“Got it.” His eyes still held amusement, but there was also the understanding that fucking with me when it came to Jacqueline would end very badly for him.
From the looks of the faces around my office, everybody else did too.
Using the silence to shift to business, I informed them, “Trent Kessler and the other two made bail this morning.”
“We expected it,” Judge muttered, his voice dripping with disgust. “But I couldn’t help hoping Raines would find a reason to keep their asses in cuffs.”
I nodded because I’d been in the same frame of mind. “Law enforcement is working to identify the altered loader, but we’re not waiting on county paperwork to map Wade’s network.”
Cipher scowled. “Kessler Hauling & Recovery is cleaner than it ought to be. Legit trucks and construction contracts. Employees willing to lie for Wade when somebody starts asking questions. He’s buried the dirty business inside the legitimate one.”
Bishop tapped his finger on the table and narrowed his eyes. “Which means we stop focusing on the paperwork and start looking at the people.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“Wade’s survived this long because he keeps distance between himself and the stolen equipment,” Judge added, sliding a file down the table. “Shell subcontractors, cash drivers, auction contacts, and enough legitimate hauling to hide dirty movement inside normal traffic.”
“Keep digging through the legal shit.”
He lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
“Cipher, stay on the digital trail. Phones. Fleet tracking. Shell companies. I want Wade’s people. It’ll give Raines a stronger case.”
I spent the next few minutes handing out assignments to everyone else. Local mechanics. Ranchers who’d reported equipment thefts. Auction contacts. Tow companies. Feed-store owners. Construction crews. We all knew this territory better than anybody wearing a badge. And we had brothers, clients, veterans, and friends scattered from Sable Canyon to the coast. Everybody knew somebody, and someone always talked.
“And Wade?” Bishop asked. There was a sharpness in his gaze that said he was hoping I’d issue a kill order.
“Gotta play by the rules first, so Raines gets him.” My jaw hardened, and I snarled, “Unless the motherfucker comes anywhere near Jacqueline. Then he’s gonna learn the difference between stealing equipment and touching what’s mine.”
Hawkeye broke the silence first, pushing away from the desk. “Church is over. Get the fuck to work.”
9
STRYKER
The following morning, the ranch looked like it had been invaded by the most efficient repair crew in Southern California. The club didn’t bring strangers onto land that sat this close to the compound unless we had no other choice, and I had no interest in giving contractors access to Jacqueline’s property when my brothers had enough stubbornness to rebuild the place ourselves.
I was about to head out and pitch in, but I found Jacqueline standing in the upstairs bathroom staring at my shaving kit in the drawer.
She glanced at me in the mirror, her eyes bright with amusement as she tapped the edge with her finger. “Your toothbrush moved in two days ago. Now your toothpaste and shaving kit have joined it. Should I be expecting your entire closet by dinner?”
“Tomorrow,” I teased, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and letting my gaze move over the soft curve of her body. “Didn’t want to rush you.”
Jacqueline blinked, then laughed. “That is you not rushing me?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled and shook her head, but she closed the drawer and didn’t tell me to take anything out. Then she slipped past me into the hall, her shoulder brushing my chest because I hadn’t moved out of her way. I let my hand settle at her waist for a moment as she passed, just long enough to feel her breath hitch, and I almost decided to make better use of the bathroom counter. Instead, I followed her downstairs and headed out to the barn and spent the next two hours resetting fence posts, hauling broken boards, and talking logistics with Jacqueline about the rehab operation.
I was tightening a brace on the side of the barn when I noticed Jacqueline on the side porch with a paintbrush in one hand and a small can of sage-green paint beside her boot. She had been touching up the shutters all morning, painting everything she could reach from the porch boards. But even going up onto her tiptoes wasn’t going to get the top quarter. I assumed she’d come ask for help when she was ready to tackle those sections, so I kept working. She was safe, content, and so pretty in the morning light that looking too long threatened productivity.
But she’d stopped and was glaring at the shutters. Then she sighed, disappeared into the barn, and came back dragging an old worn wooden stepladder. I remembered seeing it earlier, and I was already moving by the time my brain registered what was happening.
Fucking hell.
When I reached the porch, Jacqueline had the ladder open and had climbed up two steps with the paint can hanging from one hand and the paintbrush clasped between her teeth. The cracked front rail creaked, then she shifted her weight and the old wood started splitting up the side.
I wrapped my hands around her waist and lifted her off the ladder just before it would have collapsed. She gasped, the brush falling from her mouth as I set her on the porch boards. I took the paint can and moved it out of the way.
