Chapter 5
5
CLAIRE
I took the key card from the counter, my mind still going over what had just happened. If the women working the front desk knew the Dane brothers—knew Marcus—then I’d just walked straight into a much bigger story than I’d expected.
I glanced at their name tags, my curiosity kicking in. Only first names were printed. Isabel and Sasha.
I nodded toward them. “Isabel. Sasha. Thanks for the help.”
The one with sleek dark hair—Isabel—offered a polite but unreadable smile. Sasha gave me an easy nod, her expression still measured.
As I stepped away, Isabel reached for her purse behind the counter, exchanging a few quiet words with Sasha. A shift change. She was heading out for the night.
Interesting.
If she was leaving, there was a chance she was going home—to someone .
My stomach tightened.
I didn’t know exactly what I’d walked into yet, but one thing was clear—I was in the right place.
With that, I turned on my heel and strode toward the elevator, keeping my posture relaxed, though inside, I was buzzing with energy.
By the time I reached the Magnolia Suite, I was itching to get to work.
The door swung open to reveal a space that was all understated Southern elegance. Soft blue walls, crisp white crown molding, antique furniture polished to a gleam. A massive four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, draped in white linen so pristine it looked untouched. The sitting area featured a tufted sofa in a shade of pale gray, with a matching armchair angled toward a fireplace that I highly doubted anyone ever used.
A set of French doors led to a balcony overlooking the historic district. Beyond the rooftops of pastel townhouses, I could see the harbor.
I dropped my bag onto the bed and pulled out my phone. It was time to check in.
Diego answered on the third ring. “Tell me you’ve already stirred up trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nice to talk to you too, boss.”
“I’m not your boss, Claire, I’m your producer. But if it helps you take direction, call me whatever you want.” His voice was warm but firm, that signature mix of charm and exasperation he always used on me.
I toed off my heels and flopped onto the sofa. “I made it. And Jesus, Diego, it’s like another planet down here. People are walking around smiling at strangers. The air smells like sugar and salt water. It’s … unsettling. ”
Diego chuckled. “Careful. You might accidentally start liking it.”
“Doubtful.” I stretched out, crossing one ankle over the other. “I checked in at The Palmetto Rose. Met a couple of locals who seem like they know the Dane brothers but weren’t exactly eager to talk.”
“That’s not surprising.” His tone shifted, turning more serious. “Those guys are a different breed. Blood money. Military ties. The kind of men who don’t like reporters sniffing around their business.”
“Yeah, well, too bad for them.”
“That’s the attitude.” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
I hesitated for half a second, then added, “I met Marcus, too.”
Silence.
Then Diego let out a low whistle. “Already? Damn, girl, you don’t waste time.”
I exhaled, tipping my head back against the sofa. “It wasn’t exactly planned. He found me at the pier.”
Diego’s voice sharpened. “And?”
“And he’s exactly what I expected,” I said. “Arrogant. Intense. Full of threats wrapped in Southern charm. Oh, and apparently, he already knew my name.”
Diego cursed under his breath. “Not ideal.”
“No shit.” I stared up at the ceiling, replaying the encounter in my mind—the way Marcus had moved, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. The way his voice had curled around my name, dark and knowing. The way my pulse had spiked, heat pooling low in my stomach, because, of course, my body had to betray me.
“Careful with that one,” Diego warned. “If he already knows who you are, he’s probably keeping tabs on you.”
“Let him,” I said, stretching my legs out, forcing my tone to stay light. “If he’s watching me, that means I’m getting under his skin.”
“That’s not always a good thing.”
I smirked. “It is for the story. Look, we both know the media landscape isn’t what it used to be. People don’t want long-form investigations anymore—they want ten-second sound bites and conspiracy theories they can scroll past between TikTok videos and cat memes.”
I sighed. We’d had this conversation too many times already.
“But The Unseen is different,” Diego pressed. “We’re one of the last podcasts actually breaking real stories, not just rehashing old cases for entertainment. And if we want to stay at the top, we need a story that matters—something that’ll shake people awake.”
“I know.”
“Then do what you do best.” His voice dropped lower. “Get close. Get answers. And don’t stop until you have something that’ll make people put down their damn phones and actually listen.”
I swallowed, nodding even though he couldn’t see me.
“Do whatever it takes,” Diego said.
I stared out at the Charleston skyline, at the way the moonlight turned the city into something out of a painting.
Whatever it takes. I could do that. I always did.
I leaned my head back against the sofa, my fingers tightening around my phone. I knew Diego was right. My heart was still pounding as I yanked my blonde hair into a ponytail, grabbed my phone, and left the room .
I needed food. A walk. A distraction. And I needed to figure out exactly whose toes I’d already stepped on.
The lobby was quieter now, the rush having died down.
I approached the front desk, keeping my tone casual. “Hey. Any recommendations for food?”
The curly-haired woman from before—Sasha—was still there, flipping through a guest book. She glanced up, her expression unreadable.
“What are you in the mood for?” she asked.
Before I could answer, the air in the room shifted.
A presence. A weight.
I turned my head—and immediately knew I was in trouble.
Three men stood just inside the entrance, watching me with the kind of silent intensity that could mean a hundred different things. Trouble. Protection. A warning. Or, in some cases, all three.
And I recognized every one of them.
In the center, standing with that quiet, lethal stillness, was Ryker Dane. I knew his face—not from social media, because there wasn’t any. The Dane brothers stayed out of the public eye. Their company, Dominion Defense, was a fortress—private and impenetrable. Finding anything on them had been like chasing smoke.
But Ryker had been photographed recently—once. A long-lens shot from a high-profile security summit in D.C., standing near a senator with dirty money and an FBI tail. The image barely made the rounds before it was buried, but I’d seen it.
And now, standing here in front of me, was the man from that photo.
Even if I hadn’t recognized him from the image, I still would’ve known. There was something about these men—something that made people instinctively take a step back. The way the air in the lobby subtly shifted, the way conversations softened, like the people in the room knew without knowing.
Yeah. Those were Danes.
The one on the right was leaner, sharp-featured, his easy smirk at odds with the sharpness in his gaze. Military posture, stance loose but deceptively ready. A man trained to react in a blink.
And the one on the left?
I’d already met him.
Sharp jaw, sun-kissed surfer-boy looks, the same cocky, vaguely pissed-off expression he’d worn when he taunted me at the pier.
Marcus Dane.
His gaze locked onto me, dark and unreadable.
I rolled my shoulders, just slightly, letting my back arch in a subtle stretch. The shift pulled my sleeveless blouse tight against my curves, the buttons straining ever so slightly. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, to see if Marcus Dane—all sharp edges and simmering irritation—was immune to temptation.
His gaze flicked downward for a split second. Barely there. But I caught it.
Oh, he noticed.
A slow smirk began at the edge of my lips. Interesting.
“Well,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else, a knowing glint in my eye. “Speak of the devil.”
Marcus’s mouth curled at the edges. “I don’t recall inviting you to.”
I arched a brow, letting my gaze flick over him—broad shoulders under a perfectly tailored button-down, the way he carried himself like he owned the damn room. The city . Maybe even the world.
Asshole energy radiated off him in waves.
I smiled, slow and taunting. “I don’t need an invitation.”
“That right?”
“Yep.” I turned fully toward him, squaring my stance. “I ask questions. People answer them. It’s kind of my thing.”
He tilted his head, studying me.
I refused to squirm.
Then his gaze flicked—just for a second—toward the back room behind the front desk. A subtle shift. A flicker of acknowledgment.
A moment later, Isabel stepped out, a small crossbody bag slung over her shoulder. She barely glanced my way before walking toward the men, her movements easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. Ryker’s arm brushed against hers as she passed, and even though they didn’t touch, there was something there. Something in the way he subtly angled his body toward her, in the way her eyes flicked up at him as if she didn’t even have to think about it.
They were together.
And I hadn’t missed the way the other two Danes shifted slightly, moving just enough to create a loose perimeter as she walked through them, like it was second nature to close ranks around her. Protecting her.
Interesting.
Marcus was still watching me, though. And he was enjoying this. I could see it in the way his smirk deepened, in the slight head tilt like he was sizing me up, deciding just how much of a problem I was going to be.
“Lucky timing,” he mused. “My brother was coming by anyway, so I thought I’d tag along and pay you a visit.”
His voice was deceptively casual, but something about it put me on edge.
I folded my arms. “Thought you didn’t want to help me.”
“Oh, I don’t.” His smirk sharpened. “Just wanted to see what kind of trouble you’re planning to stir up.”
“Right.” I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “And?”
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I’ll be seeing you, Claire.”
It wasn’t a promise. It was a warning. And as he turned and walked out the door, following his brothers into the Charleston night, I knew?—
Marcus Dane wasn’t done with me yet.