It was that, her single, guilty reaction, that said she’d told the truth. Which meant we had nothing concrete to hand over evenif we wanted to, nothing to use as leverage of our own. We were running on the word of a woman they considered a thief, against a crew who didn’t believe women had enough brains to know when to sneeze.
For a split second, all the hope fled my veins, leaving me chilled and frozen on my feet. We couldn’t prove a damned thing. And I’d already told her they’d never believe she didn’t have it.
A man like Wade kept assurances hidden in a ledger and he told them Callie had taken it. They would not for a second believe she would get rid of it, much less burn it.
“I kept it for a while. All that evidence felt like my own version of insurance, you know?” She tried to shrug, but her shoulders spasmed and she pressed her back into Diesel’s chest. “But then it seemed like Wade was really going to stay gone. I didn’t hear from him and I had a baby to take care of. I wanted out. Wanted to remove myself from that world. I thought burning it would erase the past.”
“You can’t burn consequences.” My dad used to say that every time I made a mistake. He’d drill me into place with a look, terrifying me into maintaining perfect control. “You burned paper and ink, but not what comes after.”
“Did he admit he’s behind this?” Callie twitched her chin toward the window.
I shook my head. “No. He danced around any wrongdoing. Talked about what you owe, implied Cody was a variable. He thinks he’s negotiating because he has the upper hand.”
“He doesn’t.” It came out strong, her chin lifting, but the truth hit her a second later and she shrank into herself. “But he does have the upper hand.”
“No.” I pulled out the chair across from her and nudged her into it before she fell on her ass. Diesel would catch her, but she’d feel weak for going down. “He’s used to using debt and collateral as a buffer. Which means he thinks of leverage as the same thing as power.” I sat in front of her, propping my hip on the table and resting my hands in my lap. “Leverage is temporary. Power is structural and harder to take away. That’s why he’s making this call instead of someone who’s actually in charge.”
Colt made a sound.
I looked back at him, and he shifted Cody into a better position on his hip. The boy had fallen into a dead sleep, his lips parted and his head lolling to the side. Colt corrected it and rested his cheek on top of his son’s head.
Callie stood and held out her arms. “Let me take him to bed.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Colt resisted for a second, then passed the boy to his mother.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke as she rushed from the room.
Colt spun on his heel and stormed outside.
I followed, pointing at Diesel. “Do not let her out of your sight.” Callie was not weak, but she was vulnerable right now and more a flight risk than ever.
Diesel took off down the hall, silent and completely capable.
I ran after Colt. I might not be able to stop him from leaving, but I was damn sure going to try.
“I’m fine.” He slammed a fist into the porch post and spun to face me. “I’m not running away.”
“Didn’t say you were.” But I’d thought it, and he knew it. He’d earned the doubt, and he knew it. The fact he stood on the porch instead of burning down the road going after Wade said more about how much he’d changed than anything he put into words.
A low buzz gave way to a high whine.
Colt’s head snapped up and to the right, where a drone hovered above the property lights. “Guessing that’s not a new toy of Diesel’s?”
“Nope.”
25
COLT
“Son of abitch.” I tore away from Hawk, my feet skidding on the ground as I eyed the drone hovering roughly sixty feet up, the shape silent and ugly above the treeline. I barely made out the shape of a camera rig underneath, one of those professional mounts, not some kid’s toy from a box store.
Whoever was flying it didn’t bother hiding. They wanted us to see it. Even as I tracked it and ran, they didn’t fly away. That single thought chilled my blood and sent my body hurtling faster toward the truck. I yanked the door open and grabbed the rifle from the seat before Hawk figured out my plan.
“Colt…”
I didn’t hear the rest of it. The stock slammed into my shoulder, and I sighted through the scope, zeroing in on the drone. The shot cracked hard and fast, my shoulder absorbing the blow with barely a shift in my stance.
The drone shuddered, dropped left, then blew apart on the way down, pieces hitting the dirt in a shower of plastic and bent rotors.
