“They’re residents.”
“So am I.”
Craig’s expression hardened.
“That remains to be seen.”
There it was.
Not hidden anymore.
Fletcher rested both hands on the steering wheel.
Cicadas buzzed in the oaks.
The Range Rover idled.
Craig stepped closer.
“Look, buddy.”
Fletcher’s eyes moved to him.
“I’ll level with you.”
Craig pointed toward the homes beyond the gate.
“These people pay a lot of money to live somewhere safe.”
Fletcher said nothing.
“Their children play out here. Their wives walk at night.”
Fletcher’s voice remained calm.
“And?”
“My job is to keep threats out.”
The word hung there.
Threats.
Craig did not need to explain who he meant.
Fletcher’s face became even stiller.
Craig mistook that for defeat.
“I don’t know who you’re visiting. I don’t know what job you’ve got inside. But there’s a service entrance around the south side if you’re here for work.”
“I told you.”
Craig sighed.
“I heard what you told me.”
“I live here.”
“And I told you I don’t believe you.”
Fletcher reached for his phone.
Craig smiled.
“Go ahead.”
He tapped his chest.
“Call whoever you want.”
Fletcher did.
Brenda answered after one ring.
“Hey.”
“I’m at the gate.”
Something in his tone changed her immediately.
“What happened?”
“They won’t let me in.”
Silence.
“What do you mean?”
“New security.”
“Fletcher.”
“They rejected the license. Won’t look at the deed. Told me to come back Monday.”
Brenda’s voice became very quiet.
“I’m coming.”
“You don’t need to—”
The line went dead.
Fletcher placed the phone on his lap.
Craig leaned against the booth.
A few minutes later another vehicle approached.
White Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Fletcher recognized it immediately.
Victoria Ashford.
The gate opened automatically through the resident lane until she encountered Fletcher’s vehicle blocking the primary approach.
Victoria lowered her window.
Craig rushed toward her.
“Morning, Mrs. Ashford. Sorry about this.”
Victoria looked past him toward Fletcher.
Their eyes met.
Fletcher watched recognition happen.
There was no question.
He saw it.
A fractional pause.
The tightening of her mouth.
Her eyes briefly moving to the Range Rover.
She knew.
Craig said:
“This gentleman claims he lives at 1 Greystone Lane. He isn’t showing in my system.”
Victoria looked directly at Fletcher again.
“Really?”
Craig nodded.
“He showed me a license, but that doesn’t prove he’s authorized through the gate.”
Fletcher waited.
Victoria had one sentence available.
He lives here.
Three words would have ended everything.
Instead she said:
“Well, if he isn’t in the system, you’re doing the right thing.”
Fletcher felt something inside him settle.
Not anger.
Clarity.
Victoria turned toward him.
“Sweetie, if you’re here for a delivery or service call, the contractor entrance is around back.”
Fletcher looked at her.
“Mrs. Ashford.”
“Yes?”
“You know exactly who I am.”
Victoria’s smile flickered.
Then returned.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Fletcher stared at her.
Eighteen months earlier she had stood on his porch drinking iced tea.
She had discussed his landscaping.
She had asked about Pinnacle.
She had approved quarterly HOA dues from an account bearing his name.
Three weeks earlier, she had signed the cover sheet on the resident-access list that included his photograph.