feet and stomp back through the woods, likely scaring off any and all wildlife by not bothering to try to hide my presence like I normally would.

I can’t.

Not when I have the proof in my fucking hand that I wasrightto be so worried. Not when I’m starting to believe that maybe Camille’s nightmare wasn’t just that.

Maybe she did see something else that day,someoneelse, or maybe itisjust her subconscious.

The mere possibility that it could be the former is enough to make me rush faster than I should through the dense underbrush.

By the time I make it back to the property, after pushing Apollo as fast and as hard as I dared in the open areas that allowed for it, I’m vibrating with pure wrath.

My entire body feels like a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike.

I unsaddle Apollo and get him back into his stall with a treat, then stalk up to the house, pound up the steps and across the porch, and yank open the door.

Pops jumps slightly where he sits in the chair just inside, and his gaze locks on me. “Did you find something?”

I give him a sharp nod and step forward, slipping the piece of paper into his hand as I kick the door shut behind me with a boom that reverberates through the cabin.

He glances down at it, lifting his glasses to his forehead and pulling the paper closer. His eyes widen. “Shit.”

Camille steps out of the kitchen with a flour-splattered apron around her, her hair twisted up in a messy bun, several strands falling across her cheeks. The amber undertones glint in the light as she steps forward.

God, she’s beautiful.

My throat dries just looking at her, but it can’t quell the fury roaring through me right now.

Nor my fear forher.

For what this potentially means for all of us.

Her brow furrows as she takes in my agitated state, and she glances behind her, then disappears into the kitchen. She reappears a second later, sans apron, brushing her hands on her leggings and leaving little streaks of white across them as she makes her way over to us. “What is it? Did you find something?”

Pops and I exchange a look.

She presses her lips together and steps forward, hissing under her breath to keep Davey, who must be in the kitchen, from hearing her. “Donotkeep things from me.”

“I’m not.” I run a hand through my too-long hair. “It’s just—”

Pops holds it out for her to examine, and I know the second she understands what it means because her eyes widen and her back stiffens.

Camille hands it back to Pops and glances over at me, a thousand questions swimming in her blue eyes.

“You and I need to talk.”

She nods, appearing just as shaken as I was when I found it.

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