Page 43 of Down Knot Out (Pack Alphas of Misty Pines #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dominic

A knock breaks the quiet in my office, and I raise my head from the map of the Phase One cabins. “Come in!”

Kyle comes up the stairs from the garage below, a large, brown box balanced in his arms. “Got the delivery you've been waiting for, Dom. Came in the morning mail.”

I toss my pen down, and it clicks softly against one of many empty coffee mugs littering my desk. “Fantastic.”

I stand to take the package from him and verify the return address lists a textile company in Maine. The weight of the box brings a satisfied rumble from my chest. I was worried about ordering it online without being able to hold it first, but this is a good sign that the reviews were right .

Striding back to my desk, I set it on top of a stack of permits and slice a letter opener through the tape. “Everything all right on the water today?”

Kyle’s mouth pulls into a frown. “Yep. Taxi’s back up and running fine. Even had the mechanic do another inspection this morning. No one’s messed with it again.”

I drop the letter opener back into the cup on my desk. “That’s good. I have some resumes already for a marine technician. Just need to find the right fit for our island.”

Kyle takes off his scally cap to run a tanned hand over his bald head. “Work might be too slow for people who don’t understand island life.”

“Yeah, that’s always the concern.” There are a lot of other factors to consider beyond whether the person we hire knows their way around a boat engine.

Kyle loves his downtime so he can go fishing, but someone else might get bored fast. And that leads to lazy work, or worse, quitting. Ideally, we’ll find someone who wants to pick up side jobs in addition to upkeep on the boats on the island, like Kyle does with maintaining the paths.

I let out a long sigh. “It might be a long road to find the right fit. ”

Kyle purses his lips. “I might have someone who will work.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? And why are you only bringing this up now?”

“Well, he’s an unbonded Alpha.” He slides his cap back on. “And things aren’t settled yet with your Omega.”

“Uh-huh.” I straighten and cross my arms over my chest. “And?”

Because his secondary gender can’t be the only reason. Emily’s an unbonded Alpha, too, and we have no problem with her being around Chloe.

“He finished school last spring, so he’s young.” Kyle rubs his nose. “And he’d need a place to stay until he gets on his feet.”

I purse my lips as I consider it. While it’s not a hardship right now to put him up, things will change once the Resort starts getting busy.

And we can’t afford to give him one of the cabins, which would mean bringing him into the Homestead.

Which in turn means bringing an unbonded Alpha around Chloe.

But hopefully, that won’t be an issue once her Heat comes.

Alternatively, we could put him up at the hotel in Pinecrest. We pay for it anyway, so why not use it more often? Should we just buy a condo in Pinecrest instead?

“I’ll have to run some numbers.” I turn back to my desk to add it to my ever-growing to-do list. “Have him send over his resume.”

“Will do.” Kyle spins on his heel and heads for the stairs.

My pen pauses on the notepad. “Hey, what’s your relation to the guy?”

Kyle pauses with one hand on the railing. “He’s my cousin.”

I frown. “Why doesn’t he have anywhere to stay, then? Your family’s local.”

“My aunt’s pack wants to start courting, and they don’t want another Alpha muddying the waters.” He scowls. “If you ask me, it’s a bit messed up, considering Jared is her kid, but he’s an adult, and they put him through college, so they’ve done their duty, according to them.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That is messed up.” Though, it’s not unheard of in smaller packs. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We take care of family here.”

Relief sweeps over his face, and his shoulders relax. “I appreciate it. I understand I’m not pack?—”

“You’re family ,” I cut in firmly. “And you’re part of Misty Pines. ”

He clears his throat and taps the handrail. “I’ll tell him to send his information your way.”

As he leaves, I fall into my chair. Even if Kyle’s cousin doesn’t work out for the marine technician job, we can’t let him become homeless. I open my laptop to start searching for housing options, but then the box on my desk draws my attention.

Right, first things first.

I drop it onto the floor and tear open the package. Inside, soft lavender-gray wool spills over my fingers, patterned with fine leaf work.

My breath catches. In person, it looks even more like the blanket Chloe clung to at Emily’s cottage.

I lift the blanket, feeling the weight of quality craftsmanship in my hands.

Up close, I can see the deeper purple fibers threaded through the gray base.

I run my fingers along the edges where the weave forms a natural fringe and imagine Chloe doing the same.

Feeling silly but determined, I wrap it around my shoulders to start saturating it in my pheromones.

My focus drifts toward the far wall where we carved out Chloe’s writing space.

The nameplate Quinn painted hangs beside the door.

She’s not in there, now, but I can picture long days of sharing this space with her, working on our own things, but still sharing space .

I settle back into my chair, the wool pooling around me as I return to my research for living options.

As I browse a small studio near the docks, my phone rings. My pulse ticks up a notch as Richard Moss, the private investigator I hired, flashes across the screen.

I answer. “Sterling.”

“Mr. Sterling, it’s Moss. I have an update on the financial investigation.”

I lean forward, the blanket slipping from one shoulder. “What did you find?”

“I tracked payments from Inspector Davidson’s account to a shell company called Northeastern Development Consulting. The transfers align with your inspection delays.”

My pulse jumps. “How much?”

“Fifty thousand. Paid in three installments. One before your first inspection was postponed, another forty-eight hours before the second delay, and the third the day before your most recent cancellation.”

I scribble down the company name, denting the paper with the pressure of my pen. “What do we know about Northeastern Development?”

“That’s where it gets interesting.” Paper rustles on his end. “The company was registered eighteen months ago through a maze of blind intermediaries. Corporate address traces to a mail forwarding service in Portland. No website. No business filings. Nothing public.”

“Someone created it for this,” I mutter.

“That’s my read. Whoever did this is good. They buried the trail, but I dug deeper than they went.”

I sit up straighter. “Go on.”

“One of the intermediary firms reused an agent ID that ties back to a parent company called Redwater Holdings.”

I frown. “Redwater?”

“Out of Nevada. They specialize in offshore setups, real estate laundering, and crisis asset protection.”

I lean back, the blanket sliding further down my arms. “Any connection to names we’ve discussed?”

“Nothing direct. But this kind of setup takes planning. Whoever’s behind it started months before you even broke ground.”

A hard knot forms in my stomach. Someone with foreknowledge of our plans set this up in advance. Not to disrupt us, but to destroy us.

“Send me everything. Bank records, company filings, and transfer dates. All of it.”

“Already encrypted and heading to your secure inbox. And Mr. Sterling?” Moss’s voice lowers. “Be careful. Whoever built this isn’t only well-funded. They’re patient. They won’t stop until they get what they want.”

When the line disconnects, I push my laptop aside and return to the site plans spread across my desk. Cabin placements. Utility runs. Access roads. Dock facilities. Every detail represents months of planning, thousands in permits, and millions of dollars in labor.

How did it become a battlefield?

I uncap a red marker, and the chemical bite fills the air. The tip hovers over the blueprint as I locate the timber storage area, the quiet corner of our construction site that nearly became a crime scene today.

I circle it.

The mark covers more than storage. It touches the trail between cabins two and three, and the access road where deliveries come in. If the timber had gone over at the wrong time…

If the crew hadn’t been on break…

If Chloe hadn’t gotten Quinn out of the way…

I exhale, steadying my hand. An injury would’ve triggered an OSHA investigation. This would’ve been our third major incident. Automatic shutdown. Heavy fines. Permanent permit loss, if they found violations .

I add more red.

The dock, where the water taxi’s engine failed.

The equipment shed, where thousands in tools disappeared.

The cabins, where permits keep stalling.

One by one, the pressure points emerge. Not random. Strategic. Designed to push us to the edge.

I pull my notepad back in front of me, staring at the names I wrote in bold, angry capital letters.

Northeastern Development Consulting.

Redwater Holdings.

They mean nothing. Reveal nothing. Which is the point.

But the list of people who knew about our project before we filed the first permit? That list is short. And the ones with the money, access, and legal savvy to set up a shell company?

Shorter still.

Nathaniel would point the finger at the Burtons. His father has made it more than clear he doesn’t approve of the way we’re handling the project he financed, and if we were shut down, he could snap it up at a huge discount.

But, as much of an asshole as Maxwell is, I can’t picture him putting lives at risk.

And he’s not the only one with money and a reason to hold a grudge .

There’s also the Harrises, who are still bitter about Blake walking out.

We also can’t discount my familial pack. The Sterlings were furious when we refused to accept their proposed Omega for our pack.

And then there are the Sinclairs. Our problems didn’t start until Chloe arrived, and our meeting at their law office proved they’ve been playing the long game where she’s concerned.

Northeastern Development Consulting could have been who they set up to handle the Santaro situation if it came to a head, and they shifted gears when Chloe came here instead.

There’s no way to know for sure until we figure out who owns Redwater.

And until we do, we’re left vulnerable.