Chapter Seven
C aspian took a final swig from his water bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded toward the lot. “I’m gonna head back to ESI and help Carter assemble the gear. Should be back in an hour.”
Matthew gave a nod in return, his eyes already scanning the row of greenhouses stretching along the back fence. He heard the SUV door shut behind Caspian, followed by the low hum of the engine as it rolled away.
Silence settled over the stretch of gravel. Not real silence, the kind filled with rustling leaves, the distant call of a bird, and the rhythmic hiss of a sprinkler nearby. But the kind that left too much room for thought.
He felt her behind him before she spoke.
“Walk with me?” Callie asked.
He turned. She was already headed toward the southern path that curved along the edge of the nursery’s display beds. Sammy trotted at her side, tongue lolling, tail wagging slow and steady. Matthew followed without answering.
They walked past neatly arranged pots of flowering salvia, through a patch of ornamental grasses that whispered against each other in the breeze.
The landscaping was clean but natural, designed to feel like something you could recreate at home.
It was a far cry from the chaos of deployment sites or safe house setups. Still, the terrain had blind spots.
Callie gestured to a slope near the back that overlooked the east side. “We get a lot of foot traffic here on weekends. Families, garden clubs…that kind of thing. It’s peaceful. Or it was.”
He noted the phrase but didn’t comment on it. “You’ve got solid lines of sight, but some of these corners are too soft. Once Carter brings the motion sensors, I’d start here.”
She didn’t argue, not right away.
But then she stopped walking and turned to face him. “You know I’ve run this place for two years without needing a detail or a tactical map.”
Matthew studied her face, finding no anger, only steel behind her eyes. The kind that didn’t flinch when things went sideways. He respected it, but he wasn’t going to pretend this was normal.
“And in those two years,” he said, “how many ghost trucks dropped mystery containers in your lot?”
She didn’t answer.
He let the question hang between them a moment longer before he softened it. “I’m not here to take over. But I’m not going to walk away either.”
Callie exhaled, her hand brushing over Sammy’s head as if to ground herself. “You’re staying?”
Matthew gave a slight nod. “Until the first phase of upgrades is in, yeah. I want eyes on what Carter’s installing. And if the bastard who did this decides to come back, I’d rather be here than hear about it after the fact.”
She looked like she wanted to argue. He could see it in the way her arms folded, in the way her weight shifted to one hip. But she didn’t push him away.
Finally, she said, “Fine. But I don’t need babysitting.”
Matthew looked past her toward the fence line, then back again. “Good. Because I don’t babysit.”
They moved on in silence, the kind that didn’t need explaining. Sammy rushed ahead and then looped back, brushing lightly against Matthew’s leg as he passed.
Matthew felt something settle low in his chest. Not calm. Not yet. But something closer to certainty.
And that was enough for now.
By the time they circled back toward the central path, more of the staff had returned to their usual rhythm.
At least on the surface. Matthew knew the look of people pretending not to look worried.
He’d seen it in cities overseas, on crowded docks, in the faces of civilians when something was coming and they didn’t know where from.
He kept his posture relaxed, his steps even, but his eyes scanned everything.
Rosie was at the front counter, but she wasn’t focused.
Her attention kept drifting to her phone, thumb tapping against the edge as if fighting the urge to check it again.
One of the younger guys—he hadn’t caught his name—walked past the display beds with a little too much interest in Matthew’s direction, then looked away fast.
It didn’t take much to rattle people. A strange delivery, a hint of law enforcement involvement, and a few clipped conversations from the boss were probably enough.
But then, an hour later, he saw something that sat wrong.
Near the lot, a delivery van was parked—one of the local suppliers, judging by the logo.
Nothing suspicious there. What caught Matthew’s attention was Rosie, no longer inside at the counter, standing at the open driver’s side window, leaning in a little too far.
The driver glanced toward the main office before shaking his head.
Then Rosie handed him what appeared to be a note.
Matthew’s boots crunched over gravel as he changed direction slightly. He didn’t head toward them—didn’t need to. He shifted his route enough to make his presence known.
Rosie noticed.
She straightened immediately, turned her back to the van, and walked quickly toward the rear greenhouse. The driver watched her go, then pulled out without a wave or a look toward the counter.
Matthew didn’t chase it. Not yet. Could’ve been nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing.
He reached Callie where she was checking the irrigation timers by the south beds. She glanced up, the breeze tugging a few strands of hair from her ponytail.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He considered brushing it off, but he didn’t.
“Rosie passed something to a delivery driver. Might be unimportant, but the timing’s questionable.”
Callie’s brow furrowed. “She’s been with us for a while. Never had any issues.”
“That you know of,” he said quietly. “Sometimes people don’t know they’re giving something away. A casual question. A schedule. Even a simple routine.”
She looked past him toward the lane, her jaw tight. “You think she’s involved?”
“I think we keep our eyes open.”
Sammy wandered back over, sniffed at the corner of one of the raised beds, then dropped to the grass and rolled onto his back as if the world was fine.
Matthew watched Callie for a second longer.
She didn’t look panicked, she looked sharp.
And more determined than ever.
They’d only made it a few steps toward the upper rows when Matthew heard the rumble of an engine on the gravel.
Callie paused, her hand hovering over the latch on the irrigation panel. Her shoulders stiffened the moment the sound registered.
A white delivery truck rolled into view, midsize, clearly marked with a nursery co-op logo he hadn’t seen earlier. Nothing unusual about it on the surface, but the way Callie’s jaw locked said everything.
She turned, her eyes tracking the vehicle as it eased to a stop near the side loading area. Sammy barked once, not out of alarm, but recognition of movement. But he didn’t run forward. Even the dog sensed something was off.
Matthew automatically stepped in front of her, placing himself between her and the unknown.
The driver hopped out. Young guy. Ball cap, clipboard, standard uniform. He waved like they should know each other.
“Delivery for Morgan Creek,” he called. “Got three trays of starter plants and one compost mix from the Gonzales run.”
Callie didn’t move.
Matthew stepped forward, his voice calm but clipped. “You have an order number?”
The driver blinked, thrown for a second, then flipped through his paperwork. “Uh, yeah. Right here. Ordered by a Les Hutchins.”
Matthew took it and scanned the sheet. The order was legit. Dated two days ago. Placed by a staff member named Les, not Callie.
Callie stepped forward then, slow and steady, her voice low. “Les shouldn’t have placed anything without running it through me. Especially not this week.”
Matthew handed her the clipboard. “The timing stinks.”
She quietly signed the sheet with a quick flick of her wrist, pocketed her copy, then turned to supervise the drop-off.
The driver stayed friendly. Oblivious. Unloaded the trays without issue, gave a cheerful goodbye, and drove off.
Once the truck disappeared down the lane, Matthew looked at her again. “You okay?”
Callie stared at the plants for a long moment before answering. “I thought I was. Guess not.”
There was no humor in it, only quiet frustration.
He didn’t tell her it was normal to be on edge. He didn’t tell her she was handling it fine. Instead, he bent slightly and lifted one of the trays, balancing it easily in one hand.
“I’ll help you move these.”
Callie hesitated, then she bent to grab the second tray.
They worked in silence, side by side, until the last one was stacked inside the shade tunnel. Sammy followed, curling up in a corner patch of sun with a big yawn.
Matthew set the final tray down and turned in time to see Callie swipe a knuckle beneath her eye. She wasn’t crying, not exactly. But she looked like she appeared to be trying very hard to stay ahead of a wave.
His gut twisted at the sight.
He stepped forward.
Close.
Not touching her.
Not yet.
“You’re doing everything right,” he said quietly.
Her gaze lifted to his, searching for something.
Whatever she found there, it held her in place.
Callie didn’t look away.
Not this time.
There was something in her eyes—stormy, searching, stubborn—that locked him in place more effectively than any command ever had.
She stood there, still as stone, yet humming with restrained energy, and it hit him harder than it should have.
She wasn’t shaken anymore. She was on edge, yes, but holding herself together with sheer will. And he couldn’t look away.
Her breath came slower now, quieter, as if she were trying to catch it without making a sound. Her lips parted slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was about to say something. But she didn’t. Neither did he.
And then her fingers brushed against his.
A light touch, barely there.
But it shot straight through him.
He didn’t pull back. Couldn’t.
Instead, he leaned in, the movement almost involuntary.
Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes.
Close enough to catch the warm, earthy scent of her—lavender and sun and something wild underneath it.
Close enough to feel the weight of the air shift between them as if something real was about to tilt.
His hand lifted slowly, drawn to her without thought. He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, fingertips grazing skin that felt too soft for someone so tough. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second.
God, he wanted to kiss her.
He shouldn’t.
But why not?
Right then, everything in him leaned toward yes.
So he lowered his head and—
A loud bang shattered the stillness, metal clanging like a snapped tripwire. Sammy barked and jumped up from his sprawl, startled but ready.
Callie jerked back, breath catching. Her hand went straight to her hip where her phone was clipped, her voice sharp with reflex. “Probably Les. He’s always slamming that damn door.”
Matthew didn’t move.
His heart was still beating too fast. His body still humming from a moment that hadn’t happened.
She crouched to check Sammy’s collar, her gaze centered on the dog. She didn’t look at him, not once.
“I should check on that delivery,” she said, more to the dog than to him. “Make sure nothing’s missing.”
He gave a short nod, even though she wasn’t looking.
Fine. Professional. Steady.
That was the job. Hell, that was who he was, too.
But as he stood there, heat still under his skin, the distance between them restored and wrong, all he could think about was how close she’d let him get.
And how damn much he’d wanted more.
He hadn’t taken a full breath yet when his phone buzzed.
The vibration rattled against his thigh, sharp, quick, familiar. He pulled it out, eyes still tracking Callie as she moved down the path toward the back of the shade tunnel, her focus now locked on anything but him.
He pulled the phone out, his gaze still on Callie as she moved toward the loading zone.
Her shoulders were squared, her stride purposeful.
But he’d already learned how to spot the difference between calm and control.
She was holding herself together, barely.
That damn door slam had snapped her focus, maybe for the better. Maybe not.
He looked down at the message.
The screen lit up.
Carter:
Got a hit on one of the salvage queries. Might’ve found your truck’s origin. Sending doc now.
Matthew’s attention snapped back into place. He opened the attached file and scanned the contents.
Auction yard receipt. Rural lot, two counties north. Seven months old. Partial VIN match. Listed buyer:
D. Carver Contracting.
The name stopped him cold.
He didn’t need to run it through a database. He didn’t even need a second read.
Duke Carver.
Except Duke Carver was dead.
Murdered in town over a month ago.
Matthew stared at the name on the screen. It didn’t matter that the man was gone. Carver’s reach had always extended further than it should have—backdoor deals, bad contractors, whispered threats with no paper trail. ESI had files on him. Nothing ever stuck.
But that name on that truck?
He exhaled through his nose. Someone was pulling strings behind the scenes. Someone who either worked for Carver or wanted people to think they did. That meant two possibilities, and neither of them sat right.
Either Carver had set something in motion before his death.
Or someone was using his name to send a message.
Matthew looked up.
Callie stood near the stacked crates, skimming something on her clipboard. Her dog hovered close, his tail wagging like nothing had shifted. But it had. She didn’t know it yet, not fully. But this wasn’t just a weird delivery anymore.
This was connected. And calculated.
He crossed the gravel without hesitation. No need to prep her gently.
“You’re gonna want to see this,” he said.
She turned, one brow lifting, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion there.
He held the phone out.
She read it and went still.
“D. Carver?” she said quietly. “As in Duke Carver?”
He nodded once.
Her jaw clenched. “He’s dead.”
“Yeah. Which makes this a hell of a lot messier.”
She handed the phone back slowly. “You think it’s someone connected to him?”
“Maybe. Or someone who wants us to think that. Either way, it’s intentional.”
She didn’t speak, but her expression sharpened as if something slid into place. A new edge of resolve settling in.
Matthew watched her closely. She wasn’t unraveling. She was bracing.
And whoever dragged Duke Carver’s name into this hadn’t counted on that.