Page 2 of Redemption

“Ready,” the woman says, trying to get me moving as I stand there assessing her.

I pat my pockets, then look around. “Hold on, let me find my axe and a bone saw.”

“You aren’t funny,” she shoots back, her dark eyes flashing at me as Oak chuckles behind me.

“My sister says that all the time,” I drawl out the words. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

Giving me the side eye, she points to her chest. Even under her uniform shirt and vest, I’d already clocked her tits, so I’m able to keep a straight face when I nod down to where she’s pointing.

The haughty look she’s giving me instantly changes to a startled expression when she realizes she isn’t wearing a name badge.

“Good thing my men saw me leaving with you. You could be a serial killer, luring me out to kill me in the woods.” I try to sound bored as I give voice to the worry that must have crossed her mind at some point.

“I’m sorry, I must have left it on my desk.”

I like seeing her flustered, simply because she’s had a shield up since I walked out of my office. For the first time, I feel like I’m looking at the woman she is and not the façade she holds up; undoubtedly because she works in a male dominated field.

“I’m Vector,” I say, pointing to the patch on my cut in an imitation of the wasted motion she had just made, as I turn to walk in the direction of the area they’ll need access to. “Nice to meet you …”

“I’m Sloane Folly,” she says, her smile telling me that she understands I’m giving her a do-over.

Her name sounds familiar and I repeat it over in my head, trying to place it. As she falls into step beside me, I’m thankful she isn’t particularly tall so I don’t have to strain my leg to keep up with her.

“Is that your house?” Sloane’s voice is softer when she chances a personal question and I needlessly look in the direction that she’s pointing.

“Yeah. I mean, kinda. I grew up there, but I let my sister have the place to herself.” I smile when I see how cozy the patio on the far side of the house looks and realize it reminds me of how it was when my mother was alive.

Bridget’s mom, Nadine, was never one for knick-knacks or throw pillows. Once she moved in, I rescued the items thatmattered—feeling like I had lost my mom a second time when I boxed up the things she cared about and stored them in the basement. As far as I know, they’re still there, untouched, so maybe Nadine had a point.

“You’ve mentioned your sister twice now, you two must be close.” The wistfulness in her voice is unmistakable and makes me study her face again. That’s when I remember the name Folly.

“Was your grandfather a carpenter? Paul Folly, right?” I confirm that with her instead of discussing Bridget.

“Yes,” Sloane says, unable to keep the pride out of her expression. “I had the most elaborate dollhouse you could ever imagine.”

“I remember him, my dad wouldn’t use anyone else around here. May I ask if he’s still alive?”

“Yes, but he has terrible arthritis, so I moved up here to help him out,” she informs me.

“Where’d you grow up?”

“Here.” She stops suddenly, it takes me a second to realize that she’s not answering my question so much as she realizes that we’re close to the area that they’ll need to dig.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her how she figured that out without a theodolite, but Jigsaw must have used the phrase ‘the simplest explanation is usually the right one’ thousands of times, so I look around me and see an orange flag on top of a wooden stake, fluttering, just past the other side of my fence.

“We would need to remove two portions of your fence, then dig about ten feet in. When the pipes were originally installed, the main ones were just set haphazardly, depending on where gas hookups were needed. Now, the county is paying for a main lineto run under their land with more organized arteries in place to service existing customers and be more user-friendly if new hook-ups have to be added in the future.

“Unfortunately, the pipes then run underground through to the other end of your property. So, we’re going to dig those up, remove them, then fill in the land for you. We will replace any grass that’s destroyed, but there’s no allowance for gardening and what-not. Due to this being the longest stretch on private property that we have to deal with, I would estimate ten business days at the very most,” she explains, finishing by looking between me and the area that she’s talking about. It’s more weeds than grass over here, and the other area is mostly gravel where we have overflow parking.

Ten business days.Unless they find human remains, I think to myself, unable to keep a lopsided grin off my face.

“Can I assume that there are other pipes leading to the house, garage, and the clubhouse?” I ask, since the imaginary line she’s pointing out doesn’t lead toward those buildings.

“Yes, but those would be considered private property. Virginia Gas would, naturally, fit them to the pipes the county is paying to upgrade.”

“Naturally. They just won’t pay for mine to be upgraded,” I clarify. My mind is clicking away, trying to find an angle where I can force the county to add mine in for free. Unfortunately, I have more to lose by raising a stink than going quietly along with the plan.

When my eyes shift back to Sloane’s face, she’s biting her bottom lip, telling me that she’s probably figured out my train of thought.

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