Page 16 of Ruthless Enforcer

Then the ranch comes into view and it isn't what I expect. For some reason, Blackthorn had conjured weathered barns, sagging fences, and generations of Montana winters worn into old timber.

This is nothing like that.

Dark timber and native stone stretch low against the valley, the buildings arranged with an ease that looks almost organic. Warm light glows behind enormous windows. A barn and stables sit farther out, their clean lines disappearing into the dark.

My fingers itch. I want charcoal. No—oils. Prussian blue washed into indigo for the night sky and broken strokes of burnt umber and black for the pines. A wide canvas. The warmth of the house against all that blue-black mountain.

Everything looks new. Not sterile-new—not the glossy, overdesigned perfection of a billionaire's mountain retreat. Beautiful new. "What happened here?"

"What makes you think something happened?" Gabriel asks.

"It's all recently built."

He glances at me. "Good eye."

I shrug, suddenly aware I've said too much. "It's obvious."

"No, it isn't." After a moment, he says, "Turner happened."

My gaze snaps to him. "Here?"

"About two months ago. He destroyed most of it."

I look back at the ranch. "And they rebuilt this in two months?"

"My family helped."

Helped. The modest way he says it tells me they probably funded it all. These Blackthorn people must work for the Reyeses. I look at the scale of the place again. "I had no idea the Reyeses were handy with a hammer."

He laughs, low and warm and entirely inappropriate considering the blood currently drying beneath his fingernails. "Something like that."

A camera pivots toward us as we approach a gate. The gate starts opening almost immediately.

"No retinal scanner?" I ask dryly.

His face is perfectly serious. "We spent the retinal-scanner budget on the moat."

I look beyond the gate, kind of disappointed when I don't see one. "You're enjoying this."

"Immensely."

We pass through the gates.

Now that we're closer, I see more of it. The immaculate stonework. Heavy timber. Expanses of glass reflecting the mountains and sky. Nothing ostentatious, but nothing cheap. Someone spent an obscene amount of money making sure it would still be standing after the next attack.

Apparently that someone is sitting beside me. "You said your family helped rebuild it."

"Paid for it."

Of course they did. "Why?"

"The Blackthorn crew did us a favor."

"What kind of favor costs this much?"

"The kind you don't put on a Christmas card."

I look at him, but he doesn't offer anything else.