Page 87 of Matthew
Brushing the top layer of leaves aside, she parted the soil with her fingers, half expecting to find pests or root rot.
She found neither.
Instead, her fingers struck something thin and crinkly. Her heart rocked.
Digging carefully, she unearthed a small, black plastic pouch, slick with condensation. She inhaled. It was barely sealed. Tucked beneath the surface so as not to be found.
Fingers shaking, she opened it.
Inside was a fine, pale gray powder. The same stuff they'd found in the tampered shipment bags. The same stuff Matthew had helped Caspian load into his SUV to take to ESI for Carter to analyze.
HPC.
Callie’s stomach turned. This wasn’t a one-off. It wasn’t random. Someone had been using her nursery.Repeatedly.
How many more plants had been hiding this poison?
She stood slowly, pouch clutched in one hand, heart thudding loud enough she could hear it in her ears. Her gaze swept the greenhouse again, wider this time, a sick twist in her gut. Every pot now appeared to be a potential hiding place.
Then a shift in the light caught her eye.
At the entrance of the greenhouse, a shadow moved.
Les stepped inside, the doorway framing him in silhouette.
She froze.
He saw the pouch in her hand. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.
“I wish you hadn’t found that,” he said quietly.
Her pulse shot into overdrive.
Before she could speak, Les pulled out his phone.
“We have a problem,” he said, his voice flat.
Callie didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Her brain scrambled to catch up, to reconcile the quiet, competent guy who’d loaded soil mixes every week and checked in on the irrigation schedule—with this, with smuggling HPC through her nursery.
Her fingers tightened around the pouch.
Les ended the call and slid the phone into his back pocket without taking his eyes off her. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and blocked the doorway with his body.
Panic surged, sharp and visceral.
Callie’s mind snapped into triage mode. She flicked a glance toward the side door, the one she rarely used because it stuck half the time. Ten paces, maybe twelve to the rear door. Damn, it might as well have been a mile with him watching her, standing close enough to catch up before she’d get too far.
Her heart pounded. Three doors and none were a sure bet. She forced herself to breathe.
Don’t show fear. Don’t escalate.
Callie shifted her weight and subtly reached for her back pocket, fingers brushing only fabric.
Empty.
Her phone was still on her desk.
