Page 13 of Axe-ing for Trouble
When the sound of his truck’s engine faded, I fell back and closed my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but here.
A deep exhaustion settled over me, the weight pinning me to the couch. I needed to get up. Find a car or a bike or an ATV and get back out there.
But I was warm, and the painkillers were kicking in. And my limbs were so heavy. I’d close my eyes for a minute, then I’d get up. Yes, that would be fine. Just a few minutes and then I’d head out.
Chapter3
Jude
The furniture and decor in the big conference room were nothing like what had been here when my dad ran the place. Since Chloe had purchased the timber company, so much had changed. And for the first time in years, the place was bustling.
We’d had to sell some of our land to the Gagnons last year in order to keep the lights on, and most of the furniture and equipment had been sold. Sure, we’d weathered some hard times, but as she promised she would, Chloe kept on every single employee that had remained when she took over. While rebuilding had taken some time, we were well on our way.
Almost every aspect of the business was different. Chloe hired scientists to consult so we could focus on sustainability, and she’d even sent me to a forestry training seminar in Minnesota in the spring.
And she’d insisted on promoting me to management. I’d tried to resist, but there was no winning an argument with that woman. Gus was much more suited than I was in these ranks, but he backed her up, insisting I join them. He’d always wanted to take over for our dad and become the fourth generation of Gagnon men to run the business.
And yeah, he did so temporarily after our dad went to prison, but we’d had to sell. If not, we all would have gone down with it. So he was not, in fact, the figurehead, but he seemed to be doing fine. Chloe owned the company, but he stood by her side when she needed it. Though he spent most of his time doting on their daughter. His life was another reminder that sometimes things work out in ways we don’t expect.
Four of my brothers were here, seated around the large table. Chloe was here as well. She fiddled with the fancy space pod in the middle, and suddenly, Owen’s voice echoed off the walls.
“Lila and I are here,” he declared in his usual business voice. He was calling in from his skyscraper office in downtown Boston, where he was CFO of a construction company. After years of staying far away from Lovewell and anything to do with the business, he’d come back last year to help us sell, and we’d grown closer in the process.
Chloe smiled and sat back in her chair. “Great. Okay, calling this meeting to order. We’ve got to talk about the woman.”
“Mila,” Noah said, tone subdued. “She’s got a name.”
He was seated next to me and clearly uncomfortable. He’d worked as a woodland firefighter out west for the last fifteen years and had only recently come back to Lovewell and been dragged into the disaster our family had been submerged in for years.
I gave him a grateful dip of my chin. Though this wasn’t an ideal way for him to spend his time, I was beyond thankful to have him by my side. Not only because he was my twin, but because, unlike the rest of my brothers, he had a fresh perspective on this mess.
“So she just showed up?” Owen asked, his tone tinny through the speaker. “Out of the blue?”
“Yes.” I leaned over, speaking into the microphone, ignoring the pointed looks coming from Gus, Chloe, and Finn. “And it’s fine.”
“None of this is fine,” Chloe said under her breath.
“It’s only been a day.” I straightened, hands on the armrests of my chair. “And she’s badly injured. Willa examined her and got her set up at my place so she can heal.”
“She was chased and shot at,” Cole added unhelpfully.
I watched as Gus and Chloe exchanged a worried look.
“What happened?” Owen pressed. “Who was she running from and why were they shooting at her?”
Without thought, I took off my glasses and lifted the hem of my shirt, using the soft cotton to clean them.
Noah leaned in a little closer, eyeing me knowingly. Dammit. This little move was a habit I often gave into when I was frustrated.
“She’s a journalist,” I explained, sliding the frames back onto the bridge of my nose. “Her younger brother was the one who was attacked here last year.”
Lila’s gasp was amplified by the speaker. She’d found Hugo injured on the property and had called 911.
“She came up here to investigate and managed to get in with a group of traffickers that works out of the Ape Hanger in Heartsborough. Apparently they found out what she was doing and came after her.”
“So she ran to your place?”
“We know each other,” I hedged.
