“The girl—woman—with the violin is Wren Delaney. The senator’s daughter.”
Not what I was expecting, but I should have. It’s my luck. “That’s not what we need.”
“No, but she genuinely needs our help. And if what my gut is telling me is right, she won’t be safe here for long even if we keep her hidden.”
I rub my face with my palms, wishing I could get the melody of her song out of my head.
I’m not going to like whatever suggestion Judge is about to make, but I ask anyway. “What plan do you have up your sleeve?”
“Someone should marry her. Legally. On paper at least.”
“You want her to hand herself over to one of us. For her own safety?”
He sighs like I’m being particularly obtuse. “Not exactly. A fake marriage with real legal consequences.”
“And who would you trust her with?”
Judge meets my gaze again, and my stomach sinks. “You. You don’t have to touch her. But she’ll need you to pull this off.”
I rub my forehead, the bridge of my nose. The ache in my chest amplifies, my wife’s face greeting me behind my closed eyes. What would she say about this?
Letting loose a long breath, I meet Judge’s too observant gaze. “Get JP to see how Dalton’s reacting before you bring her back here.”
Judge nods and leaves me to mull over the implications of the storm that’s just blown in. Wren fucking Delaney. She hit the periphery of our research, but she’s not in the middle of the family business at least. She might not even know anything about what her father, brother, or fiancé do.
JP, our club’s resident hacker, will find whatever’s out there on her and report back with the most important information. Like if this is a trap or if she’s here to help the powers at be take us down.
Plenty of groups want that. We’re not the typical motorcycle club, and we defy them outright to protect our interests, which tend to oppose theirs. Her family and fiancé’s family would love to put an end to us.
I won’t let that happen.
My wife’s stern expression surfaces in my vision and all thoughts of letting the girl fend for herself evaporate. She wouldn’t want me not to protect Wren Delaney, even if it means doing something I promised I would never do.
Remarry. Replace her with someone new. Create a new family without her.
The dull ache turns sharp beneath my ribs. Fifteen years without her. Without Izzy.
I protect others the way that I do because of them. Because no one was there to protect them while I was overseas protecting others.
My mind spins in circles until Judge returns a half hour later. A curvy red head in a ruined wedding dress steps into my office behind him.
Her green eyes shine with intelligence. Awareness. And when she looks into my eyes, she doesn’t flinch away.
My attraction to her is instant and inadvisable, burning its way through my muscles like a livewire.
Doc slips in behind her and helps her to a seat. His hands on her drive a jealousy through me that I’m not prepared for.
On their trail, JP comes in with his laptop. The grim look he gives me eliminates any of the weak excuses I lined up to refute this.
I move my mug for him to use the corner of my desk.
He nods and crouches down to show me the missing person’s report with Wren’s demure smile attached. She appears far more the socialite in the picture than she does in my office.
The details describe her wedding dress and the car she was seen running in. The man she took it from—in exchange for some high-end antique jewelry—gave a statement that makes her seem unhinged.
The woman before me doesn’t look crazy. Sitting in a ruined wedding dress, yes, but not out of her mind.
Running with a violin in a wedding dress and bare feet…I can see how her fiancé would plant the idea that she merely had cold feet, that she was a silly girl who ran for no other reason than to cause a scene.
