Chapter Twenty-Six Chloe
The further I drive from Inferno Ridge, the harder it is to resist the urge to head directly for the Riversedge Apartment site.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as Steven Blackwood’s face flashes through my mind. He lied to me. Not a harmless exaggeration meant to pad his résumé, either. He deliberately concealed the fact that he worked for Elvis Monroe before starting his own company.
I want to know why.
More than that, I want to march into the Riversedge Apartments, corner him in the construction office, and demand answers.
But I promised Spock I wouldn’t confront Blackwood alone.
The promise sits like a stone in my stomach. I don’t regret making it. Spock is right that we need to know more before we tip our hand. That doesn’t make sitting back and doing nothing any easier.
Not that I plan to do nothing.
I’m going home to get out of the borrowed clothes and into my work gear.
Then I’m heading straight back to Inferno Ridge.
There is plenty for me to do onsite, and work will give me something productive to focus on while Spock and the Demon Dawgs hunt for answers. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I tap the call button on my steering wheel and ask the truck to dial Dad.
He answers on the third ring. “Morning, sweetheart.”
“Morning. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
His answer comes too quickly.
“Fine as in actually fine, or fine as in you don’t want me nagging you?”
He chuckles. “Does it matter? You’ll nag me either way.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Of course not, I consider it one of your more endearing qualities.”
I smile despite the tension twisting through me. “What are you doing today?”
“Heading over to Riversedge Apartments. Figured I’d work on those cabinet installations.”
My smile disappears.
Blackwood is at Riversedge. Hawk and Wildcard are going there to watch him, but that doesn’t reassure me. If Blackwood is the one responsible for the attack on my father, I don’t want Dad anywhere near him.
“Why don’t you come to Inferno Ridge instead?”
Silence hums over the line.
“I thought you needed the Riversedge units finished,” Dad says.
“I do, but there’s work at Inferno Ridge that needs your attention first.”
“What kind of work?”
My mind races through possible explanations. Dad knows me too well for an outright lie to work, but I’m not ready to tell him everything we learned. Not until I understand what Blackwood and Monroe are doing.
“I want another set of experienced eyes on the cabinetry measurements,” I say. “We’ve had enough delays, and I don’t want to discover a problem after the order goes in.”
It isn’t a lie. Not exactly.
“You already checked them.”
“I know, but humor me.”
He pauses again. I can practically hear him trying to decide whether to challenge me.
“All right,” he finally says. “I’ll go to Inferno Ridge.”
Relief loosens the vise around my chest. “Thank you. I’m heading home to change, but I’ll meet you there.”
“You sure everything’s okay?”
No. Not even close.
“Everything will be,” I tell him. “Drive carefully.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
I end the call before he can ask another question. Dad is safe for now, and that’s one less thing gnawing at me.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, I pull up my contacts again.
The electrician answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Chloe. What’s up?”
“Morning, Mateo. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
I merge into the right lane, keeping my eyes on the traffic ahead as I organize my thoughts. I don’t want to make accusations—not until I know exactly what happened—but after everything I’ve learned about Blackwood, I’m done dismissing my instincts.
“Have you heard about any problems with the electrical wiring at Riversedge Apartments?”
“Problems?” Mateo repeats. “What kind of problems?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”
“No one’s called me.” His tone sharpens with concern. “We finished there two days ago. The city inspector completed the inspection and signed off on everything.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I remember checking the paperwork myself. The electrical inspection passed. There shouldn’t have been any reason for Blackwood to tear open a finished wall.
“What happened?” Mateo asks.
“Steven Blackwood ripped out a section of drywall in one of the units. He claims the wiring was installed incorrectly and that the wall had to be opened so it could be fixed.”
“He did what?”
The disbelief in his voice confirms what I already suspect.
“He tore out the drywall,” I repeat. “When I questioned him, he insisted there was a problem with the wiring.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If there was a problem, he should’ve called me before touching anything. And if it was serious enough to start tearing out walls, why didn’t he report it to you?”
“Those are both excellent questions.”
I turn onto my street. The familiar row of homes passes my window as Mateo mutters something under his breath.
“I can head over there and check it out,” he says. “I’ll need to see exactly what Blackwood’s talking about.”
“I took photos of the exposed wiring. Let me send those to you first.”
I pull into my driveway, tap the button clipped to my visor, and wait for the garage door to rise. By the time I ease my truck inside, Mateo is still trying to work through possible explanations.
“Could be something got damaged after we left,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe Blackwood noticed something the inspector missed, but I don’t know why he wouldn’t contact me.”
I put the truck in park. “Give me a second.”
Keeping the call connected through the speakers, I pull out my phone and find the pictures I took at Riversedge. I select the clearest shots, including several close-ups of the wiring and one wider image showing the entire section Blackwood demolished.
“I’m sending them now.”
A few seconds pass.
“Got them,” Mateo says.
I wait while he studies the pictures. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as suspicion twists tighter inside me.
“Chloe, I don’t see anything wrong with the wiring.”
“Nothing?”
“Not from these photos. The cable is secured properly, the placement looks right, and I don’t see any damage. Everything there appears to be exactly as my crew left it.”
A cold sensation crawls along my spine.
“So there was no reason to remove the drywall.”
“Not that I can see.” Mateo pauses. “I honestly can’t figure out why Blackwood would say otherwise.”
Neither can I, but I’m beginning to believe his lie has nothing to do with electrical work.
“I’m going over there,” Mateo continues. “Photos are useful, but I want to inspect it in person. If someone’s claiming my crew did faulty work, I need to know why.”
“That would help. Call me as soon as you’ve looked at it.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, Mateo.”
I end the call and stare through the windshield at the closed interior door leading into my house.
The wiring is fine. The inspection was complete. Yet Blackwood tore apart a finished wall and lied about the reason.
I grab my phone and climb out of the truck. As I head for the door, one question pounds through my mind.
What was Blackwood doing?
I climb out of the truck and hurry toward the interior door, my phone still clutched in my hand. Mateo’s confirmation circles through my thoughts as I turn the knob and step into the house.
When the door closes behind me, I take two steps into the kitchen before my inner danger alarm goes off.
Something is wrong. Nothing looks disturbed at first glance.
The chairs remain tucked beneath the table.
The cabinets are closed. Even the dish towel hangs neatly from the oven handle.
Then I see the items arranged on the kitchen counter.
Rope, a roll of duct tape, and a black bandana. None of which should be there. My heart slams against my ribs. I didn’t leave them there.
I tighten my grip on my phone and slowly step backward. The garage is only a few feet behind me. If I can get inside my truck, I can lock the doors and escape.
A faint creak comes from somewhere deeper in the house.
I spin toward the door as Blackwood strides into the kitchen. We lock gazes as my temper spikes.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out stronger than I feel.
He smiles, and there’s nothing friendly about it. “Waiting for you.”
I wrench open the garage door and run.
“Help!” I scream as I rush toward my truck. I don’t make it.
Blackwood grabs me from behind and jerks me against his chest. My phone flies from my hand, skittering beneath the truck as I drive my elbow backward. It connects with his ribs, earning a grunt.
“Get off me!”
I stomp on his foot and twist, raking my nails across his face. His grip loosens long enough for me to turn. I shove him with both hands, but he catches my wrist before I can escape.
I kick at his knee.
His face contorts with fury.
“You bitch.”
He yanks me toward him. I strike his shoulder, his chest, anywhere I can reach, but he forces his forearm across my throat and drags me backward against his body.
I claw at his arm. My lungs burn as I fight to pull in air.
Black spots crowd the edges of my vision.
His breath brushes my ear.
“You should’ve picked me,” he whispers. “You’re going to be sorry you didn’t.”
I try to scream, but no sound escapes.
The garage tilts. My strength drains away, leaving my arms heavy and useless.
Spock’s face flashes through my mind.
Then everything goes black.