Chapter 16
KANE
I’ve been sitting in this truck since dawn, and my ass is completely numb.
Chris is behind the wheel, both of us bundled in jackets because it’s freezing out here and we can’t run the heat constantly without drawing attention.
We’re parked down the street from Confetti & Meatballs, tucked between two other vehicles where we’ve got a clear view of the building’s entrance but aren’t obvious about surveillance, if there is any.
The sun has been up for three hours now, weak winter light doing absolutely nothing to warm the frigid air, and that asshole still hasn’t shown his face.
Not once. Of course, we’re grasping at straws that he’s moved into this building, but we were hoping at the most that he’d show up for work here. Except, he’s been a no-show all morning.
No lights coming on in the building. No car pulling up. No sign of life whatsoever.
“That fucker,” Chris mutters, taking another sip from his travel mug of coffee that’s definitely cold by now. “I know he’s up to something big. I’d love to take him down. Squish his fucking arrogant head between my hands until his eyes pop out like grapes.”
“Jesus Christ, dude. Chill.” I shift in my seat, trying to get blood flow back to my legs. My knees are stiff from being bent too long. “If he’s doing shady shit, we’ll catch him eventually. We always do.”
“Yeah, I know.” Chris sets his mug in the cup holder with more force than necessary.
“It just pisses me off beyond reason how much crap he’s pulled with Hannah.
All the manipulation, the gaslighting, kicking her out of her own apartment.
And even now, I don’t trust that bastard not to try ruining her town parade event weekend or the upcoming tree lighting celebration. ”
“You don’t have to tell me.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to trap some body heat.
“I was there when he called Giuseppe, remember? Listened to every single word through the phone. His threat was crystal clear—he wants that business for himself, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Hannah doesn’t get it first.”
Chris drums his fingers on the steering wheel in an agitated rhythm, staring at the dark building. “Speaking of Hannah, her heat is getting closer. I can scent it on her every morning when she comes downstairs. Getting stronger, more concentrated, more intense.”
“I know.” Just thinking about it causes my body to react, cock stirring in my jeans despite the cold.
“Trust me, I fucking know. And she’s still denying that we’re a real pack.
Still acting like living with us is some temporary arrangement until she figures out her next move, and resisting us when it’s clear her body craves an Alpha’s touch. ”
“What are we going to do about that?” Chris asks, glancing my way. “Because she’s ours. We all know it deep in our bones. She knows it too, somewhere beneath all that fear and self-protection. But she’s fighting it hard.”
I blow out a long breath, watching it fog in the cold air inside the truck’s cab.
“Keep showing her we’re there for her no matter what.
Helping with whatever she needs—business stuff, personal stuff, everything in between.
Bending over backwards to prove we’re not going anywhere and we’re not like the assholes from her past. She’s scared.
You see it in her eyes sometimes when she thinks we’re not watching.
Like she’s waiting for us to disappoint her or leave or turn into controlling dicks like Scot. ”
Chris shifts in his seat, leather creaking, nodding.
“So we need to let her set the pace. Not make her think we’re controlling her life or trying to take over every aspect of her existence.”
Chris laughs, the sound filling the truck’s cab. “Hard to do when we literally moved her into our house within days of meeting her, and now we’re attached to her every fucking second of the day like possessive stalkers.”
I snort. “Not exactly subtle about wanting her around constantly. Noel practically shoved me out of the way this morning to volunteer going with her into town today for the parade prep.”
“He’s got it so bad for her.”
“Fuck, man, we all do.” Chris runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further.
“Last night when I got home from processing those criminals and realized I’d missed out on what you two were doing with her on the couch…
” He shakes his head. “I was so fucking jealous I could barely see straight because I’m craving her that badly. ”
“In our defense, things escalated quickly. One minute we’re dancing for her, next minute candy canes were involved. It was spontaneous.”
“I’m sure it was very spontaneous and not at all premeditated,” Chris says dryly. We both laugh. “Never thought I’d say this about anyone,” Chris admits. “But she’s the one. Forever. The endgame. I knew it the moment I kissed her in that Santa suit and she melted against me.”
“I knew it when I woke up with her riding me thinking I was Noel,” I say with a laugh. “Best mistaken identity of my entire life.”
“Lucky bastard.”
We fall into comfortable silence, both of us watching the building.
It’s two stories. Downstairs is the business, I assume, with the company name in large gold lettering above the door: Confetti & Meatballs Event Planning.
Professional-looking signage, clean windows, but everything dark inside.
Upstairs, the blinds are shut tight on what must be the apartment where Hannah used to live before Scot kicked her out.
The thought has me simmering with anger.
Another car drives past slowly, the driver clearly lost, and we both tense until they keep going.
“We’ve been sitting here for hours,” I finally say. “He’s clearly not coming. Place looks abandoned.”
“Agreed.” Chris stretches as much as the truck cab allows. “I think we should head inside. Check it out properly. See what we can find.”
I perk up immediately. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We climb out of the truck, and the cold smothers me.
I zip my jacket up to my chin and pull my gloves on tighter.
Chris does the same. We stick to the shadows and the tree line as we approach the building, moving with the kind of casual purpose that doesn’t attract attention.
Just two guys out for a walk in the freezing cold because we’re idiots.
The driveway leads around to the back of the building, and that’s where we head, completely out of sight from the street and any neighboring buildings. Perfect for what we need to do.
Chris peers through the back window first, cupping his hands around his face to block the glare from the weak sunlight. “Dark. No movement inside that I can see. No computers on, no lights, nothing.”
“Let’s do this, then.”
Chris pulls out his lock pick set from his jacket pocket, something we all carry for situations exactly like this, and gets to work on the back door. I keep watch on the surrounding area.
It takes him maybe thirty seconds before I hear the satisfying click of the lock disengaging. “Got it,” he mutters.
The door swings open silently, and we slip inside quickly, closing it behind us.
I move immediately to locate the security panel, knowing exactly what to look for and how to disable it without triggering any alarms. We’ve done this enough times that it’s second nature now. But when I find the panel on the wall just inside the back entrance, the system isn’t even armed.
The display shows “Disarmed” in green letters, and when I check the log, it hasn’t been armed in over a week.
“Security’s completely off,” I tell Chris quietly. “They’re not protecting anything valuable here. Or they don’t care anymore.”
“That’s either really stupid or really telling,” Chris observes.
“My money’s on telling.”
We split up to search the main floor. I take the front area while Chris handles the back offices.
The reception area is basic and impersonal, a desk with an outdated computer that probably runs on Windows XP, some filing cabinets that have seen better days, a printer.
The walls are bare except for a few generic motivational posters about teamwork and success.
I go through the papers on the table, and there’s nothing interesting.
“This place feels completely abandoned,” Chris calls from wherever he is in the back.
“Yeah, I’m getting the same vibe. Like no one’s actually worked here since Hannah left.”
We regroup near the stairs that lead up to the second floor.
“Ready to check out the upstairs?” Chris asks.
I nod, and we start to climb the narrow staircase, our boots making soft sounds on the worn wood despite our attempts at stealth. The door at the top is unlocked.
When we push the door open, it’s immediately obvious that nobody lives here. So much for our theory that he might have moved in, but it was a guess.
Basic furniture and nothing else really, so we head back downstairs.
Chris already drifts toward the filing cabinets, tugging them open and going through them.
I go through the desk drawers in case I missed anything. Most of what we find is boring business stuff, old contracts with vendors for events, agreements that have expired, tax documents from three and four years back. Nothing recent. Nothing that tells us anything useful.
“This is coming up clean,” Chris mutters after twenty minutes of searching, flipping through yet another stack of useless papers.
I’m working my way through the bottom drawer, finding more of the same useless crap, when my hand closes on something that feels different, glossy photo paper tucked way in the back behind some hanging folders.
I pull it out and stare at what I’m seeing.
My brain takes a second to process it.
“Fuck, look at this.” I straighten up, holding the photograph so Chris can see it clearly. “I swear this is one of the strippers we arrested the other night at Hannah’s event, right? And that’s definitely Declan, the Santa dude we busted downtown. Why the fuck are they with Scot?”
Chris crosses the room in three long strides and practically rips the photo from my grasp to examine it more closely, holding it up to the weak light coming through the window.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “That’s definitely one of the strippers. I’d recognize that smug face anywhere.”
In the photograph, Scot stands in the center with his arm slung around their shoulders like they’re old friends.
All three of them are grinning at the camera as if they don’t have a care in the world.
Behind them is what looks like an old cabin, rustic wood siding, weathered and aged, with a covered porch.
Mountains are visible in the background, snow-capped peaks rising against a blue sky, and what might be a thin waterfall cutting down the mountainside in the distance.
“Those fucking weasels,” Chris says, his voice going hard and dangerous. “What is he up to? This isn’t just being a dick to his ex-business partner. This is organized. He knows these guys personally…”
We both stare at the photo.
“So he’s putting his friends in jobs at the events… that’s not illegal,” I say.
“Except both of his friends so far have been criminals. He’s involved in something,” Chris agrees. “And we’re going to uncover exactly what the fuck he’s doing. I refuse to believe it’s as simple as him getting his buddies some jobs.”
Chris pulls out his phone and takes several pictures of the photograph from different angles, making sure to capture every detail. We carefully tuck the original photograph back exactly where I found it.
Then we slip back out the way we came.
Chris relocks the door from the inside, pulling it shut with a soft click. We’re jogging back toward the truck within seconds.
A squirrel suddenly jumps out from behind a tree directly in our path, and Chris actually yelps, a high-pitched sound I’ve never heard come out of his mouth in the entire time I’ve known him.
I burst out laughing so hard I have to stop moving for a second. “Did you just scream?”
“Fuck off. It startled me.” But he’s looking around to make sure no one else heard that embarrassing sound.
“You hunt dangerous criminals for a living,” I manage between laughs, “and a tiny squirrel makes you scream?”
“It came out of nowhere!”
The squirrel in question sits on its haunches near the tree, staring at us with those beady black eyes like it’s judging Chris’s masculinity. Then it flicks its tail dismissively and scampers up the tree trunk, disappearing into the branches.
“That was the best thing that’s happened all morning.”
“I’m going to punch you.”
We’re both laughing now as we reach the truck. Once we’re safely inside the truck with the doors closed and locked, Chris starts the engine and cranks the heat to maximum. We both hold our hands up to the vents, trying to get feeling back in our frozen fingers.
I pull out my phone and text Hannah while we’re waiting for the truck to warm up.
Me: Do you know where Scot lives, by any chance?
The response comes back almost immediately, which makes me smile because of course she’s got her phone on her.
Hannah: Not a clue. Never wanted to know so never asked him. Why?
Me: Just trying to track him down. No worries.
I pocket my phone and glance at Chris, who’s studying the photographs he took on his phone, zooming in and examining details.
“She doesn’t know where he lives,” I report.
Chris zooms in on the background of the photo, focusing on the mountains and the waterfall. “We need to figure out where this cabin is. Those mountains, that waterfall, it’s somewhere in this area.”
“This is our bread and butter—finding fuckers who think they can hide in plain sight.”