"Sois framing an employee for embezzlement," he replies, turning the truck off the main road onto a rutted gravel track.Amassive iron gate topped with razor wire looms ahead. "Welcometo theClubhouse," he announces.
Thegate rolls open automatically, tires crunching loudly on the frozen gravel.Heavytimber, reinforced windows, and mounted security cameras dominate the main building.Severalsmaller outbuildings flank a massive garage and a low barracks structure.
Eliasparks in front of the main doors. "Stayclose to me."
"Idon't thinkIhave a choice,"Imutter.
Wewalk inside.Thecavernous main room houses a long bar, scattered pool tables, and cracked leather couches.Amassive stone fireplace roars with a blaze large enough to roast a whole pig.
Agroup of men gather around a heavy oak table, all wearing the same leather cut thatEliaswears.BrokenHalos.
Atall, blond man stands up, radiating a commanding authority.
"Elias," the blond man says. "Youbrought a stray."
"Fedshad her at the county line,"Eliasanswers.Hisflat, report-style tone betrays no emotion. "Attemptedarrest.Iintervened."
"Intervenedhow?" a leaner biker with a cruel smile asks, resting a hand near the shotgun propped against his leg.
"Brokea wrist,"Eliassays simply. "Theywere blocking the road."
Thedark-haired man—Logan, thePresident, judging by the patches on his cut—sighs heavily. "Great.Moreheat.Justwhat we need with theCostasituation escalating."Hissharp brown eyes lock onto me. "Youmust be the auditorEliasvetted."
"MiaCarlson,"Isay, forcing my spine completely straight. "AndIdidn't ask for the intervention.Orthe arrest."
"TheIRSclaims she cooked books inSeattle,"Eliasadds.
Loganrubs his jaw. "IftheFedswant her, having her here puts a target on our back.Abigger one than we already have."
"Ican leave,"Isay quickly. "Ididn't mean to bring trouble."
"Youcan't leave,"Eliassays.
Thetemperature in the room drops ten degrees.
Loganlooks directly atElias. "Brother?"
"Shehas the skills we need,"Eliasinsists. "Thebooks are a mess.Wehave a leak.Someoneis funneling money out, andIcan't find the source becauseI'mtoo close to it.Ineed fresh eyes.Hereyes."
"AndtheFeds?"Loganasks.
"Wegive her sanctuary,"Eliascounters. "Seventy-two hours.Sheaudits the books.Findsthe mole.Inexchange, we provide legal protection and clean up the mess inSeattle."
"We'renot lawyers,Elias," the man with the shotgun points out. "Howdo we clean up a federal fraud charge?"
"Daniel,"Eliasanswers.
Thename hangs heavy in the air.
Logangrimaces. "TheTrackeris deep under.Ihaven't heard from him in weeks.Wedon't even know if he's functional."
"He'llanswer for this,"Eliassays with absolute certainty.
"Youwant to bet the club's safety on a gamble?"Loganchallenges.
"Ibet it on the numbers."Turningto face me, the giant demands, "Canyou find our leak in seventy-two hours?"
Mygaze sweeps the group of dangerous men, weighing them against the federal agents waiting on the highway.Anempty bank account and a ruined reputation leave me zero options.
