“They waited until the place was empty.” Anger roughened the sheriff’s voice as he studied the collection.
Wade Kessler’s people had turned the barn where Otis taught me to saddle a horse into a stripping site within days of his absence. Respecting Otis’s privacy hadn’t been a mistake—he’d been a friend, not a target. The club had no business watching his land while he lived there. That boundary had changed the second Jacqueline came home and found three criminals waiting for her.
Ghost’s voice crackled through my radio. “Property’s clear. Tracks continue west through the rear gate. Road runs to the county fire route, and there’s no sign they crossed our boundary.”
I looked at Hawkeye. “Let’s see it.”
We left Raines, Judge, and his deputy, who’d just joined them, cataloging evidence and followed the tracks behind the barn. Ghost waited beside the rear gate, one gloved hand on the top rail while his flashlight illuminated a new chain looped through the latch.
He pointed toward the brush where the old chain lay with both links sheared cleanly. “Original was cut. They replaced it with cheap shit so the gate looked untouched from a distance.”
“They made their own entrance,” Hawkeye observed, studying the road beyond it. “So they never needed ours.”
The route became obvious as we climbed. Whoever selected the site knew the terrain well enough to find the only seam between Otis’s privacy and the club’s surveillance.
My gaze dropped toward the farmhouse. Jacqueline remained on the porch swing with the water bottle between both hands, her face turned toward the ridge as though she hadtracked my position the whole time. Even from that distance, the pull of her hit hard enough to tighten my body.
The breeze blew loose strands across her cheek, and she tucked them behind her ear with a tired movement that pulled my focus back where it belonged. Wanting her naked didn’t outrank securing the land around her, though the two needs were now welded together tight enough that separating them would be a waste of time.
I keyed my radio and ordered cellular cameras, thermal coverage, motion sensors, and a plate reader be brought over. Hawkeye put two-man rotations on the western and southern approaches, Ghost began marking surveillance positions, and Judge had Cipher start digging into Kessler Hauling before the first equipment vehicle reached the property.
Nobody asked whether protecting land we didn’t own justified pulling men from the compound or borrowing equipment designed for national-level security work. They had seen my hand on Jacqueline, heard me kill the purchase offer, and understood the decision for what it was.
Their president had drawn a line around her. The club was already moving to defend it.
Raines climbed the ridge several minutes later and stopped beside me, tracing the concealed route with narrowed eyes before looking toward the brothers marking camera positions and patrol sectors. “Keep your lenses off the public road.”
“We know the law.”
He snorted. “You know several versions of it.”
“Only one helps you in court,” I drawled. “You’ll get anything you can use.”
The boundary in the answer remained clear, and Raines held my gaze long enough to acknowledge it without wasting either of our time. He’d spent years trying to prove Wade Kessler was tied to a regional theft ring, and now a stripped loader, cuttracking devices, altered plates, and Wade’s son had landed in a barn beside the Black Crowns. He might not approve of every method we used once we found the men above Trent, but relief was beneath his hard expression because the search no longer depended solely on resources his county couldn’t afford.
6
STRYKER
By the time the last deputy cleared the front gate and Hawkeye confirmed the cameras and patrols were in place, it was nearly ten. The ranch remained quiet beneath the surveillance net, but the silence no longer depended on luck, which meant I could finally get inside to the woman who had occupied too much of my attention even while I gave orders.
Hawkeye waited beside his motorcycle near the porch, his helmet beneath one arm and a pharmacy packet in the other, which he handed to me. “Reaper sent something for Jacqueline’s side. Prospect brought your bag. It’s in the spare room. Judge also wanted me to remind you that moving into the heir’s house wasn’t part of the acquisition plan.”
I glanced toward the kitchen window, where Jacqueline’s silhouette moved behind the thin curtain. “Tell Judge I’m still deciding where to bury him.”
“North ridge would interfere with the camera coverage.” He looked at the kitchen window, then at me. “You almost smiled twice tonight.”
“Must be the poor lighting.”
He grinned. “Sure. We’ll blame the moon.”
I sighed. “Go home, Hawkeye.”
He put on his helmet, still carrying that faint grin. “Call if there’s trouble.”
I nodded, then watched him ride out before climbing the porch steps. The growl of his engine faded into the hills while the men guarding the property disappeared so thoroughly into the dark that no one untrained would have known they were there.
Heading inside, I found Jacqueline at the stove with her braid pulled over one shoulder, stirring tomato soup while butter hissed around two grilled cheese sandwiches in an iron skillet. The sight hit with enough force to slow my steps.
