Page 54 of Spock’s Snare

“Outside and in the common areas.” I gesture around the cramped space. “This is different. It’s your office. Even if it’s only a construction trailer, it’s still your private space.” I hold her gaze. “If you feel like I’ve invaded your privacy, say the word, and I’ll take it down.”

Her eyes return to the camera.

I wait, trying not to let the silence get to me. Protecting Chloe is becoming an instinct I can’t control, but I don’t want that protection to feel like another man trying to take control away from her. She has enough people questioning her decisions. The last thing she needs is me doing the same thing.

“Leave it,” she says.

Relief loosens the knot between my shoulders. “You sure?”

“Yes.” She folds her arms across her chest. “After what Hawk told us about Blackwood, I want the ability to monitor him.”

Hawk’s report bothers me more every time I think about it. Blackwood spent most of the day inside this office instead of overseeing the crew, and nobody knows what he was doing in here. Then there’s his unexpected visitor.

“Good,” I say. “You’ll have access to every camera. Spark will set it up so you can watch the feeds from your phone or computer.”

“That’ll make it harder for Blackwood to hide whatever he’s doing.”

“We will.”

The look she gives me says she catches the qualification.

“I told you before; you aren’t in this alone.”

I open the office door and lead her outside. The heat hits us immediately, though the sun is dropping toward the horizon. Long shadows stretch across the half-finished building, and the site is quiet enough that our footsteps crunch loudly against the gravel.

I scan the parking area.

Hawk’s and Rush’s bikes are both gone, along with their riders. The only vehicle left is mine.

I stop beside my bike and hand Chloe the spare helmet. “Ready to go?”

She accepts it but doesn’t put it on. “I want to go home and change first.”

My gaze drops over her work boots, jeans, and fitted T-shirt. There’s a streak of dust along one hip and another near her shoulder. She looks good enough to eat, but I’m smart enough not to say that.

“Works for me,” I say. “We’ll stop at your place, then go to dinner.”

She studies me for a second. “You’re willing to wait?”

“For you? Yes.”

Her lips curve. “I’m beginning to think you’re stubborn.”

“Beginning?”

She laughs, and the sound cuts through the tension that has followed us all evening.

I swing onto the bike and start the engine. It roars to life beneath me, shattering the silence of the empty site. Chloe secures the helmet, steps closer, and rests one hand on my shoulder before climbing on behind me.

Her thighs close around my hips.

Then she presses against my back and wraps her arms tightly around my waist.

Every protective instinct inside me settles into place as her arms and legs hold me. For the first time since we found Blackwood destroying that wall, I can breathe again.

I pull up beneath the sweeping black-and-gold awning outside Cerberus, easing my bike toward the curb directly in front of the restaurant. The name is displayed in understated red-gold lettering beside an elegant three-headed-dog emblem—subtle enough that most people probably don’t recognize the connection to the guardian of the underworld.

The restaurant occupies the ground floor of our casino, 1%, far enough from the crowds to feel exclusive but close enough to draw celebrities, high rollers, and anyone willing to spend a small fortune on dinner.