Page 44 of Spock’s Snare

The guys made good progress today after the attack on my dad yesterday. Just thinking about him lying unconscious on the ground causes my stomach to clench. The doctor said he would be fine, but that doesn’t erase the image from my mind—or the message painted on the wall.

NEXT TIME IT WILL BE YOU, BITCH!

I force myself to focus on what’s in front of me. A stack of drywall sheets rests against one wall. Empty buckets and scraps of wire wait to be cleared away. Someone left a tape measure on a windowsill, but otherwise, the crew did a decent job cleaning up before they left.

I enter the next apartment and compare the kitchen outlet placement to the plans. Everything matches. Good.

I’m stepping into the hallway when a noise reaches me. A dull thud followed by another. I stop and listen, searching for the source. No one should still be working. Everyone should have gone home by now. But another thud tells me that someone else is here. But who?

Another thud echoes through the building, followed by a sharper crack. I hurry toward the sounds because they’re wrong. This isn’t installation; this is demolition.

I glance into empty room after empty room as I try to locate the source. A scraping sound comes from one of the units near the end of the hall. I quicken my pace and step through the doorway.

Steven stands beside an interior wall with a pry bar in his hand. Broken pieces of drywall cover the floor around his boots. A large section of the wall has already been torn open, exposing the studs and wiring behind it.

I stare at the damage.

“What are you doing?”

Steven spins around so abruptly that the pry bar strikes an exposed stud. His eyes widen before his expression hardens.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps.

“It looks like you’re tearing down drywall that was just installed.”

His grip tightens around the pry bar. “The crew screwed up. I’m fixing their problem.”

I step closer to the wall, careful to avoid the jagged pieces of gypsum scattered across the floor. Several lengths of wire hang between the studs, but from where I’m standing, I can’t see an obvious problem.

“What did they screw up?”

“They put up the drywall before the wiring was finished.”

I frown and study the open wall. “Which wiring?”

His mouth tightens. “The electrical wiring.”

“I can see that, Steven. I’m asking what wasn’t completed.”

He gestures toward the wall with the pry bar. “The line for the bedroom outlets wasn’t run properly. If I leave it like this, the electrician will have to cut through the wall later. I’m saving us time.”

“By tearing it all down yourself?”

“Someone has to fix it.”

There’s something wrong with his explanation. If the electrician missed a line, there should be a work order documenting it. Steven should have notified me, especially if correcting the problem requires removing newly installed material. We would also need photographs before the wall was opened so I could determine who was responsible for the additional cost.

“You should have called me.”

He gives a short, humorless laugh. “Would you have answered?”

My shoulders stiffen. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t exactly been around today.”

“I’ve been at Inferno Ridge. You know that.”

His gaze shifts away for a fraction of a second. He does know. He knew where I was going when I left this morning, and he knows I’ve spent the day checking the crews, reviewing the work, and making sure the Demon Dawgs project remains on schedule.