Page 48 of In the Dark of the Past

“Look what he’s holding,” I said.

Finn zoomed in. A metal ammo box, army surplus, the kind you could buy at any hunting supply store in town.

“Drop box,” Finn said immediately.

“Wait, like spies?” I asked, my tone incredulous.

“Like criminals who don’t want to meet face-to-face.”

The crouching figure lifted the lid just enough for the camera to catch the hinge flash. The other two people stood watch, one facing the trail, and the other scanning the tree line like they expected company. Like they were used to it.

Finn went to the next image.

The lid closed again, and the crouching figure shoved the box beneath the log and covered it with a tangle of branches and pine needles. Then, all three disappeared into the woods.

I realized I’d been holding my breath. “They’re moving messages,” I said slowly. “Or money.”

“Or both,” Finn replied.

Thunder rolled somewhere far down the valley.

He glanced out at my car window again—the dripping red eye staring back at us through the rain.

“They left that stash yesterday evening,” he said.

“And this morning, they tagged my car.”

His gaze slid back to the phone. “They’re still active.” The words sat heavy in the storm-soaked air.

“You think the box is still there?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Finn said. “That’s what Rand wants us to figure out. Or maybe it’s just bait.”

His phone buzzed again before he could pocket it. He glanced at the screen and went very still.

“What?” I asked.

He turned it toward me. It was an email notification. Department address, forwarded from the county oversight board. Formal complaint filed. Re: Sheriff Callahan, handling of physical evidence, Eleanor Jenkins’ matter. Mandatory administrative review requested.

It had been sent at 6:04 a.m. Before most of Maple Ridge had finished its first cup of coffee.

“That was fast,” I said quietly.

“Nah. That’s not fast,” Finn said. “That’s prepared. Someone had this drafted before we found anything. They were just waiting for a reason to file it.” He locked the phone and slid it into his pocket, his jaw set. “Which means I’m on a clock. The review board convenes, they pull my access, and everything I’ve touched officially becomes a liability. We need to move fast.”

The rain hammered down around us. Lightning flashed, illuminating the trees lining the street for a heartbeat, their branches whipping in the wind.

“If it’s a dead drop,” Finn continued, “they’ll come back to collect whatever’s inside. Or someone new will.”

“But I assume not right now. So, what if we get there first?”

His mouth twitched slightly. “Then we finally get a look at what they’re passing around.”

Another pause. Rain pounded harder, like the mountains themselves were leaning in to listen.

I folded my arms against the cold. “You’re thinking about going out there now, aren’t you?”

Finn didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at the image again—three masked figures frozen in grainy black-and-white. Finally, he locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.