Page 21 of Matthew
Ultimately, it had led to his exit from the Navy.
This was smaller, quieter. But no less dangerous.
Mac nodded. “Carter’s in the tech room working the drone perimeter overlay. He can bump this in.”
“You can keep it. I have my own copy at the station.” Gabe offered the flash drive. “She held it together, but I don’t mind telling you it’s got me worried. Someone wanted those bins at her door.”
Matthew’s fingers tightened around the strap of his gear pack.
“You’ve been out there,” Mac said, looking at him. “Think she’d talk if you dropped by?”
Caspian grinned. “Oh, he’s got that covered.”
Ignoring him, Matthew nodded. He didn’t know much about Callie’s life outside the nursery, but he knew enough to respect the way she ran her operation. She had control. Precision. Pride. Someone had tried to mess with that, and she hadn’t rolled over.
But pride didn’t keep you safe. Not when someone wanted to rattle your cage.
“She all right being out there alone?” Matthew asked quietly.
Gabe shook his head. “She’s not alone. Crew was on site. But yeah, she looked like she was trying hard not to be pissed off and unnerved at the same time.”
Matthew nodded again. The wrong delivery. The evasive driver. The chemical smell. All of it rang in his ears, tripping over old instincts that had never fully dulled. It wasn’t suspicion, it felt personal. Familiar in a way he hated.
“I’ll swing by now,” he said.
Mac gave a short nod. “Take Caspian. No reason to roll solo.”
“Field trip,” Caspian said, already moving.
Matthew didn’t respond. His mind was rooted somewhere out on the gravel lot of Morgan Creek Nursery. Something about this felt off. Deeper than a prank or misrouted delivery. Whatever Callie had stumbled into, it had the fingerprints of something calculated. Something close to the edge.
And this time, he wasn’t walking away from it.
The drive out to the nursery passed in a blur of country roads and long stretches of summer-dried pasture. Caspian rode shotgun, sunglasses tipped down his nose as he casually scrolled through a message thread, probably with his woman, Harper. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t poke. Which was fine by Matthew.
He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Not when his mind kept drifting back to those two containers, and the woman who hadn’t flinched, even when she probably should have.
They turned past the painted sign at the entrance—MORGAN CREEK NURSERY in crisp white letters, bracketed by two sturdy rosemary bushes, and followed the drive until the main buildings came into view. The place was spread out but tidy, a functional sprawl of greenhouses, shade tunnels, and long rows of potted herbs and ornamentals. Everything had a place. A purpose.
Callie Morgan didn’t seem the kind of woman who let much slip through the cracks.
She was up near the potting shed when they pulled in, clipboard in hand, ponytail swinging as she talked to a tall man in his fifties. He stood beside her, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed but alert. He listened without interrupting, his nods subtle and sure.
No balking. No overexplaining, but a long-established rhythm, no doubt sharpened over years working together. The way they moved around each other didn’t only say trust, it said family.
Apparently, there was another family member there too. A golden one, with a wagging tail. The dog sat between them, panting lightly, his gaze flicking between Callie and the man as if keeping tabs on both sides of the conversation.
Matthew didn’t miss the way the dog shifted when Callie moved—casual but attentive. Like he was used to trailing her steps. Loyal. Grounded. Familiar.
Golden Retriever, if he had to guess. Older, maybe. Not only a pet, a fixture.
When she turned and spotted the ESI SUV, Matthew caught the subtle flicker of tension in her jaw.
She handed the clipboard to the man, wiped her hands on her jeans, and made her way toward them, dog in tow. The guy was the same one from last night. An employee. A friend. Nothing more.
“Duty calls…”
Her words from last night echoed in his head. So, they’d talked about work. Matthew’s shoulders eased, and he wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.
