Page 89 of Matthew
Callie’s breath stuttered as the doorway sealed shut behind him, trapping her between the two men.
And somewhere far from this suffocating glass box, the man who’d made her believe she was finally safe had no idea she wasn’t.
Chapter Eighteen
The room felt too still for how much was happening.
Matthew sat at the conference table in ESI’s ops room, his shoulders squared, focus locked in despite the thrum of unease under his skin. The room held a low buzz of tension with Mac at the head, arms crossed, Briggs, the DEA liaison, flipping through notes, Caspian and Bennett flanking the wall like two sentinels, and Carter pacing with a protein bar he’d yet to open.
A whole hour had gone by already with the debriefing. An hour too long. Matthew’s gut churned. He needed to be with Callie. To protect her. Things were heating up.
“So,” Carter said, halting to casually lean against the credenza. “We’re chasing a cartel because someone screwed up a soil shipment?”
Matthew didn’t smile. “Close enough.”
Carter’s teasing faded, his eyes narrowing. “You good?”
“Yeah.” He nodded once. “Just want this over.”
It brought up a past he’d rather forget and held back a future he wanted to pursue.
Mac looked up. “We’re close. DEA’s been circling GreenSpace and Vantage Gulf for months now. This link with the south Texas route and that powder you helped intercept? It’s what they needed since the central Texas trail went cold.”
Briggs set the folder down. “Now it appears we’ve found them again.”
Matthew nodded tightly, fingers drumming against the tabletop. “We were lucky the nursery flagged the shipment. Otherwise, we’d still be flying blind.”
Briggs leaned forward. “How many distribution points are we talking?”
“Too early to say for sure,” Mac replied. “But we suspect at least three. Possibly more, if the route’s been active as long as we think.”
Carter finally tore open the protein bar and took a bite, talking around it. “I did a background check on all of Morgan Creek’s employees. Most came up clean—except one. Les Hutchins.”
Matthew’s head snapped up.
Shit. Not Rosie?
Bennett lifted a brow. “That the soil guy?”
Carter nodded. “He’s got a brother working a similar job over in Lockridge. Different nursery, same suppliers. Nothing concrete, but enough overlap to raise eyebrows.”
“Why are we just now hearing this?” Mac asked.
“I ran the checks two nights ago. The hit came back early this morning—low-level priors, nothing major, but his brother was flagged in a DEA sting that didn’t stick. The kind of file that stays quiet unless you know to look.”
“Could be nothing.” Briggs leaned back, lips pressing into a thin line. “Or it could be the node we’ve been missing.”
Matthew’s knee bounced under the table. “Les has been quiet, reliable. Never raised any alarms until now.”
“Yeah,” Carter said, voice dry. “Those are the ones that always surprise you.”
Matthew checked his phone on the table again. Still no word from Callie. He’d sent her a check-in text fifteen minutes ago. Silence wasn’t good. He forced a breath out of his nose. “I left her alone at the nursery this morning.”
Caspian tilted his head. “She’s got staff.”
“Yeah, Nate and Rosie, but also Les,” Matthew said, tension coiling tighter. “I need to go.”
Before anyone could respond, his phone lit up.
