Chapter 5
The shop looked different through tactical eyes.
Breaker stood in the parking lot, coffee steaming in his hand, cataloging vulnerabilities he'd ignored on previous visits.
The weathered building sat exposed at the dock's end—good sight lines from the water, but anyone coming by road could see the whole property from a hundred yards out.
Single entrance from the front. Back door leading to the dock.
Windows on three sides, old glass that wouldn't stop much.
A nightmare to defend. A challenge that made his blood hum.
"You going to stand there all morning, or are you going to tell me what you're frowning about?"
Kristen emerged from the shop with her own coffee, practical as ever in jeans and a Shore Thing t-shirt that had seen better years.
Her hair was pulled back, and without the bruise dominating her face, he could appreciate the sun-weathered beauty underneath—the kind that came from years on the water, earned rather than bought.
"Your security's shit," he said.
"Thank you. I hadn't noticed."
"Anyone coming down that road can see everything. Your windows are basically invitations. And that back door—" He gestured with his cup. "One kick and it's kindling."
"It's a bait shop, not a fortress." She moved to stand beside him, following his gaze across the property. "What would you do differently?"
The question surprised him. Most people got defensive when you pointed out their weaknesses. Kristen just wanted solutions.
He walked her through it—not the technical details, but the basics. Motion lights at the tree line. Reinforced deadbolts. A bell system rigged to the back door so no one could slip in quiet. Simple changes that wouldn't turn her shop into a bunker but might buy time if things went sideways.
"And where will you be during all this?"
"Here." He met her eyes. "Until we know what Birch is planning, I'm not leaving you unprotected."
Something flickered in her expression—gratitude, maybe, or the stubborn independence he'd noticed before. "I've been protecting myself for years."
"I know. But now you've got backup, remember?"
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. Show me what you need."
They spent the morning working. Breaker handled the heavy lifting—mounting lights, reinforcing the back door, repositioning a shelf near the register that blocked sight lines to the entrance.
Kristen worked alongside him, handing tools before he asked for them, commenting on his choices with the bluntness of someone who'd been solving problems alone her whole life.
"That angle's wrong."
He looked up from the motion sensor he was mounting. "Excuse me?"
"The sensor. You've got it pointed at the road, but the blind spot's over there." She gestured toward a cluster of trees at the property's edge. "That's where they'd come from if they were smart. Road approach is obvious."
She was right. He adjusted the angle without arguing, and caught the hint of satisfaction in her expression.
"You've thought about this before," he said.
"I've thought about a lot of things since Dillard started showing up.
" She leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed.
"Escape routes, hiding spots, which customers might actually help if something went down versus which ones would run.
You think about survival differently when people are threatening to burn your life down. "
The matter-of-fact way she said it twisted something in his chest. This woman had been running threat assessments in her head for weeks, planning for violence while selling bait and smiling for tourists. Alone. Always alone.
"You shouldn't have had to think about any of that."
"Lots of things I shouldn't have had to do. Did them anyway." She pushed off the railing. "I've got customers coming. You good out here?"
"I'm good."
She went inside, and Breaker watched her through the window as she moved behind the counter—easy, competent, like she hadn't just been discussing escape routes from her own shop.
The contrast hit him harder than it should have.
Softness and steel, wrapped together in someone who'd learned to survive by refusing to break.
He forced his attention back to the work.
By noon, the motion lights were installed and the back door had new deadbolts that would slow down anyone short of a battering ram. He'd rigged a bell system using fishing line and some hardware from her stock—low-tech but effective, impossible to bypass without making noise.
Dillard's black SUV drove past at twelve-fifteen.
Breaker spotted it from his position near the tree line, where he'd been testing sight lines. The vehicle slowed as it passed the shop, windows tinted too dark to see inside, then accelerated down the road.
He made sure he was visible. Standing in the open, arms crossed, watching the SUV disappear. See me. Know I'm here. Come back and find out what happens.
The SUV drove past again at two-thirty. Same slow crawl, same tinted windows. This time Breaker was on the porch, and he lifted his coffee cup in a mocking salute as it passed.
"You're taunting them."
Kristen had come out with sandwiches—ham and cheese on bread that tasted homemade. She handed him one and settled into the chair beside his.
"I'm establishing presence."
"You're taunting them." But there was something like amusement in her voice. "Is that part of the security plan?"
"The plan is making sure they know this shop isn't undefended anymore. That coming here means dealing with Salt Blood, not just a woman with a fishing knife." He took a bite of the sandwich, better than he'd expected. "They're testing. Seeing what's changed. Good. Let them see."
"And when they decide to test with more than a drive-by?"
"Then they find out the difference between intimidation and actual threat."
She studied him while he ate—that assessing look he was starting to recognize, the one that saw more than most people bothered to notice.
"You like this," she said. "The danger. The possibility that something might happen."
"I like being useful."
"That's not the same thing."
He didn't have an answer for that. Or rather, he had too many answers, none of them fit for casual conversation.
The afternoon passed in unexpected rhythms. Kristen handled customers with the easy competence of someone who'd been doing it half her life, and Breaker found himself helping—carrying ice to a charter captain's cooler, pointing tourists toward the boat ramp, restocking shelves when her hands were full.
It felt strange. Domestic. Like playing house in someone else's life.
He'd expected to hate it. Instead, he found himself watching her work and wanting to stay.
"You're staring," she said during a lull, not looking up from the inventory sheet she was marking.
"Just observing."
"Observing what?"
You. The way you move. The way you handle every problem like it's just another thing to solve. "How you run this place. It's impressive."
"It's a bait shop."
"It's your life's work. Your mother's life's work." He moved closer, drawn by something he didn't want to examine. "You told them you wouldn't sign it over. Even with the debt, the threats, the bruise on your face—you said no. That's not just business. That's something worth fighting for."
She finally looked up, and he was close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, the faint freckles across her nose, the way her breath caught when she registered how near he was standing.
"Why do you care?"
"What?"
"About my shop. About me." She set down the inventory sheet, turning to face him fully. "You barely know me. You came in for bait and ended up rearranging your whole life to play bodyguard. Why?"
Good question. The honest answer was tangled up in things he didn't have words for—the bruise on her jaw, the way she'd stood her ground, something in his chest that shifted every time she challenged him.
He gave her the grin instead. The wild one that deflected questions and charmed his way out of conversations he didn't want to have.
"Maybe I just like the company."
"Bullshit."
The word hit like a slap. Not angry, but sharp—cutting through his deflection like it wasn't even there.
"You don't do things for no reason," she continued. "Nobody does, especially not men who volunteer for dangerous jobs with that look in their eyes. So what is it? Hero complex? Adrenaline fix? Looking for someone to save so you don't have to think about whatever you're running from?"
The grin faltered.
She'd seen right through him. Past the charm and the reckless energy to something underneath that he didn't let anyone see. Something he barely admitted to himself.
"Kristen—"
"Don't." She held up a hand. "You don't owe me your life story. But don't stand there and pretend this is casual when we both know it isn't."
The shop felt smaller. The space between them charged with something that had nothing to do with protection details or gambling debts. She was looking at him like she expected an answer, and for once in his life, Breaker didn't have one ready.
Nobody called him on his bullshit. That was the rule. The grin worked, the deflection worked, and people moved on to easier targets.
Kristen Avery didn't seem interested in easy.
The bell over the door chimed—customers coming in, breaking the moment like glass—and she turned away to greet them with that practiced smile. But her words hung in the air, impossible to ignore.
Someone to save so you don't have to think about whatever you're running from.
Breaker stood rooted to the spot, watching her work, his wild grin nowhere to be found.
She'd seen him. Actually seen him. And instead of feeling exposed, he felt something worse.
He felt understood.