Page 37 of Matthew
And it had cracked something open in her, something she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding closed. Too long spent focused on survival, responsibility, keeping things steady. This…this was different. This was the ground shifting enough to remind her she still felt things that mattered.
Matthew stepped back half a pace more to give her room. It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint, and maybe a little self-preservation.
Callie blinked and tried to steady her breath, but her pulse was all over the place. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t seventeen. This wasn’t some heady teenage crush. It was quieter than that. More dangerous because itmeantsomething.
And she wasn’t sure she was ready for what it meant.
The crunch of tires on gravel drew their attention before either of them could find something safe to say. They picked up their pace with Sammy bringing up the rear as they headed for the sound.
Caspian was already there, his arms crossed, watching Carter with a resigned smirk. “Try not to short-circuit anything this time.”
“That was one time,” Carter said as he set the box down on the tailgate. “And for the record, the VPN didn’t crash. It was…briefly overwhelmed by my genius.”
“Twice,” Caspian and Matthew said in unison.
Callie couldn’t help it, she smiled. The banter didn’t erase what had just happened, but it smoothed the edges, gave her something else to hold onto while her thoughts tried to reassemble.
Carter turned to her, feigning shock. “Wait. You kissed Matthew andstilldidn’t get early access to his top-tier encryption tools? Ma’am, I expected better bartering skills.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You—”
“I didn’tsayanything,” Caspian said, lifting both hands in mock innocence. “Maybe you two should work on your stealth game.”
Callie rolled her eyes and pushed past them toward the bench outside her office. “I’m surrounded.”
“Yeah, but we’re adorable,” Carter replied. He pulled out a slim metal case and popped it open, revealing a compact drone and a row of black security cams small enough to pass as decorative mulch.
Matthew gave a low whistle. “Nice upgrades.”
“Top shelf.” Carter handed him a monitor tablet. “These’ll run on a rotating signal, low profile but strong enough to bounce off the greenhouse panels and still keep a live feed. One of them even looks like a frog. For fun.”
Callie arched a brow. “A frog?”
“Trust me,” he said. “No one suspects the frog.”
While Carter launched into setup mode, Matthew knelt, set the tablet down, then helped unpack the rest of the gear, their movements smooth, practiced. Callie hung back near the bench, arms crossed loosely, watching them with a mix of gratitude.
“Any new hits on the plate?” she asked.
Carter didn’t answer right away. His focus stayed glued to the monitor, fingers tapping a rhythm she couldn’t read. The longer he stayed quiet, the tighter the knot pulled in her gut.
Finally, he muttered, “Not exactly. I did get something off a VIN search, though.”
Matthew moved closer. “Where?”
“Scrapyard east of Bastrop.” Carter rose and pulled out a tablet. “They logged a match six months ago. Same make, model, and year as your mystery truck. It was listed as totaled, front-end damage. Supposed to be stripped for parts or crushed.”
Callie stepped beside him, peering at the low-res image on the screen. The truck in the photo looked sun-bleached and beaten to hell, but there was a scrape along the rear panel that tugged at her memory. Same spot. Same angle.
Her pulse tripped.
“That’s the truck,” she said quietly. “Or what’s left of it.”
Carter nodded. “Matches up. And here’s the kicker—the salvage buyer paid in cash, no name, no registration. The trail ends right there. Whoever picked it up didn’t want to be found.”
Matthew’s jaw shifted. “Someone brought it back from the dead.”
“Yeah. Dug it out of a junk pile and used it to make a point,” Carter said. “Probably stored it somewhere off the books until they needed it.”
