“Why?” I asked, my heart stopping. “What else did you hide?”

There was a long pause on the line, filled only with the static of the storm and the distant sound of the diesel engine.

“The survey isn’t the only thing,” Bellamy whispered.

“The survey isn’t the only thing,” Bellamy whispered.

“What did you do, Warren?” I asked.

The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes.

“The original deeds from 1882,” Bellamy said, his voice cracking over the static. “They aren’t lost.”

“Where are they?” I asked, gripping the phone.

“Marcus has them,” he whispered. “Or he did. He wanted them gone because they prove the north ridge was never his to sell.”

“He’s digging them up right now,” I said.

“Stop him,” Bellamy said. “If those machines touch the lower terrace, it’s over.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and looked at Blake.

“We have to go,” I said.

The blue and red lights were already turning up the ridge path, casting long, jumping shadows through the pines.

We ran through the wet underbrush, our boots sinking into the thick mud.