“Roll your window down.” Duke kept his voice calm as he motioned in circles just in case the guy didn’t hear him.
The glass slid down with a soft whine, revealing the man’s face.
Up close, the man looked younger than Duke had expected. Early thirties. Nervous.
Not trained. No threatening posture. No edge.
But he also looked . . . familiar.
That’s when it hit him. He’d seen this guy before, at one of their events.
“You’ve been following us,” Duke growled.
The man frowned. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it looked like that.”
“Why were you following us?”
“I’m a fan. Some might even call me a groupie. I recognized the van back on the freeway, and I just . . . Look, I know this sounds dumb, but I thought maybe I could catch you guys when you stopped. Say hi. Get a picture or something.”
Duke studied him for a long beat before asking, “Do you realize what kind of cases we cover?”
The man nodded quickly. “Yeah. Of course. I mean—that’s why I listen.”
“Then you need to understand something,” Duke said, voice firm now. “Following people—especially us—can get you hurt. Or worse.”
Color crept into the man’s face. “I didn’t think?—”
“No,” Duke said. “You didn’t. Danger follows us. We have people who want to hurt us. What you did wasn’t smart.”
The light flipped green in front of them. Cars began to honk.
“I’m sorry,” the man said again. “I’ll go. I swear.”
“Do that. And next time, don’t assume people will know your intentions. We’ve made a lot of enemies. We assumed you were one of them.”
“Got it. I’m . . . I’m sorry. Really, I am.” The man nodded, already pulling back into traffic.
Duke watched until the sedan merged away, then turned back toward the van.
As he climbed inside, all eyes locked on him.
“He’s not a threat,” he told them. “Just a fan who didn’t think things through.”
Relief rippled through the van.
Jack exhaled. “Glad to hear it.”
Duke settled back into his seat and reached for Andi’s hand, grounding himself in the feel of her.
Next time, it might not be someone harmless who decided to follow them.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT
By the timethe team rolled into Barstow, the daylight had shifted to that bleached, end-of-day gold that made the desert look both endless and exposed.
Andi stared out the window as the town came into view—low buildings, sun-faded signs, wide streets that felt built for people passing through rather than staying.
