“Get off the comm, River,” Trace growled. I tried to keep a straight face.
“Is this really a wise use of Protector resources, Trace?” River asked. “Spying on your teenage daughter?”
“Riv, don’t make me come over there. Keira, I want my update.”
“Copy that, Papa Bear,” I said under my breath, smothering a giggle. I checked the view in the mirror behind the bar. “Targets are stationary and secure. No change in status.”
“Roger that. Maintain surveillance.”
“Wilco.”
I was sitting at the end of the bar in a busy roadhouse, nursing a nonalcoholic beer. The interior was all rusticwood paneling, neon beer signs hanging above the bar, and low lighting that caught against the liquor bottles and the smiles of the people around me. Classic rock played from the speakers, just loud enough to compete with conversation.
A typical Hart County Saturday night.
My sister Stephie and her best friend Vivian were sitting at one of the dining tables on a double date. The girls were eighteen now, soon to be high school graduates in just a few months. But they were out tonight with a couple of ranch hands who were over twenty-one, according to the background checks Trace had run on them as soon as he’d gotten their names.
Poor Vivian. Having a former CIA operative for a dad could not be easy.
To be fair, I was protective of my sister. I liked to think that I didn’t smother Stephie. But when Trace had proposed this little operation to keep an eye on the girls, I certainly hadn’t said no.
The girls had tried to keep the double date a secret, probably because the guys were older. My mom had no clue. But really, did Stephie and Vivian think the rest of us couldn’t figure out something was up?
They wanted to stretch their wings, but it was our job to make sure they didn’t stretch too far. Break something that couldn’t be unbroken.
At eighteen, Stephie was a legal adult, but I just…wasn’t ready to let go of my baby sister yet.
“Evening.” A man slid onto the stool beside me, giving me a curious smile. I lifted my chin, but otherwise ignored him.
The weight of my concealed weapon was a reassuring presence as I shifted on the stool. The holster sat snug against my ribs, hidden beneath my jacket. Even when I wasout of uniform, I was still an officer. It was ingrained in how I thought, how I saw the world.
Of course, that didn’t mean I was good enough to be a Protector.
The Last Refuge Protectors were a secret group devoted to defending and protecting people in trouble. Those who needed help but had nowhere else to turn. Whom law enforcement had failed. I saw cases like that way too often, and I’d always wanted to do more.
Trace Novo was their leader, and he was willing to use me for the odd one-off mission. But no matter what I’d done to prove myself in the last few years, I was still just Deputy Marsh. Never one of them.
While I watched the girls through the mirror, I glanced around at the other people at the bar, paying attention to the various scenes and conversations going on. Observing body language, noting who was drinking too much, watching for trouble.
There was one guy in the corner I’d clocked as soon as I’d walked in. He was well dressed in a pair of jeans, a blazer, and a pristine cowboy hat. A gaudy diamond shone from one earlobe, and stubble artfully framed his square jaw.
The rhinestone cowboy had a little cadre of admirers around him. A couple of yes-men who laughed at everything the guy said, and a growing circle of fawning women.
I couldn’t say exactly what it was about the guy that set off my alarm bells, but it was something.
By the time my eyes returned to Stephie and Vivian’s table, baskets of food had arrived. Their dates were tucking into burgers and fries.
But Vivian and Stephie were sitting there frozen, staring in my direction.
Uh oh.
I pressed the button on my earpiece. “Papa Bear, beadvised. Cover may be compromised,” I said, just as footsteps stomped behind me and an indignant voice spoke.
“Keira, what are you doing here?”
“Yep. Definitely blown,” I murmured, before swiveling on my barstool and giving my sister and her best friend an apologetic grin. “Wow, you two are here? Of all the roadhouses in the county. Huh. What a coincidence.”
Stephie crossed her arms, lipsticked mouth creasing into a frown. “You’re the worst liar ever, Kiki.”
