Page 28 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
Despite myself, I grin.
"You’re not grumpy, by the way," she adds. "You’re just emotionally constipated."
"Noted."
She steps closer. "You’re scared. So am I. But we don’t get to pretend that night didn’t happen."
"No," I say quietly. "We don’t... and I don't want to"
I reach for her hand, fingers curling around hers. Her skin is warm, her grip surprisingly strong.
"There was vandalism this morning. West wall. Red paint."
Her brows knit. "Is this about the break-in?"
"I think so. And I think someone doesn’t want us digging any deeper."
She steps even closer, the toe of her boot brushing mine, and lifts her chin, defiant and sure. I feel her heartbeat in the press of our joined hands—fast, steady, brave. A thrum of something fierce tightens in my chest, something that feels a hell of a lot like resolve.
"Then we dig until the truth bleeds," I say, voice low. "Even if we bleed with it, and I’ll be damned if anyone gets to you first."
Later that evening, I sit in the cottage, having moved my things over from the mansion. I've sent Kate to bed while I stare at my laptop and watch the grainy footage from the camera feeds.
Movement flickers in the lower corner. A shadow slips past the edge of the barn. Too fast. Too smooth. Intentional.
I freeze the frame and zoom.
Dark hoodie. Black gloves. No visible face.
But the figure is holding something—a folder, thick and unmistakable even in the low-resolution footage. My jaw tightens as recognition kicks in. My stomach turns. Not because of the theft—but because this feels personal. Too personal. Like someone’s watching the wrong things for the right reasons.
It seems as though someone really wants to know the specifics of what we’re building. They want it badly enough to risk everything. And they’re willing to get dirty to get it.
I grab my phone, thumbing a text to Marc:
Got something. Sending image. Might be inside help. Cross-check all current contractors.
Minutes later, Marc calls.
"Got your image. Ran facial mapping against the outer perimeter cameras. No ID. But we did get a plate on a vehicle spotted near the edge of the estate at the same time."
"And?"
"Belongs to a company out of Charleston. Minor design firm. But the kicker? The owner’s sister used to date Kate’s ex."
I sit forward sharply. "So someone in her circle might be involved?"
"Yeah. Alexander Ruiz. Architect. Small-time, but he’s had bids rejected by Cabot Design before. He and his company have motive and a grudge."
I stare out the window.
"So you’re telling me someone with a past grudge might’ve used a connection to get close to the project."
"Or just wanted to rattle you both."
"Find me a connection between Ruiz and anyone local. And keep digging."
"On it."
