Page 31 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)
Chapter Twenty
Nathaniel
T he tablet warms beneath my hand as I scan the site, glare bouncing off the screen and catching the edge of my vision. Numbers and schedules scroll in neat columns of delivery windows, daily and weekly crew schedules, subcontractors, and inspectors.
All of it stacked in clean, rational lines. Everything’s where it should be. If only people were as dependable as spreadsheets.
Across the job site, workers swarm over the cabins, the rise and fall of hammers, the snap of nail guns, and the buzz of saws filling the air.
The scent of pine mixes with the salt from the ocean, while sawdust clings to sweat-damp forearms, and boot prints trail through the site to mark the path of productivity .
An email pops up, and I read it, then return to my spreadsheet and adjust a delivery time to account for products arriving ahead of schedule. My body moves through the motions with practiced efficiency, but my mind drifts elsewhere, to the gentle hum that vibrated through the bond last night.
With the rest of my pack members asleep in their beds, it could only have been Dominic and Chloe. Whatever they were up to, it was strong enough to resonate across the water.
A smile tugs at my lips as I scroll through inventory lists.
For once, everything feels aligned, not just the schedules on my screen, but the connections between my pack.
The threads that had begun to tangle when Chloe came into our lives now pull taut, weaving us together the way we were meant to be.
The crunch of boots on gravel announces Emily’s approach before her crushed-clover and warm-flannel scent reaches me. My head lifts from my tablet as she stops beside me, tablet clutched in one hand, thermos in the other. Her chin-length silver hair catches the sunlight.
“Inventory’s accounted for.” She lifts her tablet. “Aside from what walked off last week, of course.”
I tuck my tablet under my arm. “Thanks for coming in late. I know you prefer to be first on site.”
She shrugs, an easy roll of her broad shoulders. “Couldn’t send my guests off without breakfast.”
“Thank you for hosting them.” Gratitude warms my chest. “It was above and beyond.”
Emily takes a swig from her thermos, the scent of black coffee wafting between us. “Your Omega was pretty shaken.”
Her acknowledging Chloe as mine sends a curl of satisfaction through me, but I keep my expression passive. “Simon really rattled her.”
“Yeah.” Emily caps her thermos and squints toward the job site. “She seemed even more rattled this morning, but Dominic was being tight-lipped about it.”
The question hangs unspoken, leaving it up to me if I want to share, but my bondmate hadn’t been any more forthcoming in the text he sent to the pack chat.
“Did she say anything?” I ask, curiosity slipping past my professional veneer.
“No.” Emily shakes her head. “But whatever has her rattled went beyond some stalker.”
A construction worker calls to her from across the site, holding up a circular saw with an expression of confused frustration. Emily lifts a finger in acknowledgment before turning back to me.
“Despite whatever else is going on,” she adds, “She and Dominic seemed closer.”
“Sometimes fear forces you to face what you really want.” The words come without thinking, a truth I’ve observed time and again in both business and pack dynamics.
Emily studies me. “That’s surprisingly insightful for someone who schedules his emotional availability in fifteen-minute blocks.”
I laugh, the sound catching me off guard. “I’ll have you know I’ve upgraded to thirty-minute blocks now.”
Her teeth flash white in her tanned face. “Progress indeed.” Her attention shifts to her tablet. “Water taxi’s due back at seventeen hundred hours. Think your pack drama will distract you until then?”
“No distraction.” I tap my tablet screen back to life. “Work comes first.”
She snorts, unconvinced. “Sure it does. That’s why you’ve checked the dock three times this morning.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I hadn’t realized my vigilance was so obvious. “The equipment delivery?— ”
“—isn’t expected until tomorrow,” she finishes. “Your calendar’s on my tablet, too, remember?”
The worker with the saw calls again.
Emily cups her hand at her mouth. “Just grab a new one! I’m not your babysitter!”
“You technically are,” I remind her as the worker huffs and stomps toward the equipment shed.
“Like herding cats some days.” She snorts, then shifts her attention back to me. “Your pack’s coming together, Nathaniel. Don’t overthink it.”
Your pack’s coming together.
For years, Dominic, Blake, Holden, and I have functioned as a unit, but we’ve never been truly complete. The empty space at our center has shaped everything we’ve built, from this resort to the bonds between us. Relationships defined as much by what was missing as by what was present.
I turn toward the water, where sunlight dances across the surface in fractured brilliance. We’re closer to being a true pack now than we’ve ever been. No more waiting. Just the five of us, aligned at last, the way we were always meant to be.
My fingers find the silver ring my grandfather left me, twisting it once. I think, if he were still alive, my grandfather would be proud of what we’ve built here .
I keep my voice low enough that the nearest workers won’t overhear. “Any luck with the pawn shops?”
Emily shakes her head. “Nothing. I hit every shop in Pinecrest yesterday, then again this morning. No one’s seen our equipment.”
A flock of gulls soar overhead, their cries drowning out the construction noise.
“The laser level alone is worth five thousand,” I murmur. “Not the kind of thing a thief would just throw away.”
“Too specialized to fence easily, too dangerous to hang onto.” Emily sips her coffee as she surveys the site. “They’ll sell the stuff eventually. Just a matter of time.”
“Yeah.” Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cool breeze coming off the water. “Let’s check yesterday’s surveillance footage.”
We step into the temporary office trailer, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the sudden dimness. The stale air inside holds the scent of instant coffee and printer toner. Emily closes the door behind us, muffling the construction noise to a distant rumble.
My fingers tap across the laptop keyboard, pulling up the previous night’s security feed. The screen glows with grainy black-and-white images of the construction site after hours .
With the water taxi down, several of the crew had been forced to bunk down in the cabins for the night. The perfect time for our saboteur to make a move. Shadows stretch long across empty scaffolding and equipment covered with tarps to protect from overnight dew.
Emily leans in, pointing at motion on the screen. “Trip to the bathroom.”
We fast-forward through three identical incidents, with flashlights moving across the ground, a trip to the port-a-potty, and back again.
All routine.
All useless.
The footage continues, a dull parade of routine security checks interspersed with long stretches of stillness. My eyes burn from staring at the monitor by the time sunrise lightens the eastern edge of the screen.
“Nothing.” I lean back in the chair, which creaks in protest. “Again.”
Emily straightens, rolling her shoulders to release tension. “Our thief could have been one of the crew who returned with me to the mainland last night.”
“Or they know we put up cameras.” The thought sits heavy in my gut.
“Could have been someone who was just down on their luck, looking for quick cash,” Emily says, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe it.
I close the laptop with more force than necessary, the snap punctuating my frustration. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. If that was the case, something would have showed up in a pawnshop or online.”
“No,” she admits. “It’s too targeted toward delaying the project. A desperate worker would grab whatever was valuable and accessible, not cherry-pick items that slow us down.”
My mind circles back to the thought that’s been growing at the edges of my consciousness for weeks now.
“My father knows exactly what equipment would cause maximum delays without being noticeable,” I say, voicing the suspicion aloud for the first time.
Emily doesn’t dismiss the idea right away, which tells me she’s considered it, too. “Burton Senior would benefit if this project fails.”
“He’d have me back under his thumb.” Bitterness curls through me. “Phase One running behind schedule, investors getting nervous… It’s the perfect condition for him to swoop in and take control for the good of the company .”
My father’s face forms in my mind. Not angry or overtly manipulative, but wearing that expression of paternal disappointment that’s served him so well over the years. The look that says, I expected better from you, but I’m not surprised you failed.
“Your father’s an asshole, but he’s not subtle.” Emily folds her arms across her chest. “This feels different.”
She’s right. My father prefers grand gestures and public pressure. Board meetings where he questions my leadership. Veiled comments to investors about my inexperience. Not this slow, insidious erosion of progress.
“Still, we should increase security on the specialty equipment.” I stand and smooth the creases from my slacks. “Change the patrol routes, mix up the timing.”
“I’ll talk to the night security team. Make sure they understand we’re dealing with someone who knows how we work.”
The heat inside the trailer has grown to uncomfortable levels, sweat beading along my hairline. I stride for the door, eager to escape back into the open air.
Sunlight blasts away the dimness, and I squint. The construction site sprawls before us, workers moving, the project taking shape despite the obstacles thrown in our path. My project. My vision. My chance to prove I’m more than just Maxwell Burton’s son.
Someone wants to take that away. I won’t let them.