I push the thought away. Riley is a subject in my investigation. Whatever attraction I feel is irrelevant and potentially compromising. Personal interest cannot interfere with my ability to assess evidence objectively.
Besides, once I prove he's involved in the fraud, any attraction will disappear fast enough.
Ironside Customs opens midmorning, according to their website. Harbor Street, near the waterfront. In a town this small, the entire Brotherhood probably knows by now that an insurance investigator is asking questions about Mike Barrows and looking at the pattern of fires.
Good. Let them know I'm coming. Let them scramble to cover their tracks. Desperate people make mistakes, and I'm very good at catching mistakes.
If they're running protection racket fraud, there will be evidence. Financial records showing payments between members. Communication patterns suggesting coordination. Someone will crack under pressure—they always do.
And if Shaw Riley is the arsonist, I'll prove that too.
People's lives and livelihoods hang in the balance. The company is counting on me to determine whether we're paying legitimate claims or being defrauded. But more than that, I'm good at this work. Finding the patterns no one else sees, following the evidence to its logical conclusion, catching criminals who think they're too smart to get caught.
This is what I do, and I'm going to do it well.
I organize my files into neat stacks on the desk. Document everything. Build the case systematically. Follow the evidence to conviction.
Tomorrow, I visit Ironside Customs. Tomorrow, I start gathering proof of what I already know. Tomorrow, I determineexactly how Shaw Riley fits into the Brotherhood's fraud operation.
Tonight I need sleep, even if my mind refuses to quiet.
I set my alarm for early morning and turn off the lights. The darkness of the hotel room presses in, broken only by the faint glow of streetlights through the curtains.
Sleep comes eventually, and when it does, I dream of fire scenes and leather vests and eyes that promised violence if I pushed too hard.
Morning arrives too soon. I wake to pale light filtering through the curtains and the sound of gulls crying over the harbor. My phone alarm hasn't gone off yet, but my body is ready.
Coffee first. Then armor—business casual clothes that say "professional investigator who cannot be intimidated." Minimal makeup, hair pulled back, everything designed to project competence and authority.
I gather my files and laptop into my bag before heading downstairs to the small breakfast area. The coffee from the pod maker is terrible, but it's caffeinated. I grab a blueberry muffin that's probably from a local bakery and eat it without tasting it, my mind already running through the interview strategy for today.
Back in my room, I pull up the map on my phone one more time. Ironside Customs. Harbor Street. Close enough to walk if I wanted to, but I'll drive. Maintain the professional distance, keep the car available in case I need to leave quickly.
The sun rises over Anchor Bay, casting golden light across the harbor. The town looks peaceful from up here, picturesque and innocent. The kind of small coastal community where everyone knows everyone and nothing terrible ever happens.
But terrible things always hide behind peaceful facades. I've learned that the hard way.
I check my reflection one last time. Professional. Confident. Ready to take down a fraud ring run by a motorcycle club that thinks they're untouchable.
Shaw Riley and his brothers are either victims or criminals.
And based on everything I've seen, they're criminals.
3
SHAW
Mira Vaughn is trouble.
I know it the moment she walks into Ironside Customs at exactly nine in the morning, dressed in dark jeans and a blazer that probably costs more than most people's monthly rent. Professional armor. The kind of outfit designed to say, "I'm here on business and you will take me seriously."
She's right to wear armor. Ironside Customs isn't the kind of place that welcomes people who call us criminals.
I'm in the back office reviewing fire reports when Axel appears in the doorway. "Insurance investigator just walked in. Wants to talk to you."
"Tell her I'll be there in a minute."
"You sure? Cole's out front. He looks ready to throw her out."
