Treacherous Mountain Trail by Lena Diaz

Author:Lena Diaz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-10-04T22:37:37+00:00

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The near-deserted roads suited James just fine. October, while beautiful in the Appalachians, had drawn crowds of tourists flocking to view the scenic foliage. But November’s gray skies and biting wind meant that Lavender Mountain was back to its usual calmness—and he could sure use some peace and quiet. Returning from Afghanistan hadn’t exactly led to the grand family homecoming he’d once envisioned. Instead, murder had wiped out half his family before he’d even set foot in Elmore County. That tragedy, combined with what the doctors deemed a mild case of PTSD, had left him edgy and filled with uncertainty about the future.

With no conscious plan, James meandered the deputy sheriff’s cruiser up the mountain road, and he startled at the sudden sight of his father’s old cabin. How often had he done this very thing on routine patrols? Ended up driving right here, precisely at the place he’d rather not be?

He shook his head in disgust and hit the accelerator. Memory Lane had zip appeal.

Twenty yards down the road, a flash of beige slashed through his peripheral vision. What was that? He did a U-turn and craned his neck, searching the brown-and-gray woods. There, he spotted it again. Curious, he pulled onto his father’s old property and exited the cruiser, shrugging into his jacket. He strode along the tree line until he solved the riddle: someone had parked their truck toward the back of the property behind a couple of large trees. He retrieved his cell phone and hurried over on the off chance that someone might be injured or stranded.

It was locked, but he peered in the tinted windows. No clues there. The interior was practically empty and spotlessly clean. He headed to the back of the truck and took a photo of the license plate. He’d call in the numbers shortly.

No damn reason it should be here. No good reason, anyway. Frowning, he went to the cabin and pulled out his keys. Better make sure some squatter hadn’t decided to take up free residence.

He inserted the key in the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. James withdrew it and checked—yes, this was the correct key. Someone had changed the locks. He felt a prickle of unease mixed with anger, and the twin emotions churned in his gut. Anger won.

“Open up,” he bellowed, rapping his knuckles on the old wooden door. “Sheriff’s department.”

Silence.

He stepped back on the porch and noticed for the first time that every window was taped up with plain brown wrapping paper. This was his place, damn it. He’d chosen not to live in the cabin he’d inherited, but that didn’t mean just anyone could help themselves to it and move in. James rapped on the door again, louder. “Open up now, or I’ll break down the door.”

Still no answer.

With a quick burst of energy, he kicked the door. Splinters flew, and the frame rattled. He kicked again, and it burst open. James shuffled to the side and removed his sidearm, then proceeded cautiously inside with his gun raised.

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