Page 74 of Matthew
Callie crossed the field from her house, Sammy at her side, the Golden Retriever’s tail wagging as if it had its own engine. She was in jeans and a T-shirt, hair pulled back, coffee in hand. No makeup. No pretense. All strength and sunshine and grit.
His chest ached.
She didn’t see him. She never did. Not here.
That was the point.
But he watched until she reached the main building and unlocked the door. Sammy followed her inside with a wag and ayawn. Another few minutes passed before Nate’s truck rumbled up the gravel drive.
Matthew didn’t flinch. He knew the man had a key for the front gate, he’d seen him use it three mornings ago, after Matthew’s first night camping out.
She wasn’t alone now.
He exhaled, the tension in his spine unwinding enough to stand. When his bones stopped cracking after another quick stretch, he quickly rolled his sleeping bag, pulled his Mag flashlight from the side pocket of his duffle to make room, then slung the bag over his shoulder.
Matthew jogged through the trees to the edge of the property, where his SUV sat hidden beyond the sight lines of the main road. He climbed in and pulled out, vowing to be back soon.
Because protecting Callie didn’t end at sunrise.
Neither did thoughts of her.
She stayed with him the entire drive into town. He headed straight for ESI, the August heat building around him, tension rising with every mile. Matthew parked behind the strip mall next door and slipped inside headquarters, where the blast of AC hit his skin, and relief washed over him, sharp, immediate, and so damn welcome.
Only a skeleton crew at headquarters today. The rest of the team was split between two security jobs in Houston.
Caspian was working the front desk, which left him available if Matthew needed an assist. And Carter? He was exactly where Matthew expected him to be—in his pit, three screens open, coffee in hand, and multitasking at high speed.
“Thought you were off playing campground sentinel,” Carter said without looking up.
Matthew dropped his duffle beside the chair. “Did my rounds. Anything on FieldSource?”
“Nothing concrete. Ellis’ books are cleaner than they should be, but not dirty enough to flip anyone yet.” He squinted at his screen. “You get eyes on anything new?”
“Not at the nursery. But that truck Everett saw? Definitely a retrieval attempt. They didn’t know we intercepted the box.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “And I’ve been watching the patterns. They know the layout, which means someone either gave them a map, or they’ve been watching longer than we thought.”
Carter finally looked up, his expression sharpening. “That’s a problem.”
“No kidding.” Matthew scrubbed a hand through his hair. “And Rosie?”
Carter’s mouth twitched. “Did some digging. Got a name on the delivery guy Rosie slipped that note to.”
Matthew straightened slightly. “And?”
“Dylan Marks. Small courier outfit that does contracted runs for FieldSource. Local guy, no flags, no priors, not even a speeding ticket.”
“But?”
“But he hasn’t been back, and when I cross-referenced routes and shifts, he’s been rotated off that run since.”
Matthew’s brow furrowed. “Coincidence?”
“Maybe. Rosie told Caspian it was a request for a catalog, but I don’t like how fast he disappeared from the circuit.”
He exhaled slowly. “Keep an eye on it.”
“Already am. And the shell company tied to GreenSpan?” Carter tapped the screen. “Still working the paper trail. Whoever’s funding this doesn’t want to be found.”
“Keep digging.” Matthew gave a small nod. “I’m heading back soon, after I stop home for a quick shower and change.”
