Page 74 of Spock’s Snare

“I’m sending them now.”

A few seconds pass.

“Got them,” Mateo says.

I wait while he studies the pictures. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as suspicion twists tighter inside me.

“Chloe, I don’t see anything wrong with the wiring.”

“Nothing?”

“Not from these photos. The cable is secured properly, the placement looks right, and I don’t see any damage. Everything there appears to be exactly as my crew left it.”

A cold sensation crawls along my spine.

“So there was no reason to remove the drywall.”

“Not that I can see.” Mateo pauses. “I honestly can’t figure out why Blackwood would say otherwise.”

Neither can I, but I’m beginning to believe his lie has nothing to do with electrical work.

“I’m going over there,” Mateo continues. “Photos are useful, but I want to inspect it in person. If someone’s claiming my crew did faulty work, I need to know why.”

“That would help. Call me as soon as you’ve looked at it.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, Mateo.”

I end the call and stare through the windshield at the closed interior door leading into my house.

The wiring is fine. The inspection was complete. Yet Blackwood tore apart a finished wall and lied about the reason.

I grab my phone and climb out of the truck. As I head for the door, one question pounds through my mind.

What was Blackwood doing?

I climb out of the truck and hurry toward the interior door, my phone still clutched in my hand. Mateo’s confirmation circles through my thoughts as I turn the knob and step into the house.

When the door closes behind me, I take two steps into the kitchen before my inner danger alarm goes off. Something is wrong. Nothing looks disturbed at first glance. The chairs remain tucked beneath the table. The cabinets are closed. Even the dish towel hangs neatly from the oven handle. Then I see the items arranged on the kitchen counter.

Rope, a roll of duct tape, and a black bandana. None of which should be there. My heart slams against my ribs. I didn’t leave them there.

I tighten my grip on my phone and slowly step backward. The garage is only a few feet behind me. If I can get inside my truck, I can lock the doors and escape.

A faint creak comes from somewhere deeper in the house.

I spin toward the door as Blackwood strides into the kitchen. We lock gazes as my temper spikes.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out stronger than I feel.

He smiles, and there’s nothing friendly about it. “Waiting for you.”

I wrench open the garage door and run.

“Help!” I scream as I rush toward my truck. I don’t make it.

Blackwood grabs me from behind and jerks me against his chest. My phone flies from my hand, skittering beneath the truck as I drive my elbow backward. It connects with his ribs, earning a grunt.