Chapter Four #2
Callie shifted her weight as Gabe snapped a picture of her screen then handed it back to her. Hopefully, it proved useful.
He straightened and scanned the tree-lined road beyond the lot, the open fields stretching in both directions. Nothing but fences, pastureland, and a few scattered homes. No stores. No gas stations, which meant no traffic cameras around.
“You got any surveillance on-site?” he asked.
She nodded. “Basic setup. Motion-activated cams near the front gate and along the main walkways. One over the delivery shed, but it’s older. Might not catch much detail from that angle.”
“Still worth checking,” Gabe said. “Can you pull it up?”
She nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”
She led the way down the gravel path, past rows of rosemary and sage, the scents mixing to form a delicious aroma. Her boots scuffed the packed earth outside the potting shed, and she keyed into the small security office attached to the back.
The room was cool, shaded by a tin awning and cluttered with supply invoices, watering charts, and half-empty iced tea cups. She moved straight to the small desktop monitor near the back and tapped the screen to wake it.
The feed blinked to life.
She rewound the footage by time stamp, pulling up the moment the box truck rolled into view. The quality wasn’t great, but the shape of the truck was visible. So was the driver, at least in silhouette.
“That’s him,” she said quietly.
Gabe leaned over her shoulder, hands on his hips as he studied the screen. “Plates match the photo. No signage, no uniform. Truck’s a piece of junk.”
“Yeah. And it doesn’t belong to anyone I’ve worked with.”
She clicked through the rest of the short footage. The truck pulled in. The man stepped out, waved. She confronted him. He opened the back, then stopped when she told him to. That moment was clear enough to see. Her arm raised slightly, and tension stiffened her posture.
“You were firm,” Gabe said. “Didn’t let him push you.”
“I wasn’t about to let mystery chemicals get unloaded onto my property,” she muttered, arms crossed tight again.
The video ended with the truck reversing, then disappearing down the gravel lane. Callie paused the video, the image of the red taillights freezing on screen.
Gabe gave a quiet grunt. “I’ll take a copy. You want me to also run it by ESI? They’ve got tools that make my setup look like dial-up. Carter would have programs to enhance it.”
Callie hesitated. Not because she didn’t trust Carter—she did. Everyone in town knew he was sharp as hell with anything tech related. But handing this off meant acknowledging it might be bigger than a one-off mistake. And she didn’t like the way that felt.
“That necessary?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But it doesn’t hurt,” Gabe said, his eyes still on the screen. “Could be a fluke. Could be someone testing the waters.”
She stared at the footage a second longer, jaw tight. Her gut said this wasn’t random. Someone had sent those bins on purpose. Someone had timed it just right.
And someone hadn’t expected her to push back.
With a clipped nod, she reached into the drawer and pulled out a blank flash drive. Her fingers moved on autopilot as she copied the day’s feed. The normal routine of it felt strange but important. When the file finished transferring, she pulled the drive free and handed it over.
“Here.”
As Gabe slipped the drive into his pocket, another truck, this one familiar, appeared on the monitor. The pale green logo of her usual supplier was splashed across the side, clean and bright under the sun.
She rushed outside to find Mickie Martinez leaning out the driver’s window as he pulled to a stop, lifting a hand.
“Morning, Miss Morgan. Sorry I’m late. Had a flat outside of town.”
Callie didn’t answer right away. Her pulse thudded against her ribs, the timing too sharp to be coincidence. She forced herself to breathe.
“It’s fine,” she said after a second. “Glad you made it.”
Mickie hopped down and opened the rear latch. “Only got two pallets today. Usual stuff—soil, petunias, a couple crates of tools.”
Gabe stepped up beside her, his gaze scanning the clearly labeled packages and the easygoing driver. “This the delivery you were expecting?”
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “This one’s legit.”
Mickie paused mid-lift. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” she replied, keeping her tone neutral. “Go ahead and drop it by the potting shed. Nate’ll help you unload.”
As Mickie moved, with her employee in tow, Callie watched the real delivery unfold—normal, documented, predictable. The exact opposite of what had pulled in earlier.
Beside her, Gabe kept his voice low. “That confirms it. Someone wanted that shipment to blend in with the usual.”
Callie didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened as her eyes drifted back to the bend in the drive where the fake truck had vanished.
She hadn’t touched those containers. She hadn’t taken her eyes off that man. And now she had video, a license plate number, and a copy of the day’s feed in Gabe’s hands.
If someone thought she’d be easy to scare, they’d picked the wrong damn girl.