There was no one to call. If we called in the police, the plant would be there in a minute. At some point, I must have just lost the ability to feel shock because I stood there just staring at the gouges in the builder-grade tile of Claude Henry’s kitchen. I could sense Doc behind me, taking it in as well.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and I stopped him. What was he thinking?

As if he heard the unspoken question, he said, “I was going to call Harold and see if he’d found….”

His face tightened as he took me in, and he trailed off. Weather out of concern for my feelings or just catching up to the logic, he tucked his phone away.

He lost himself in investigating the other rooms, and I honed in on the kitchen.

I squatted down by the deep grooves in the floor. Blood traced its lines, dried in all but a few shallow pools. Some of the stains were iridescent like an oil slick.

“What’s that?” Doc said.

I jumped, and my heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t heard him come back in.

“What is what?”

“That yellow thing sticking out.” He gestured to the edge of a cabinet to my left. “Is it packaging on something?”

I hesitated for a moment. I’d been so careful not to touch anything; I didn’t want to disturb a possible crime scene. The kitchen was meticulously clean, with the exception of the mangled floor. It would be better to disturb his cleaning supplies than some kind of evidence, I supposed.

“Hand me one of those paper towels.”

I gently pulled the yellow paper away. It was definitely not some kind of kitchen packaging. It was a sticky note smudged in blood and oil at the edge.

“MPs at the door,” Doc read from over my shoulder.

As if on queue, the front door banged open, and I jumped again, but before I could make another move, Doc grabbed my waist and hauled me behind him, fully tensed for a fight. One muscled arm was locked on my hip, as if to assure himself I was still blocked. It was only the span of a few seconds before he relaxed and exhaled.

There was a storm coming in, and with the broken handle, the door had blown open and hit the wall. There was nothing there. We were just jumpy.

Doc released me and turned to face me. He looked like a brick wall standing this close. I hadn’t realized how big he was before. I was taller than most of the men in my life. He smirked down at me, and I realized I’d been blatantly staring.

“Would you like me to lift something for your entertainment, madam mayor?”

“I would, but you seem to have your work cut out for you just getting your big head through the door.”

His eyes lit up, and his grin turned devious as he took one step into my space. My retreat was halted when my backside hit the kitchen island, and he rolled his neck from side to side.

“Seems I’m able to move it and still have a bit of strength left.”

His voice had dropped to a rumble, and I lost all train of thought for a moment. I had almost found it again when he abruptly stepped back and resumed his usual smart ass facade.

“So what do you think about the note?” he said in his normal register.

I raced to keep up with the sudden change, and my face felt flushed again. What the hell was my problem? Apparently, “wildly inappropriate” was contagious.

The note. MPs at the door. The weight of the situation settled in, and, as if on autopilot, I headed for the entrance.

“I think it means we need to go to the plant right fucking now.”

“Woah, woah!” He said, chasing after me, “Eva, we need to think about this.”

“There is nothing to think about. We need to go.”

“Eva, stop. There is something wrong here and…”

“Of course, there is something wrong!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in frustration, “This is obviously a setup. A trap. If Claude Henry had written that, it would have been before they came in!”

He flinched, a deep line creasing in his forehead.

“Yes? I don’t follow…”

Ugh. I did not want to slow down to spell it out. But I was going to need his credentials to even get in the gate, so I turned on my heel to face him.

“We are supposed to believe that Claude Henry was just minding his own business, there is a knock at the door, he scribbles down a note and tucks it where it’s hidden from them but not from us, and then the MP’s come in, attack him, and haul him off. That these are just signs of a struggle.”

“And you don’t think that is what happened?” He guessed.

“I know that isn’t what happened. First, you met the man. He couldn’t stand up to my sister. You really think he would resist arrest?”

“To be fair, I work at the plant. No one who works there is scarier than Luce.” He said with a weak smile.

“Shut up, Harrison.” I rolled my eyes. “Secondly, if he had resisted arrest, this says MPs. Plural. So he somehow managed to make this much damage while being outnumbered? How? With what? These aren’t human marks.”

He considered and then tilted his head in a nod of agreement.

“Third, and most glaringly clear is the note,” I said

“Apparently, I need to get some glasses…”

“There is blood and oil on it. See? Right here in the corner.”

“And all over the floor, what of it?” he asked.

“But there would not have been any blood until after whatever caused him to bleed happened. The note couldn’t be smudged in the series of events we are supposed to believe. Someone wrote it after he was attacked.”

Surprise lit his face, and he stared at me.

“Thats…incredible. Your mind is a fucking steel trap, you know that right?” he asked.

There went my face again. All red and annoying and giving away too much emotion.

“Okay, but I am still confused about one thing,” he said.

“All that space in that big head of yours and still you are confused?” I said, trying to leech some intensity from the conversation.

“Oh, most of it is holding my ego. You can imagine the space constraints I am working with. But I am confused why you are racing out the door if you know it’s a setup?”

The levity was gone from the moment, and it felt like ice spread over my too-hot skin.

“Because it doesn’t matter. Whatever is going on, whoever is involved, they are leading us to the plant, and if Claude Henry is alive, they’ve got him. We know the plant has Bud, and it’s not going to end well.” I stood up straighter and squared my shoulders.

“I don’t care if it’s a trap, I’m going.”