He’s a beast of a man—easily six-four, built like a Viking who wandered out of a saga and onto a Harley. Wild red hair, darker and curlier than Ginger’s, frames a face half-hidden by a beard that looks like it could house a family of birds. His eyes are a startling blue, bright and sharp, and when he grins at his sister, it’s wide and wolfish.
He’s fifteen years younger than her, just a year or two older than Lee, but you’d never guess Ginger and him were siblings if you didn’t catch the matching hair color and the same mischievous glint lurking behind his eyes. They’re the same fire in their coloring, but completely different energy. He looks like the kind of man who could crush a skull with his bare hands and then laugh about it over a beer.
“Hey, Ging.”
“Look at you! You’re too thin. Have you been eating? You look tired. When’s the last time you slept properly?” She pulls back, hands on his face, examining him with the critical eye of a mother hen. “And what is this?” She tugs at his beard. “You look like a mountain man. We’re trimming this later.”
“It’s fine, Ginger.”
“You’re scruffy. “ She spots something on his cut and makes a distressed sound. “Is that a stain? Bradley Michael, tell me that’s not a mustard stain on your cut.”
“It’s not a mustard stain.”
“It’s definitely a mustard stain.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
Tank catches my eye from across the lot, his expression clearly sayingtold you so. I bite back a smile.
The other three Ridgeline boys are already being absorbed into the crowd—Reno, Dawson, and Cal.
Reno is lean and wiry, with a shaved head and a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw that he’s never explained. He’s got the watchful eyes of a man who’s seen too much and the quick hands of someone who learned to fight dirty long before someone taught him the concept of fairness.
Dawson is his opposite—big and broad, with a baby face that makes him look ten years younger than he is. Don’t let the soft features fool you; I’ve seen him put three men through a wall without breaking a sweat.
Cal rounds out the trio—average height, average build, the kind of face you’d forget five minutes after meeting him. Which is exactly what makes him useful. He can blend into a crowd like smoke, be anywhere and everywhere without anyone noticing.
All solid men I’ve worked with before. Good in a fight, better at following orders. Exactly what we need right now.
“Let’s take this inside,” I say, raising my voice over the noise. “We’ve got work to do.”
The chapel is quieter than it’s been the night before—just me and the Ridgeline crew, getting them up to speed.
I lay out the situation, Summit, Ivan, the attempts on Josie’s life, the ongoing threat. The Ridgeline boys listen, nodding and occasionally asking questions.
“We’ve got surveillance running on every property connected to Summit,” I say. “But I’ve got another job that needs doing. Something more delicate.”
“What kind of delicate?” Reno asks.
“There’s a woman staying here. Isabel. She saved Josie’s life during the hospital attack, which is why she’s under our roof.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “But she’s off. She keeps trying to run. Won’t say where she’s going or why. Won’t answer questions about her background.”
“You think she’s a plant?” Brick’s voice is low, thoughtful. He’s extracted himself from Ginger’s clutches and is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression back to unreadable.
“I don’t know what she is. That’s the problem. Could be she’s just a scared girl who stumbled into trouble. Could be Summit positioned her to get close to us.” I shrug. “Either way, I need eyes on her. Someone to tail her if she runs again, see where she goes, who she talks to.”
“I’ll do it.”
I look at Brick. “You sure? Could be boring work. Lot of sitting around, watching, waiting.”
“I’m patient.”
“Alright.” I pull out my phone, bring up the photo we’ve taken when Isabel first arrived—standard procedure for anyone new in the clubhouse. “This is her.”
I hand the phone to Brick.
He studies the screen for a long moment. His mouth curves into a half-smile.
“Well, shit.” He zooms in slightly, tilts his head. “Not exactly a hardship, watching this one.” He lets out a low whistle. “Would you look at the tits on her.”
