Chapter Seventeen #2
She gave Sammy a final scratch behind the ears, then headed toward the greenhouse, already feeling the back of her neck start to sweat.
August in Texas might be her least favorite month of the year, but her plants sure loved it as long as daily watering was part of their routine.
Callie ducked into the greenhouse, the temperature climbing with every step. The heavy, humid air clung to her skin, instantly beading sweat along her hairline. It wasn’t the heat that made her uneasy, though.
She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever feel calm again.
Exhaling, she moved slowly down the aisle, her gaze sweeping over the benches, the hanging baskets, the rows of potted herbs and ornamentals.
A few looked a little worse for wear, not uncommon in this oppressive weather.
She checked the trays of seedlings. Most were thriving.
Tomato starts were pushing toward their second leaves.
The basil looked lush. The hydrangeas in the corner needed a bit more light, and she paused by a small table of petunias to remove a pair of spent blooms.
But overall, things were steady.
Then she moved on, brow furrowing slightly as she stepped toward a display of plants in the back corner that didn’t look right.
She crouched beside a tray of lemon balm and creeping thyme.
The leaves were limp, edges browned, not from dehydration or sun scorch.
No. It was something subtler. More deliberate.
Her gut clenched.
Brushing the top layer of leaves aside, she parted the soil with her fingers, half expecting to find pests or root rot.
She found neither.
Instead, her fingers struck something thin and crinkly. Her heart rocked.
Digging carefully, she unearthed a small, black plastic pouch, slick with condensation. She inhaled. It was barely sealed. Tucked beneath the surface so as not to be found.
Fingers shaking, she opened it.
Inside was a fine, pale gray powder. The same stuff they'd found in the tampered shipment bags. The same stuff Matthew had helped Caspian load into his SUV to take to ESI for Carter to analyze.
HPC.
Callie’s stomach turned. This wasn’t a one-off. It wasn’t random. Someone had been using her nursery. Repeatedly.
How many more plants had been hiding this poison?
She stood slowly, pouch clutched in one hand, heart thudding loud enough she could hear it in her ears. Her gaze swept the greenhouse again, wider this time, a sick twist in her gut. Every pot now appeared to be a potential hiding place.
Then a shift in the light caught her eye.
At the entrance of the greenhouse, a shadow moved.
Les stepped inside, the doorway framing him in silhouette.
She froze.
He saw the pouch in her hand. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.
“I wish you hadn’t found that,” he said quietly.
Her pulse shot into overdrive.
Before she could speak, Les pulled out his phone.
“We have a problem,” he said, his voice flat.
Callie didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Her brain scrambled to catch up, to reconcile the quiet, competent guy who’d loaded soil mixes every week and checked in on the irrigation schedule—with this, with smuggling HPC through her nursery.
Her fingers tightened around the pouch.
Les ended the call and slid the phone into his back pocket without taking his eyes off her. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and blocked the doorway with his body.
Panic surged, sharp and visceral.
Callie’s mind snapped into triage mode. She flicked a glance toward the side door, the one she rarely used because it stuck half the time.
Ten paces, maybe twelve to the rear door.
Damn, it might as well have been a mile with him watching her, standing close enough to catch up before she’d get too far.
Her heart pounded. Three doors and none were a sure bet. She forced herself to breathe.
Don’t show fear. Don’t escalate.
Callie shifted her weight and subtly reached for her back pocket, fingers brushing only fabric.
Empty.
Her phone was still on her desk.
Panic kicked harder, sharper now. No calls. No texts. No way to get help.
She was on her own.
Finding an inner calm she didn’t know she’d possessed, Callie eased her stance, inching back toward the potting bench, trying to look more confused than alarmed.
“Les,” she said carefully, “what’s going on?”
His jaw ticked. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Like what?” she asked, buying time, every nerve ending screaming at her to move, to run, to do something. “You’ve been using my nursery to stash drugs?”
He looked down as if he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I never wanted to bring it here. I told them that.” His voice cracked. “But they said it was temporary. That no one would notice.”
Callie’s breath caught. They.
“Who’s they?” she asked, voice calm even as her pulse raged.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped further into the greenhouse.
She took a step back.
The back of her left calf nudged a gardening trowel resting on the lower shelf behind her. She didn’t look at it—didn’t dare—but she marked the location, already calculating the angle, the reach.
Sammy. Nate. Matthew.
Where were they?
A flicker of anger rose beneath the fear, sharp and bright. This was her business. Her home, dammit. And she’d trusted this man.
Les let out a shaky breath, something almost regretful in his eyes. “I like you, Callie. I do. But I can’t go to prison.”
She stared him down, her teeth gritted. “Then you picked the wrong greenhouse.”
“I didn’t pick it.” His lips pressed into a grim line. “My brother did.”
A chill swept through her spine. Before she could respond, a crunch of footsteps echoed beyond the greenhouse door—heavier than Les’s, deliberate and slow.
Callie’s fingers curled tighter around the pouch, heart hammering against her ribs.
Les didn’t turn. He stared at her, eyes full of apology and warning.
She took one step back.
The door creaked wider, the air shifted, and every instinct in her body screamed run.
Les’s jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter. You saw too much.”
Callie inched a step back toward the rear greenhouse door, fingers twitching near the trowel she’d spotted earlier. Just a few more feet…
A voice behind her cut through the air, sharp and sudden. “Where do you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?”
She spun.
A second man stepped through the rear entrance, blocking her escape. Taller than Les, same sharp eyes. Her heart sank.
The brother.
Callie’s breath stuttered as the doorway sealed shut behind him, trapping her between the two men.
And somewhere far from this suffocating glass box, the man who’d made her believe she was finally safe had no idea she wasn’t.