“No,” Bennett said, holding the door for her. “But I’ve learned to listen when something feels off.”
“So, we’re going with vague unease as our guiding principle now?”
“If you’d prefer paranoia, I can do that too.”
With a shake of her head, she smirked and stepped past him into her shop.
Inside, the warm murmur of voices returned like a welcome blanket. Brandi was mapping out her layout ideas in painter’s tape. Matthew had somehow convinced Rylee that the espresso bar needed a disco light. Everything was safe. Normal.
But as Laurel glanced out the window again and caught her own reflection staring back at her, wide-eyed and still, she noticed something beyond that.
Outside, down the block...the truck was gone.
She didn’t say anything. Not yet. Vehicles moved all the time.
But the shimmer of that perfect afternoon had dulled just a little. And beneath all the excitement, a quiet thread of dread began to weave itself through her chest.
Chapter Twenty
The buzz of conversation drifted through the ESI boardroom, familiar and low-level as the late afternoon sun slipped lower in the sky. With most of the crew away on their assignments, Bennett leaned against the back of the table, his arms crossed, watching Carter and Matthew review security footage from the night before. No anomalies. No shadows. No signs of tampering.
It should’ve made him feel better.
It didn’t.
Carter spun in his chair. “No one came near the building. You’ve got the full timeline. Tyler and I left at 10:17. Laurel’s lights went out at 10:31. Although, you know that, you were there. Nothing after that.”
Bennett gave a slow nod but didn’t move. “Check the alley cams?”
“All clear,” Matthew chimed in, tapping the keyboard. “Even the raccoons stayed home last night.”
He knew that since he’d checked it all out himself. Twice.
Still, his gut stayed tight.
It wasn’t about what wasn’t on the feed. It was the feeling that someone was waiting for the cameras to relax.
Before he could respond, the front door opened down the hall, followed by the sound of purposeful boots.
A moment later, the sheriff stepped into the room. He carried a folder and a look that said this wasn't a social call. Bennett immediately straightened to face him.
“Gentlemen,” Gabe said. “Got something.”
“Let’s hear it,” Mac replied, already stepping close.
Gabe opened the folder and laid out a few grainy surveillance stills on the table. “This is from a bar down in Port Aransas. Tuesday night.”
Bennett glanced at the images. The angles weren’t great, but the profile was unmistakable. Duke Carver, seated in a booth, leaning in close to a man wearing a worn ball cap and a heavy gray hoodie.
Gabe tapped the image. “The guy with him is Fred Hess. He was a contractor who worked briefly on a renovation project two years ago before Brandi shut it down. Word is, he’s been doing off-the-books jobs since.”
“Didn’t she fire him for trying to bring in unapproved subs?” Mac asked.
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “And then he tried to sue her for breach of contract. It didn’t go anywhere, but he’s still bitter. And now he’s meeting with Duke Carver, who has every reason to want that building to fail.”
Shit.
“Duke’s not dumb,” Bennett said. “He wouldn’t put that kind of move in writing.”
