“Just plotting,” she said.
“Anything I need to be worried about?”
“Only if you hate the idea of the studio bathroom being teal,” she said.
He groaned. “You’re going to turn my shop into an art installation.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll keep the flames on your logo.”
He laughed, the sound low and easy. “I look forward to the arguments.”
She smiled into his skin. “Me too.”
They lay there a little longer, letting the light change and the day shift around them. In a few hours, they’d pull on clean clothes and go be public faces again, shaking hands and taking pictures and pretending to be slightly more put together than they actually were.
For now, it was just the two of them, the echo of the future humming quietly between their heartbeats.
Chapter 18
Hank leaned his shoulder into the tent pole and let the noise of the celebration wash over him for a minute.
The team dinner had turned into more of a loose, wandering gathering; half the paddock seemed to be crammed under the big hospitality tent, plates balanced on laps, beer bottles sweating on folding tables. Someone had dragged a speaker over; classic rock threaded through the hum of voices and the occasional burst of laughter.
Brian stood near the buffet, telling a story with his hands as much as his mouth. Colby was perched on a cooler with his tablet on his knees, alternating between taking notes and swatting at Brian when he got too close.
Across the way, Bree stood with Carmen, the two of them forming a small island in the chaos. Bree’s head was tipped back in laughter; the sight hit him as hard as any adrenaline spike he’d had all weekend.
He felt Diaz before he saw her; a shift in the air, a different kind of alertness.
“James,” she said at his elbow.
He straightened. “Sergeant.”
She wore plain clothes tonight, dark jeans and a Copper Moon Cup staff T-shirt, her badge clipped to her belt instead of riding her chest. It did nothing to make her look less like she could take down half the tent with a raised eyebrow.
“Relax,” she said, reading his stance. “I’m off duty in about thirty minutes. Right now, I’m just a woman who wants a paper plate of pulled pork before Brian eats it all.”
“He will,” Hank said. “You should probably cut in line.”
She smiled briefly, then nodded toward Bree. “How’s she doing?”
“Better than I expected,” he said honestly. “She told her parents she’s staying. Told the mayor we’re serious about the warehouse. Started a sketch for a new series.”
Diaz’s gaze followed his. “Good,” she said. “We need more people who stick.”
He heard the unspoken because. Because people who stick are more likely to fight for a place.
“You said you’d call if there was more chatter,” he said.
“I did,” she said. “I’m still sorting through what’s useful and what’s background noise. Your plate-check from earlier goes to a rental, paid in cash by a shell company that has one purpose: buying cars and moving them between states. I’ve seen it tied to two other investigations, neither local.”
“So not a tourist,” he said.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “But I can’t prove intent yet. He didn’t loiter long, he didn’t approach you, he didn’t do anything except look too interested, and then drove away. Suspicious, yes; actionable, no.”
“Do we need to be doing anything different tonight?” he asked.
“Tonight you eat, you smile for the cameras, you go back to your room and lock the deadbolt,” Diaz said. “Tomorrow, you keep an eye out. I’ve already asked patrol to do a few extra passes near your hotel and the Bay Street block. We’re putting a marked car in sight as often as we can; deterrence is worth something.”
