“You think she wants Mara's ledger.”
“Yes.”
“But Mara never gave it to us.”
“Mallory doesn't know that.”
Tessa looked toward the warehouse.
“So this wasn't mainly seizure.”
“No.”
“It was a search.”
“Disguised as enforcement.”
They watched Mallory throw a stack of papers onto the loading dock.
Travis said something.
She answered sharply.
Then she turned and walked toward her SUV.
Caleb immediately called Elliott.
“I need you to restrict access to our HOA case without making noise.”
“Why?”
“We have an internal leak.”
Elliott's voice changed.
“You sure?”
“They knew my safe location.”
“I know.”
“They knew about expected physical evidence.”
Silence.
“I'll coordinate with Internal Affairs and the chief's legal office. No unauthorized digging on your end.”
“I want the access logs.”
“You'll get them properly.”
Twenty minutes later, the information came through an authorized review.
Five accounts had opened the relevant file in the previous seventy-two hours.
Caleb Roark.
Tessa Langford.
Elliott Vance.
A records technician who had processed a formatting request.
And Lieutenant Owen Pike.
Tessa stared at the fifth name.
“No.”
Caleb said nothing.
Pike had supervised him for almost four years.
He was not charismatic.
Not intimidating.
Not the kind of officer who inspired strong feelings in either direction.
Owen Pike was the man who checked overtime slips, reminded detectives about overdue reports, complained about budget meetings, and kept antacid tablets in his desk drawer.
For six months, he had also questioned whether the HOA investigation deserved Major Crimes resources.
“It's homeowners fighting over fines,” he had said more than once. “Civil attorneys get rich off that. We don't.”
When Caleb linked two suspicious property recoveries, Pike urged caution.
When Tessa found Vale's auction listing, Pike called it circumstantial.
When Mara first contacted the department, Pike suggested waiting until she produced original documents before spending more time.
Caleb had interpreted it as administrative skepticism.
Now the skepticism looked different.
Tessa whispered, “He viewed the residential security record?”
Caleb checked the timestamp.
“Two hours before the guards entered my house.”
She sat back.
“That doesn't prove he passed it.”
“No.”
“But—”
“It gives us direction.”
Caleb forced himself not to jump ahead.
Pike deserved the same discipline any suspect deserved.
Suspicion was not proof.
Especially when it involved a police lieutenant.
Back at the warehouse, movement resumed.
Derek Sloan exited alone.
He climbed into a Whitcomb Community Security SUV.
Tessa watched.
“Where's junior going?”
The vehicle pulled out.
Caleb checked their mapping feed through lawfully available vehicle-observation data from the ongoing case.
It headed west.
Back toward Briar Hollow.
Not toward Caleb's street.
Caleb watched the direction.
Then his stomach tightened.
“Mara.”
Tessa turned.
“What?”
“She lives west of Briar Hollow.”
Caleb called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Go.”
Tessa was already starting the engine.
They left the warehouse.
Caleb called a supervisor outside Pike's chain and requested units stage near Mara's neighborhood without broadcasting unnecessary details through channels Pike might monitor.
The distance was fourteen minutes in normal traffic.
Tessa covered it faster without becoming reckless.