Part 5
Renee used Vale’s statement carefully.
A verbal mistake could support an application, but it would not carry the entire case. She requested Black Alder’s subcontractor agreements, equipment logs, and vehicle records while agents began discreet surveillance of the company yard.
The response in Alder Ridge was immediate.
Some residents saw the federal vehicles and assumed the government intended to close every logging road in Basin County. Others heard that Eli had taken a valuable working dog and refused to return it. By the end of the week, the story had divided the town into versions that shared almost no facts.
At the hardware store, a man Eli had known for years stepped away from him in the checkout line.
“My daughter’s husband works for Black Alder,” the man said. “You bring that company down, you planning to feed his kids?”
“I’m not trying to bring down honest work.”
“That’s easy to say when you’ve got a pension.”
Eli did not answer. His military disability payment covered the cabin and little else, but defending himself would not address the fear beneath the accusation.
Outside, Rook waited in the truck. He watched Eli approach, then moved from the driver’s seat to the passenger side without being told.
The investigation might have remained stalled if a new set of tire tracks had not appeared near the creek below Eli’s property. Rook found them during an afternoon walk and followed the scent to a strip of red survey ribbon tied beneath a bridge.
The same ribbon marked several hidden turns on the route from Kestrel Ridge.
Renee obtained permission to place cameras along the public access corridor. She asked Eli to bring Rook, not as an official search dog, but because the Shepherd’s reactions might identify hazards before the team encountered them.
“You stay behind me,” she said. “If we see people, we leave.”
Eli clipped a long tracking lead to Rook’s new padded harness. “Understood.”
Ben joined them near sunset. They entered the forest from a trail two miles south of the ridge, following the red markers through dense fir and alder. Rook moved slowly, nose low, stopping whenever the wind carried diesel or hot metal.
Twice, he redirected them around traps buried beneath the snow.
The first had been placed beside a fallen log, where anyone stepping over would land. The second used a cable loop suspended at knee height between two saplings. Both were photographed and flagged for removal.
Renee looked at Rook. “How many times did he have to see these before he learned every one?”
Eli did not answer.
The trail opened near a frozen drainage basin. Below them stood a concealed log landing nearly the size of a football field. Fresh-cut timber lay stacked beneath brown tarps. A portable fuel tank had been hidden behind a wall of branches, and two unmarked loaders sat beneath camouflage netting.
There were no legal harvest tags on the logs.
Ben photographed the equipment while Renee recorded coordinates and vehicle identification numbers. Eli remained with Rook near the tree line.
The Shepherd stared at a plywood shelter beside the fuel tank.
“What is it?” Eli whispered.
Rook pulled toward it, then stopped as the gasoline smell intensified. He lowered his body, caught between recognition and refusal.
Eli followed his gaze through a gap in the boards. Inside were metal bowls, lengths of chain, and a narrow platform stained by years of weather. Deep scratches covered the lower half of one wall.
A kennel.
Before Eli could alert Renee, Rook’s head snapped toward the access road.
A low engine rumble moved through the ground.
Renee heard it a second later. “Out. Now.”
They retreated along the route they had entered. Headlights appeared below, sweeping across the timber stacks. A truck door slammed.
Someone shouted.
Renee spoke quietly into her radio, requesting units to hold at the county road rather than approach the landing. The team did not yet know how many men were arriving or whether they were armed.
Rook pulled hard toward a narrow path along the drainage channel. Eli followed, trusting the dog’s choice. Ben and Renee came behind them.
A whistle sounded from the landing.
Two notes.
Rook stopped so abruptly that the tracking lead snapped tight.
“Rook,” Eli said. “Look at me.”
The dog’s attention remained fixed behind them. His body had lowered, waiting for an old command.
“Your choice,” Eli said.
A second whistle cut through the trees.
Rook turned toward Eli.
“Good. Let’s move.”
They reached the creek as another vehicle entered the landing. Men spread into the woods with flashlights. One beam passed across the trail less than fifty yards away.
A gunshot cracked above the drainage basin.
The round did not strike near them, but the message was clear.
Renee drew her sidearm and motioned toward the creek. “Across.”
The ice was too thin for the direct route. Rook led them upstream, choosing stones beneath the black water. Eli had nearly reached the opposite bank when the dog jerked to the side.
A cable rose from the snow.
Eli saw the loop close around Rook’s front leg, just above the injured joint. The Shepherd twisted, and the anchored line pulled him over the edge of the bank.
The tracking lead tore through Eli’s glove.
“Rook!”
The dog vanished into the darkness below. For one second, there was only the rush of water beneath the ice. Then Eli heard a single, sharp yelp…
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