Page 42 of Bennett (HC Heroes #15)

B y the time Bennett pushed through the front door of Eagle Security & Investigations, he could practically feel the tension pulsing from the war room down the hall.

He entered to find Mac standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, face carved in stone.

Carter was hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keys like his brain was ten steps ahead of the data.

Matthew had half the conference table covered in site logs and printed spreadsheets, the paper curling at the corners like it had been handled too many times already.

They were in it. Deep .

“Morning,” Bennett said, shutting the door behind him. “Tell me you’ve got something.”

“We’ve got a few somethings,” Carter replied without looking up.

His voice was clipped, focused. “Started cross-referencing vendor payments and crew lists tied to Duke’s development company.

Found two LLCs funneling money to Fred Hess’ crew.

Names are clean, but the signatures and EINs link back to one of Duke’s shells.

Cleverly buried, I might add, and deep enough to fool most.” Carter met his gaze, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But not deep enough to dodge me.”

Bennett huffed a quiet laugh. “Remind me never to piss you off.” He leaned in, scanning the screen before he dropped into the chair beside Carter. “So, Duke’s been bankrolling Hess this whole time.”

“Looks that way,” Mac said. His tone didn’t change, but there was a spark of momentum in it now. “He just didn’t count on Rick Nolan spilling his guts.”

Of course, he didn’t. People like Duke never saw the little guys as threats until they talked.

Mac’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then hit speaker. “Gabe. You’re on.”

“Roger that.” Gabe’s voice came through, thin but steady. “I’ve got confirmation. Hess and Duke were in contact through two separate subcontractor channels. Both tie back to Duke’s holding company—Consolidated Eastwood. That’s your financial trail.”

Matthew looked up from his pile of printouts, tapping a sheet with the back of his pen. “That checks out. One of these shell companies—Dawson Modular—shows a materials invoice marked as a consultation fee . Date lines up with the week the wiring at Winslow Crossing got wrecked.”

He glanced at Bennett. “And guess whose name’s signed at the bottom.”

Bennett’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess…Fred Hess.”

Matthew gave a single nod. “Bingo.”

Bennett leaned forward, his jaw tight. “That’s not just a connection, that’s a breadcrumb straight into sabotage.” Adrenaline kicked in harder now. “That enough to move, Gabe?”

“Close,” the sheriff replied. “We need one more link. Something direct—an email, a recorded call, a signed work order, this time with Duke’s name on it. Otherwise, the guy can claim Hess went off the rails.”

Typical. Bennett’s jaw clenched. Slime like Duke never got their hands dirty. They paid someone else to swing the hammer, then cried innocent when things broke.

Fred Hess signing an invoice from a shell company tied to Duke’s holding company put Duke one step away.

It showed a financial connection and a pattern of coordination, but without proof that Duke ordered the sabotage or knew exactly what Hess was doing, Duke could still claim plausible deniability.

Bastard.

Bennett exhaled slowly, tension tightening across his shoulders. “So, Hess was on the payroll, even if Duke wasn’t the one handing him the matches.”

Matthew nodded. “Exactly. Duke can still play dumb, unless we find something that proves he gave the order.”

Carter pulled up another screen. “I’m already inside one of Duke’s vendor systems. If he emailed Hess directly, even once, there’ll be a digital trail.

Might not be explicit, but enough cross-referencing dates and activity could show intent.

” He glanced at Mac. “Give me an hour, maybe less if I don’t get interrupted. ”

Mac gave a sharp nod. “Dig deep. If there’s even a whiff of direct contact, I want it flagged and printed.”

Carter grinned faintly. “On it, bossman.”

Bennett’s jaw flexed as Carter worked. He hated how close they were without having the last damn thread to pull it tight. Duke had built enough distance between himself and the mess to keep his hands clean, while letting guys like Hess do the dirty work.

But that was fine. Because Bennett wasn’t going to stop until they tied the noose. And until Laurel was safe, none of it would be over.

“Gabe,” Bennett said. “What about Hess? Do you have him?”

“Negatory,” Gabe answered. A frustrated grunt followed. “Wasn’t at his house or office. We’ve got an APB out. We’ll haul him in.”

Bennett’s gut tightened. Too many moving parts. Too much room for Hess to get desperate.

And Laurel was alone.

His phone buzzed in his pocket with a text. He pulled it out, hoping to see her name, instead his gut clenched.

Unknown number again.

Theo.

Dammit, now wasn’t the time. He almost shoved the phone back in his pocket, until the text message registered in his head. It was just one line.

Get back to Laurel. Now. She’s in trouble.

Bennet sat up. His pulse stopped, then surged, fast and brutal.

It read like a warning. Like a lifeline. But it could just as easily be a trap.

His mind flashed through every possibility. Theo using Laurel to draw him out. Theo working both sides.

Theo finishing what he’d started all those years ago.

But his gut said no, not this time.

And if he was wrong?

He’d still take that risk because if Laurel was in danger, he wasn’t going to sit here and think it through.

He hit Laurel’s contact and pressed the phone to his ear.

One ring. Two.

Then straight to voicemail.

His gut clenched. That wasn’t right.

He fired off a quick text to her— Call me. Now .—but he already knew it was a waste of time.

She wasn’t answering.

And that silence told him everything.

Mac’s head lifted, his sharp gaze locking on Bennett. “What is it?”

“Laurel’s not picking up,” Bennett replied, his voice tight. “I just got a message from an unlisted number. Said she’s in trouble.”

A beat of silence. Then Bennett grabbed his go-bag from the hook by the door and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m heading to Winslow Crossing.”

Mac didn’t blink. “Take Matthew. Carter, pull exterior cam footage from the block—every angle, every second. Look for Hess or anyone who doesn’t belong.”

“I’m already on it,” Carter said, his fingers tapping away. “Her apartment is clear. Can’t check the shop. Brandi wasn’t ready for the system, yet. I’ll flag any unfamiliar vehicles or movement near the storefront.”

Gabe’s voice cracked over speaker. “I’m on my way.”

Mac turned to Carter. “Get any visual confirmation to Gabe ASAP.”

Carter nodded. “Roger that.”

Bennett didn’t wait for more. He was already at the door, pulse hammering, boots pounding the floor.

Mac’s voice followed him out. “Check in the second you see her.”

“I will,” Bennett said without looking back.

He hit the sidewalk at a run, every step fueled by one thought:

Don’t be too late.

***

T he red gas can hit the floor with a dull thunk.

The gun didn’t.

Laurel’s heart slammed into her ribs like it wanted out. Every instinct screamed to run, to hide, to scream, but her body froze as if chained in place. Her mind raced with plans that never reached the surface.

Where was her phone?

How could she signal someone?

What could she use to stop him?

Fighting to steady her shaking limbs, she watched him step further into the shop, his eyes sweeping the space like he was deciding which part to destroy first.

“You know,” he said, almost conversationally, “you and your aunt should’ve taken the offer. Could’ve walked away clean.”

He kicked the gas can lightly with his boot, not enough to tip it over, just enough to make sure she saw it. Saw what he planned to do.

“But no, you had to make this hard.”

Laurel’s breath caught

What kind of man walked into a storefront in broad daylight with a weapon and a plan to burn everything down—and thought they were the ones crossing a line?

Her gaze flicked to the back hallway. Twenty steps. Maybe fifteen, if she ran. But she wouldn’t make it with him aiming damn a gun at her.

Her phone was in her bag on the floor in the corner. Too far.

There was a wrench on the floor…next to her bag. Dammit. Also, too far.

Her palms itched with helpless adrenaline. Her brain screamed Do something! Laurel swallowed hard, trying to keep her breathing steady.

She couldn’t scream. Not yet. Not with the gun in his hand and no guarantee anyone was close enough to hear her.

So she made herself speak.

Made herself strong.

“You really think this ends the way you want it to?” Her voice was tight but even. “You think torching a building is going to scare anyone into backing off?”

The corner of his mouth curled, and she hated the satisfaction in it.

“Don’t need to scare anyone,” he said with a shrug. “Just need to make a point.”

A chill slid down Laurel’s spine. Every instinct screamed to move, to act, but she held her ground—barely.

He took another step forward. “Let me guess,” he said with a sneer. “You’re gonna try to talk me down? Make me see reason?”

She lifted her chin even as her chest burned from holding in the panic. “No,” she answered quietly. “I’m just waiting.”

His brow arched as confusion and amusement mixed in his eyes. “For what?”

Damned if she knew. Laurel was running on instinct and a boatload of adrenaline.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open behind him, the sound cracking through the shop like a gunshot. Laurel nearly jumped out of her skin.

The guy spun toward it, startled, but not fast enough.

A dark blur slammed into his side, knocking him off balance. The two men crashed into the folding table and chairs. The metal legs buckled instantly, sending both tumbling to the floor in a loud tangle of limbs and chair legs.

One of the folding chairs clattered sideways and bounced against the baseboards. The gas can spun out of reach. The gun hit the floor a second later and slid near the chair.

Laurel stumbled back, breath catching in her throat. For a split second, her brain couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing.

But then it did.

Theo.

It was Theo.

She recognized the cut of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the scar on his hand, as he wrestled the attacker to the ground with a fierce, focused determination she was deeply grateful for.

“Laurel, go!” Theo shouted, barely glancing her way as he fought to keep the man pinned.

But she didn’t run.

Her eyes had already locked on the gun.

It was close. Closer than her bag. Closer than the wrench. Her pulse roared in her ears. If he reached it first…

She didn’t finish the thought.

She lunged.

Her fingers scraped the floor as she dove for the gun just as a second crash split the air. The front door slammed open again, harder this time.

Boots pounded across the floor. Fast. Heavy.

“Laurel!” Bennett’s voice was rough, commanding.

Terrified.

She rose to her feet just as he and Matthew stormed inside, weapons already drawn, eyes scanning, locking on the two men struggling in the middle of the room.

“Release him!” Bennett barked, gun aimed.

Theo didn’t hesitate. He rolled clear just as Matthew descended, grabbing the attacker and hauling him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

The man fought, spewing curses, trying to twist free, but it was over before he got a second chance.

Matthew pinned the guy’s arms behind his back, subduing him. “It’s over, Hess.”

Laurel finally exhaled, the sound ragged and shaking as it left her.

Bennett turned to her, his gaze dark and wild with worry. “You okay?” he asked, holstering his weapon as he rushed closer.

But before he could reach her, Laurel’s legs gave out, and she sank to her knees, fingers still wrapped around the gun she hadn’t needed.