“Complication how?”
“She saved Josie’s life, which means we owe her a debt. But she’s also—” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Squirrelly. Josie thinks she’s hiding something. I agree.”
“Cartel plant?” Axel asks.
“I don’t think so. But I’m not ruling anything out.” I look around the table. “For now, she stays here. We keep eyes on her, see what she does.”
“And if she runs?”
“Then we find out where she’s running to.”
Lee leans back in his chair, frowning. “We need more bodies. If Summit’s escalating, we can’t cover everything with who we’ve got. Surveillance, protection details, regular ops—we’re stretched thin.”
He’s right. Between watching Summit properties, protecting Josie and Isabel, and maintaining our regular operations, we’re running on fumes.
“I’ll reach out to the Ridgeline chapter,” I say. “See if they can spare some men.”
Tank groans. “Ridgeline? Shit.”
“Problem?”
“No problem. Just—” He exchanges a look with Hawk. “You know who Ridgeline’s gonna send.”
I do know. The Ridgeline chapter has been our closest allies for fifteen years, and whenever they send support, they send their best. Which currently means?—
“Brick,” Hawk says, fighting a smile. “Ginger’s baby brother.”
“He’s good,” I say. “We could use him.”
“Oh, he’s great. No argument there.” Tank scrubs a hand over his face. “But you know what happens when Ginger’s baby brother comes to town. She’s gonna be insufferable for weeks. ‘Bradley, are you eating enough? Tank, I think you should give Bradley some of your food. Bradley, you look tired, we’ll give you our bed. Bradley Michael, I don’t care if you’re a grown man with a body count, you’re wearing a jacket because it’s cold outside. Tank, make him wear the jacket!’”
A ripple of laughter goes around the table.
“She’s not that bad,” Duck offers.
“She made him sit in the corner at the last cookout because he said ‘damn’ in front of Emma.” Tank shakes his head. “The man’s six-four, built like a brick shithouse, and she put him in time-out. I half expected her to force me to hold him down while she spanked his ass.”
“To be fair,” Hawk says, “he went.”
“Because he’s terrified of her! We all are!”
“Are you allowed to say that if you’re married to her?” Lee asks, grinning.
Tank flicks him the bird.
“Enough.” I’m fighting my own smile now. “I’ll call Butters, see how many men he can spare. If Brick’s one of them, Ginger will deal. We’ve got bigger problems than her maternal instincts.”
“Easy for you to say,” Tank mutters. “You’re not the one she’s gonna recruit to help knit him a fucking sweater.”
“What’s the play on Ivan?” Lee asks, steering us back on track. “We wait for them to come at us again, or we take the fight to them?”
It’s the question I’ve been turning over since the moment I got that phone call. The instinct to hit back is overwhelming—find Ivan, find everyone connected to him, burn Summit to the ground.
But instinct isn’t strategy, and strategy is what keeps people alive.
“We gather intel first,” I say. “I want to know where Ivan is hiding, who he’s working with, what Summit’s next move is going to be. Bones, keep digging. Steel, I want surveillance on every property we’ve connected to their operation.”
Steel nods. He spent four years as a Marine scout sniper before he left—not for lack of skill, but because he couldn’t stomach the politics. His marksmanship scores were legendary; it was his attitude toward commanding officers that needed work. Their loss is our gain.
