Chapter 11
Mitch stood at the edge of Izzy’s workbench, one eye on the tablet displaying the live camera feeds, the other on the shop door. Jayson had finished wiring the last motion sensor and was now organizing cables into a labeled case, but Mitch’s focus was elsewhere.
Noah.
Mitch had caught only a glimpse of him heading into Delilah’s back door, but that glimpse had flipped something in his gut.
A quiet alert. A shift in instinct. The easy-going delivery guy suddenly looked a little too casual, sliding into the back of a salon that had nothing to do with flower deliveries.
He didn’t want to say anything to Izzy yet, not more than he already had. She was already trying to keep it together, torn between suspicion and loyalty. And he didn’t blame her. From what he’d seen, Noah was professional, and Izzy said reliable.
Which made it worse. For her.
Mitch waited until Izzy stepped into the back room to email her insurance inventory photos before stepping outside to talk to Jayson.
“You got a second?” Mitch asked when Jayson turned toward him.
“Always. What’s up?”
“I need a background pull on a guy. Noah Grady. Works for SunnySide Floral Delivery. Drives a white delivery truck. Been delivering to Petal Pushers for almost two years.”
“Got it,” Jayson said, tapping on his laptop. “This about the fire?”
“Maybe. Just spotted him entering Delilah Parker’s place through the back door. No knock, no hesitation.”
Jayson let out a low whistle. “That’s not nothing. Hang on, I’ll grab my laptop.”
Mitch waited, watching the alley beside the building, every car that passed by, every shadow that moved too quickly. He watched a dog run behind the building. Birds swooped low, catching bugs, and a slight breeze swirled the scent of burnt wood, flowers, and the honeysuckle blooming nearby.
After a few moments, Jayson found him. “Okay. Noah Grady. Clean record. No arrests. Former Army Reserves, honorable discharge. Been delivering for Sunnyside for three years, no complaints. But...”
Mitch straightened. “But?”
“He’s listed as a contractor, not an employee. Which means he owns his delivery route and contracts with multiple clients.”
“Could Delilah be one of them?”
“Officially? No records. But if she paid him under the table or with personal checks, it wouldn’t show up unless we dig deeper. Want me to go that route?”
“Yeah. Quietly. I don’t want to spook him.”
“You got it. I’ll run it through alternate databases, look for connections. Do you think flowers are the only thing he delivers?”
Mitch's nose twitched, and his jaw clenched. "I don't know."
"I'll see if I can find any other connection."
Mitch ended the call and leaned against the side of the building. A breeze stirred his shirt, sticking damp fabric to his ribs. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself.
It wasn’t just that Noah might be involved.
It was that whoever was behind this knew how to hide. Knew how to use people who didn’t look like threats.
And it was starting to piss him off.
He headed back inside, where Izzy was kneeling in front of the cooler, wiping down the chrome trim. She looked up when he entered, her eyes holding the question she wasn’t ready to ask again.
He gave her a small nod to signal everything was fine for now.
Jayson entered a second later and handed Mitch a USB drive. “Backups are saved. If someone yanks your internet or damages the hub, you’ve still got copies.”
“Thanks.” Mitch pocketed the drive. “Appreciate the fast work.”
“No problem. Want me to run another perimeter sweep?”
“Not yet. Take a break. I might have another task for you if this lead pans out.”
Jayson nodded. He was good like that. Trusted Mitch’s instincts and knew when to hold questions.
As the afternoon dragged on, Mitch remained in the front of the store, watching. Not just the doors or the footage. He was watching patterns. Watching Izzy. Watching the way her hands slowed when she caught sight of the sidewalk. How her expression dimmed every time a delivery truck passed by.
This was what the fire starter wanted: fear, chaos, disruption.
And he was done playing defense.
When the shop finally quieted, Mitch stepped beside Izzy as she cleaned off a damaged display shelf.
“I’m going to follow up on something tonight. Quietly. I need you to stay at the condo. Keep the alarm armed. Jayson’s going to monitor the live feeds remotely.”
Izzy looked at him, hesitant. “What are you following up on?”
He didn’t want to lie. But he also didn’t want to make her doubt everyone she’d ever trusted.
“Noah’s name came up again. I just want to see where the trail leads.”
She swallowed hard but nodded. “Okay.”
Mitch reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I won’t do anything risky. Just observing. But I'd like you to keep your delivery van and your car here in the garage. I don't want you stranded, but if the culprit doesn't know where you are, you're safer.”
She nodded slowly. “Just… be careful.”
He nodded once. “Always.”
But as they left the shop an hour later, slipping through the back alley to where he’d parked under the shade, Mitch felt that thrum in his chest again. That cold, calculated calm he hadn’t felt since his last assignment overseas.
He helped Izzy into the passenger seat and hurried around his truck.
He eased from the back of Izzy’s greenhouse and onto Alley Drive, just behind the shop.
They both looked closer at Delilah's place as they drove away.
He'd watched Noah's truck pull away from the shop about a half an hour after he arrived.
There wasn't anyone there now. Not even Delilah's vehicle.
This wasn’t just about fire or sabotage anymore.
Someone had gotten too close to Izzy.
And Mitch was going to get to the bottom of it, one quiet step at a time.
He walked close to Izzy as they entered the Barrack's Condos and stepped quietly down the hall to his place.
He opened the door and made a mental note to have a key made for Izzy.
She'd likely feel like a prisoner here tonight.
Alone, scared, worried. That sat like a hot rock in his stomach, but there was no way around it.
He needed to do this. It was his job, and since people could be encouraged or paid to do simple things for others, he wasn't risking that one of his employees would be approached and enticed.
Though he'd fire anyone on the spot and kick their asses out the door at the same time if he found out anyone would betray him, his clients, or anyone close to them.
He closed the door and watched Izzy for a few moments.
"I'll be home before eleven, maybe sooner.
I'll call or text when I'm on my way so you aren't surprised.
Make yourself at home. Watch a movie or read or whatever you like to do.
Just, please, don't leave the condo. Not even to go down and shoot pool.
Stay inside this condo where you're safe.
I can see anyone approaching on my phone from the cameras. "
She bit her bottom lip. "Okay. It should be easy, I'm exhausted after all the cleaning today. I'll simply take a shower and huddle in my room or something."
"Sounds good. Don't forget to eat."
"What about you? You need to eat too."
He grinned. "I'll grab something I can eat while I'm driving. Tomorrow we'll eat together."
He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed, and his stomach twisted slightly. Poor girl.
He leaned down and kissed her lips softly. They felt perfect against his. Soft and pliable. This close, he could still faintly smell her shower soap from this morning, though it was masked slightly with the smoky air and dirt she'd been mired in all day. Both of them had been mired in.
His right hand slipped behind her head and held her in place as he deepened the kiss.
Her soft, warm tongue slipped along his, slowly, sensually, and his heartbeat quickened.
Izzy stepped closer to him and her breasts rubbed against his chest. His breathing hitched as his mind whirled, trying to keep up with all of the emotions running through him.
Today alone, he had more emotions than a teenage girl, and his head, no man's head, was capable of processing that.
He reluctantly pulled his lips away from hers, and he heard her sigh. He kissed her forehead and let the air from his lungs. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Go take a shower and get something to eat. I'll be home as soon as I can."
She stepped back and looked into his eyes. Hers were incredibly beautiful. Green and clear, even after the day she'd had. Her lips tipped up in a soft smile, and he stepped back or he'd forget himself here in a moment.
"I'll be back soon."
He turned quickly and strode to the door.
He twisted the deadbolt into place with his key after stepping into the hallway.
As he hustled to his truck, he swallowed to moisten his throat.
Things were getting jumbled up. This stopped being a job.
When had that happened? It seemed like the instant he'd met her.
As he hopped into his truck, he noticed she'd pulled the blinds in the front window. It made him smile, she was smart and listening, and being cautious. He chuckled as he pulled from his parking spot and headed toward town.
Mitch sat in his truck a half block down from Delilah Parker’s salon, engine off, lights dimmed, and interior cloaked in darkness.
The humid Florida night pressed against the windows, and the cicadas buzzed like static.
He sipped slowly from a lukewarm bottle of water and adjusted the long-lens camera resting in his lap.
Noah’s truck was parked at the side of the salon again. Same spot. No signage. No deliveries visible.
Mitch checked the time, 9:42 p.m. Way too late for a floral delivery.
Actually, way too late for any delivery.
Delilah’s place had been dark when he arrived just before nine, but ten minutes later, a faint glow appeared in a rear window.
Now a second vehicle, a dark gray SUV, had backed in beside Noah’s truck.
He snapped a few photos and lowered the lens. His gut tightened again. Noah hadn’t looked like a guy wrapped up in anything serious. But criminals rarely wore labels. And Delilah… she had the perfect setup for side dealings: a high-traffic business, private back entrance, and shaky finances.
Mitch jotted a note in his log and leaned back, letting the shadows swallow his truck. He thought of Izzy, safe in his condo, the security system armed, Jayson monitoring the feeds from his place. She’d done everything he asked, and now it was his turn to deliver answers.
Movement.
Noah emerged from the building, holding what looked like a plastic tote in both hands.
Not flowers. No logo. He carried it like it had weight.
He opened the back of the SUV, stashed the container inside, and exchanged a few words with the driver, a man Mitch couldn’t identify in the dark.
They didn’t shake hands. No smiles. Strictly business.
Mitch reached for his phone and sent a silent text to Jayson.
Noah just transferred something from Delilah’s to a gray SUV. No visible tags. Getting footage.
Then another photo, zoomed in. Fuzzy, but legible enough.
A second tote appeared. Another quiet exchange.
Then both men climbed into their respective vehicles.
The SUV turned out first, heading east on Main Street.
Mitch slid down in his seat as the SUV passed his parking spot near the Craft Mall.
The SUV then turned left onto Hospital Road and a quick right on First Street, before disappearing into the night.
Noah lingered.
That’s when Mitch saw it.
Noah stepped back toward the door, unlocked it, and went inside.
Why go back in? And he had a key?
Mitch’s instincts kicked in harder now. He watched, waited, and prepared to follow if needed. He’d already memorized multiple exit routes, and the tiny camera suctioned to his dash was recording every frame.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Finally, Noah reappeared, locking the door behind him. He glanced up and down the alley, once, twice, then he looked down Main Street before he climbed into his truck and pulled out, heading east out of town.
Mitch let a beat pass, then started his truck and followed.
Noah didn’t drive like someone being followed, steady speed, full stops, no glances in the mirror. Mitch stayed back several car lengths, using side streets and a quick turn to cut through a vacant lot and meet him on the next stretch of road.
He trailed him all the way to an industrial strip just outside of Summerville. Noah pulled into a warehouse with no markings, backed into the side of a corrugated steel building, and killed the lights. He didn’t unload anything. Just sat there.
Waiting.
Another car pulled up. This one Mitch didn’t recognize, a beat-up sedan with tinted windows and a rattling muffler.
This wasn’t a floral delivery. This was a drop zone.
And Mitch had just confirmed Noah Grady was more than a delivery guy.
He picked up his phone again.
Got footage. Multiple transfers. Suspected product drop at warehouse off Route 12. I’m staying put until I ID the buyer.
He thought about Izzy again. Her smile. The way her voice wavered when she said she didn’t want to believe Noah was involved.
Neither did Mitch. For her sake.
But belief had nothing to do with facts. And tonight, the facts were stacking up in all the wrong directions.
He settled back in his seat, camera in hand.
He’d stay until he had answers.
Or until someone gave him a reason to act.