Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Colby's phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the moment. He glanced at the screen. A text from Hank: You coming in today or what? Bike's not going to fix itself.
"I need to head over to the shop for a bit," he said. "There's a bike in pieces on the lift that's going to haunt my dreams if I don't put it back together. You okay here for a couple of hours?"
"As long as your new alarm army is on duty," she said, gesturing at the nearest motion sensor. "I've got a call scheduled with the insurance company anyway. They want to walk me through the next steps."
He nodded. "I'll be back after, and we can go through whatever they tell you together. Talk strategy."
"Deal."
He kissed her again, slower this time, letting himself linger for just a moment before pulling back. Then he grabbed his keys from the counter.
"Text me when you get there," she called as he opened the front door. "Fair's fair."
"Yes, ma'am."
The motion sensor chimed softly as he stepped outside.
Hank and Brian were already in the garage bay when Colby pulled up, the big rolling door open to let in the morning air. Music played low from a speaker mounted in the corner, some classic rock station that had been Hank's default since before Colby joined the team.
The shop smelled like motor oil and metal and the particular chemical sharpness of brake fluid, scents that had become as familiar to Colby as smoke and sweat.
A half-assembled bike sat on the main lift, its parts arranged in neat rows on the workbench in the order Colby preferred.
Hank must have set it up that way, knowing he'd be in eventually.
Hank stood near the lift, wiping grease from his hands with a rag that had seen better decades.
His dark hair was pushed back from his forehead, the silver threading through it more visible in the overhead lights than it had been a year ago.
Marriage looked good on him, Colby thought.
The permanent furrow between his brows had eased since Bree came into his life.
He smiled more. Worried less. Let himself be human.
Brian leaned against the far workbench, his long frame folded into a casual slouch that looked effortless but probably wasn't. He'd always been the tallest of their group, all lean muscle and easy coordination that made him look like he was moving in slow motion even when he wasn't. A plastic straw dangled from the corner of his mouth, and he was scrolling through something on his tablet with the kind of focused attention that meant he was either checking race stats or avoiding something.
Brian looked up as Colby walked in, his dark eyes narrowing with assessment. "You look like you slept about three hours. Maybe four if I'm being generous."
"Better than that," Colby said. "But it's been a week."
Hank's gaze sharpened, cutting through the casual greeting to something more serious. "How's Sabrina?"
"Shaken," Colby admitted. He grabbed a stool from near the tool chest and sat, the metal creaking under his weight. "But she's hanging in. She's tougher than she gives herself credit for."
Brian dropped the straw into a nearby cup and set the tablet aside, his casual posture shifting into something more alert.
"We saw the fire on the local news feed.
Diaz confirmed arson. You're apparently in the middle of all of it, and somehow we get the CliffsNotes version from a news anchor instead of you?
" He spread his hands. "That's rude, man. We thought we were friends."
Colby dragged a hand over his jaw, feeling the softness of his beard in a way he hadn't felt it before, a fleeting thought that he should shave it. "It's been moving fast. Everything happened at once, and I didn't have time to brief everyone. You're getting the full version now."
He told them. All of it.
Finding Sabrina at the hospital with smoke still in her lungs and fear in her eyes.
Getting her discharged and bringing her back to the site of what used to be her home.
The way she'd stood in that field of ash and talked about cabins, about rebuilding, about refusing to let the fire be the end of her story.
Gavin Hartley appearing on the sidewalk like a ghost from her worst memories. The way she'd frozen, gripping Colby's arm hard enough to bruise, her breath going shallow and fast.
Diaz's call this morning. The lack of answers. The list of suspects that kept growing without narrowing.
By the time he finished, Hank's jaw had gone tight, the muscle working beneath the skin. Brian's easy posture had disappeared entirely, replaced by something coiled and watchful.
"So he's here," Brian said. "The ex. In Copper Moon."
"Was here," Colby said. "Diaz doesn't know if he left after we spotted him on Main or if he's still lurking somewhere. She's pulling what she can from the city cameras, but you know how spotty those are on the side streets."
"And he's already tried to spin the fire as somehow her fault," Hank said, his voice flat with controlled anger. "Insurance. Land. Making her look like the suspect instead of the victim."
"Yeah." Colby braced his forearms on his knees, letting his hands hang loose between them. "That's his playbook, apparently. Make her doubt herself. Make everyone else doubt her, too. She's been dealing with it for years."
Brian whistled low through his teeth. "And now she's staying at your place."
"For now," Colby said. "Diaz told her to stay put as much as possible. My house is as good a place as any."
Hank's eyes met his, reading something there that Colby hadn't said out loud. "Just as good as any, huh?"
Colby didn't look away. "It's where I want her. If that's what you're asking."
Something shifted in Hank's expression, approval mixed with understanding. He'd been through his own version of this, Colby knew. Finding someone worth protecting. Letting them in despite every instinct that said keeping people at a distance was safer.
"So your house is home base," Brian said. "Good. That's good. Means we know where to find both of you if things get weird."
Hank nodded once, decisive. "What do you need from us?"
The question was simple, direct, exactly what Colby had expected from him. No hesitation. No qualifications. Just what do you need, and how can we help?
"Eyes," Colby said. "If Hartley's still in town, he'll probably circle the spots he knows. The hotel. Main Street. The café where he was yesterday. I want to know if anyone sees him. No hero moves," he added, looking at Brian specifically. "Just a call to Diaz or me."
Brian raised his hands in mock innocence. "Who, me? Make hero moves? I'm wounded by the implication."
"You once climbed onto a moving trailer because someone bet you couldn't," Hank said dryly.
"That was different. That was about honor." Brian grinned, but it faded quickly. "No hero moves. Got it. Observe and report."
"Do you have a picture?" Hank asked. "Something recent?"
Colby pulled out his phone and navigated to the photo Sabrina had reluctantly shown him the night before.
An old picture from some holiday party, Gavin in a crisp white shirt with his hand possessively on her waist, his smile sharp and polished, the kind of smile that looked perfect in photographs and probably never reached his eyes.
Colby had wanted to throw the phone across the room when he first saw it. The way Gavin held her, like she was an accessory rather than a person. The way her smile didn't quite match the tension in her shoulders.
He'd kept his face neutral. She didn't need him making it worse.
He turned the screen toward Hank and Brian.
"Pretty boy," Brian said, studying the image with narrowed eyes. "I've seen three versions of that guy at every race we've ever run. The type who shows up in the paddock with a brand-new jacket and a leased car, acting like they own the track."
"Exactly," Colby said. "That's the problem. He's easy to miss in a crowd because he looks like everyone else who's trying too hard. I don't want to miss him."
Hank studied the screen for a long moment, his eyes narrowing with the same intensity he brought to reading a track or assessing a mechanical problem. When he looked up, his expression was set.
"I've got him," he said. "If he comes anywhere near the shop or the track, we'll see him. Sam and the rest of the crew will know his face by the end of the day."
"We're all in on this," Brian said, pushing off from the workbench and standing to his full height.
His usual easy humor had been replaced by something harder, more focused.
"You know that, right? This isn't just your problem because she's staying at your place.
This is a Copper Moon problem. She's one of ours now. "
"Agreed," Hank said. "She's part of this town and has been all her life. Someone tried to take that from her. And you have feelings for her. That makes it our business."
The words hit Colby harder than he'd expected. He'd spent years working alongside these two, building something that felt less like a job and more like family. Hearing them extend that same loyalty to Sabrina, without hesitation, without needing to be convinced...
"Thanks," he said, and meant it more than the single word could carry.
Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder, the grip solid and grounding. "We're used to watching each other's backs on the track. Now we watch hers too. Simple math."
"You need time off from the shop; you take it," Hank added. "We'll juggle the schedule. The bikes can wait. People can't."
Colby nodded, letting some of the tension he'd been carrying slide off his shoulders. "I'm not leaving her alone until Diaz has more than theories. I just needed to make sure you both knew what was going on, in case things get complicated."