CHAPTER 37: Truck Tampering
The hill outside Bellview wasn’t steep enough to be dangerous under normal circumstances. Noah had driven it hundreds of times as a teenager—back when he and Mason used to race their beat-up pickups down it for the thrill. It curved gently to the right, flanked by dense pine woods and a rusted guardrail that had seen better days.
Today, the road felt different. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees in sharp, uneven slashes, strobing across his windshield. The air was thick with the scent of pine sap and the faint tang of burnt rubber from somewhere up the road.
He’d just left a tense meeting with Judge Hawthorne, his hands still buzzing with restrained anger. Every word the man had spoken had been a reminder: Bellview’s power brokers weren’t going to let him tear at their carefully woven fabric without pulling the needle from his hand—permanently.
Halfway down the hill, Noah tapped his brakes to slow into the curve.
Nothing.
No resistance. No slowing. Just the smooth, empty give of a pedal that wasn’t connected to anything anymore.
He pressed harder—still nothing.
For a split second, his brain refused to believe what his body was telling him.
Then the truck hit sixty.
Adrenaline surged. Noah grabbed the gearshift, trying to downshift, but the grinding protest of metal told him the clutch wasn’t going to save him either. The bend in the road was coming fast, and beyond it—a steep drop into the drainage ditch that ran parallel to the highway.
He gripped the wheel, scanning for options. The guardrail on the right was rusted, maybe weak enough to punch through. The left side was a wall of pines thick enough to stop him—but hitting one at this speed would shatter more than his windshield.
The curve arrived too soon. Tires squealed in protest, skidding against asphalt as the truck’s weight fought the turn. The tail fishtailed, and for a dizzying moment, Noah thought he might regain control.
Then the back end swung wide, momentum dragging the truck across the center line.
The ditch swallowed him.
The impact slammed him against the seatbelt, the airbag exploding from the wheel in a deafening pop. Dust filled the cab, thick and choking. The truck groaned as its undercarriage scraped rock and debris, finally lurching to a stop at an awkward angle, nose-down in muddy water.
Noah’s chest heaved. His ears rang. He reached for the door handle, finding it stubborn but not jammed. The moment he stepped out, the acrid smell of overheated metal filled his lungs.
It took him less than thirty seconds to see it.
The brake line had been cut. Cleanly. Not a fray, not corrosion—just one decisive slice through the rubber.
His stomach tightened. Whoever had done it hadn’t just hoped to scare him; they’d planned for him to die on that hill.
He crouched, running his fingers along the exposed section, feeling the edges of the cut. No hesitation. Whoever this was, they’d done it before.
A pickup slowed on the road above, a figure leaning out the driver’s side. “You alright down there?”
Noah straightened. “Yeah. Just lost the brakes.”
The driver’s face was hidden in shadow, the brim of a baseball cap pulled low. “That happens.”
Noah narrowed his eyes. “Not like this.”
The man gave a small, humorless smile. “Maybe you oughta drive something newer.” Then he pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the curve above.
The comment shouldn’t have chilled him, but it did.
By the time the tow truck arrived, Noah had shoved his bag and files into the cab, unwilling to leave anything behind. The driver was a stocky man in oil-stained overalls who kept glancing at the severed brake line but said nothing.
“You want me to drop it at the shop in town?” the man asked.
“No,” Noah said without hesitation. “Take it to Bellview Motors, the one two towns over.”
The driver’s brows lifted but he didn’t argue. That was the point—Noah wasn’t giving anyone in Bellview a chance to make this look like an accident.
As the truck was hauled out of the ditch, Noah stood on the roadside, scanning the treeline. He half-expected to see someone there, watching him.
And maybe—just for a heartbeat—he did.
A figure, still as stone, partially hidden between two pines.
Red.
Not a coat. Not a shirt. Just the unmistakable flash of red fabric in the fading light.
Noah blinked, and the figure was gone.
The ride into town with the tow driver was silent. Noah’s knuckles were white around his phone, scrolling through contacts. He wanted to call Mason, to shove the severed brake line in his face and demand answers. But he could already hear the sheriff’s voice: You’re in over your head, Noah. This town protects its own.
If Mason was in on it, calling him would be worse than pointless.
Instead, Noah dialed a different number.
“Keene,” came a voice on the other end—gravelly, suspicious.
“Calvin? It’s Noah. You still have your shop?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
“I need you to look at something. Tonight.”
A pause. “If you’re bringing trouble with you, make it quick. I’m too old to get shot at for free.”
By the time Noah got to Calvin’s garage, the sun was gone and the only light came from the buzzing fluorescents inside. The older man stepped out from behind a rusted sedan, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Let’s see it,” Calvin said.
Noah led him to the truck, still hitched to the tow rig. Calvin crouched, squinting at the brake line.
When he straightened, his expression was grim. “That’s no accident. Whoever cut this knew what they were doing. They wanted you to have just enough brake left to get to the hill—and then nothing.”
“Why not just shoot me?” Noah muttered.
Calvin shrugged. “This way, it’s just another accident on a back road. No one in Bellview asks too many questions about those.”
Noah leaned against the wall, the image of that flash of red burning in his mind. His father’s notes, the phone call from the boy in red, the way the driver on the hill had said that happens.
None of it was coincidence.
They weren’t just trying to scare him anymore.
They were trying to erase him—just like they’d erased James.
And that meant he was finally close enough to the truth to make them nervous.