Page 102 of Bennett

“No,” Gabe agreed. “But if Hess is handling things for him, there’s enough distance for plausible deniability.”

Bennett leaned forward, tapping the photo. “You think Hess is behind the break-in?”

“I think he’s capable of it,” Gabe said. “And I think Duke’s still pulling strings.”

Carter whistled low. “You want us to talk to Hess?”

“Not yet,” Gabe said. “I need more than a sketchy drink in a bar. But I wanted you in the loop.”

Mac nodded, eyes narrowing. “Appreciate it.”

Gabe tucked the file back under his arm. “Laurel at the diner today?”

“Afternoon shift,” Bennett answered without thinking. “New girl’s on mornings.”

Gabe nodded. “Might be worth having someone keep an eye out twenty-four seven now. Hess is unpredictable, and Duke’s getting more desperate by the day.”

The sheriff left without another word, and the room shifted as the door clicked shut.

Bennett didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

Mac gave him a look. “Go check on her.”

He was already reaching for his keys.

***

The afternoon rush had come and gone, and Laurel found herself elbow-deep in a tray of silverware, sorting through mismatched forks and spoons behind the counter. Aunt Annie had insisted she was “just going to step outside for some air,” which Laurel hadn’t thought much about, until she noticed the side door was still cracked open ten minutes later.

She wiped her hands on her apron and headed for the back, expecting to find Annie talking with one of the regulars near the dumpster or fussing over a planter that didn’t need fussing.

Instead, she heard voices.

Male. Low and wrong.

Laurel paused just inside the open doorway. Through the slice of alley between the brick wall and the back of the diner, she saw Annie standing stiffly, her arms crossed, with a tall man blocking her path. He wasn’t yelling, but his voice had that slick, pressuring tone Laurel recognized instantly from years of dealing with demanding brides, flaky vendors, and smug event coordinators who thought “urgent” meant she’d drop everything for a fruit tray.

“…just saying, Ms. Winslow. It wouldn’t take much to delay things. Red tape’s got a way of tying people up when they least expect it.”

“I told you, the permits are in order,” Annie said, chin up. “We’re not interested in your help.”

“Oh, I don’t need to be helpful,” he said. “Just…present.”

That was it.

Anger ruling her pulse, Laurel stepped outside and rounded on the guy. “Is there a problem here?”

The man turned and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing at all. Just discussing a little business.”

“Well, she’s not interested,” Laurel said, moving to stand beside her aunt. “So, you can leave. Now.”

A hard glint flickered in his expression. He took a step toward them—just one—but it was enough to make Laurel move in front of her aunt.

And then another figure stepped out of the shadows.

“You heard her.” It was the man with the scarred hand. She hadn’t seen him in a few days. Thought perhaps he’d moved on.