Chapter 9 Chloe
CHLOE
Three days. Three days of walking a tightrope over a pit of alligators, and somehow I hadn't fallen yet.
I'd submitted a report on the Guardians. Had to—Malone was starting to ask questions about task force follow-ups, and I couldn't keep pretending the fax didn't exist. So I gave them exactly what they asked for.
Sort of.
The report was technically accurate. Old addresses from public records.
A membership list that was at least three years out of date.
Financial information pulled from their legitimate auto shop filings—nothing that couldn't be found with a basic Google search.
I'd spent hours making it look thorough while being completely, utterly useless.
Malone had skimmed it, grunted, and tossed it in his outbox. "Good work, Chloe. Send it over to Albuquerque."
I'd smiled and said "Yes, sir" and gone back to my desk with my heart trying to jackhammer its way out of my chest.
That was two days ago. Since then, nothing. No follow-up calls. No agents showing up at the station demanding more information. No handcuffs clicking around my wrists.
Maybe I was going to get away with it.
Maybe.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:47 a.m. The morning had crawled by. I'd filed reports, answered phones, fetched coffee for Malone twice. Normal day. Normal Chloe. Nothing to see here.
The only thing keeping me sane was knowing that I'd see Finn tonight.
We'd fallen into a rhythm over the past few days—I'd go to his place after work, we'd eat dinner, we'd talk about everything except the sword hanging over our heads.
Then we'd fall into bed and forget the world existed for a few hours.
It was the happiest I'd been in years, which was insane considering I was also committing multiple felonies. But there it was.
I was halfway through a stack of filing when I heard my name.
"—Chloe's car over by the highway a couple times. Near that old motel."
My blood turned to ice water.
Peters was standing by the coffee machine with Margaret, his voice carrying across the bullpen like he didn't have a care in the world. Like he wasn't casually dismantling my entire life.
"So?" Margaret sounded bored. "Maybe she's got a boyfriend."
"Yeah, but that area's sketch. Lot of biker traffic out there. You know, with everything going on..."
My fingers had frozen over the keyboard. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Shady Meadows was near that stretch of highway. If Peters had seen my car there, if he'd seen me with Finn—
No. Stop. Think.
I forced my hands to relax. Forced my face into something neutral. Then I stood up from my desk and walked over to the coffee machine like I didn't have a care in the world.
"You guys gossiping about me?" I kept my voice light, teasing. The Chloe they knew. The Chloe who flirted with everyone and took nothing seriously.
Peters had the decency to look embarrassed. His ears went pink. "Just noticed your car out by Route 66 a couple times. You got a secret lunch spot or something?"
I laughed. Please, God, let it sound natural.
"There's a taco truck out there that's incredible. Seriously, best carnitas in the county. Don't tell anyone—I don't want the line to get longer."
Peters shrugged. "Huh. Might have to check it out."
"You should. The green salsa will change your life."
I grabbed a coffee I didn't want and walked back to my desk on legs that felt like jelly. My hands were shaking. I tucked them under my thighs and stared at my computer screen until the words stopped swimming.
That was too close. Way too close.
I needed to be more careful. No more meeting Finn anywhere public, not even the outskirts of town. His place only. Maybe I should start parking down the street from his house instead of in the driveway. Maybe—
The front door of the station banged open.
I looked up, startled, as Deputy Shaw came striding in with a grin splitting his face. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Sheriff!" He was practically shouting. "You're going to want to hear this!"
Malone emerged from his office, newspaper still in hand. "What's all the commotion?"
"Just got word from Albuquerque. The task force hit the Cobras this morning.
Major bust—we're talking drugs, unregistered firearms, the whole nine yards.
" Shaw was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Three dead in the shootout, including their VP.
They've got the president in custody and he's already trying to cut a deal. "
The room erupted. Peters let out a whoop. Margaret actually clapped. Malone's weathered face broke into a smile I hadn't seen in months.
"Hot damn," Malone said, slapping the newspaper against his thigh. "That's exactly what we needed. The Cobras have been a thorn in everyone's side for months. Dealing near schools, robbing liquor stores—bunch of smooth brains with more guns than sense."
"Task force is going to be tied up processing this for weeks," Shaw added. "They're calling it the biggest bust in the region this year. Albuquerque's already talking press conferences."
I sat very still at my desk, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid that if I did anything at all someone would see the relief flooding through my body like a tidal wave.
The Cobras. Not the Guardians. The task force had found their win, and it wasn't Finn's club.
"This is good for us," Malone was saying.
"Less heat, less pressure from the state.
We can get back to actual police work instead of chasing paper for those suits in Albuquerque.
" He looked around the room, his gaze landing on me.
"Chloe, make sure we've got all our files in order in case they need backup documentation.
But honestly? I think we're in the clear. "
"Yes, sir." My voice came out steady. A miracle.
He nodded and retreated to his office, already on the phone with someone. Shaw and Peters were huddled together, talking excitedly about the details of the bust. Margaret went back to her typing.
And I pulled my phone out of my desk drawer with trembling fingers.
Cobras went down. Task force got their win. We're clear. For now.
I hit send and waited, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Thank God. You okay?
I am now. Close call earlier but I handled it.
What kind of close call?
Tell you tonight. It's fine. Promise.
A pause. Then:
Come over as soon as you're off. We're celebrating.
I smiled at my phone like an idiot. Margaret glanced my way and I quickly schooled my expression, but my chest felt like it might burst.
We'd done it. We'd actually done it.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of paperwork and pretending to care about things that didn't matter. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough.
When the clock finally hit the hour, I gathered my things with what I hoped was a normal amount of speed. "Night, everyone," I called over my shoulder, already halfway to the door.
"Hot date?" Peters called after me with a smirk.
"Something like that," I shot back, and pushed through the door into the late afternoon sun.
I made it to my car before my legs gave out.
I sat behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel, and let myself shake. Really shake, the way I'd been holding back all day. My whole body trembled like I'd just run a marathon in the middle of an earthquake.
"Holy shit," I whispered to the empty car. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit."
I'd done it. I'd buried a federal request, submitted a garbage report, and somehow—somehow—gotten away with it. The task force was busy with the Cobras. Malone thought we were "in the clear." Peters thought I had a thing for taco trucks.
And Finn was safe.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and laughed. It came out slightly hysterical, but I didn't care. There was no one to hear me lose my mind in the Edgewood Police Department parking lot.
After a few minutes, I pulled myself together. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I was Chloe Day, administrative assistant, totally normal person who definitely wasn't sleeping with the sergeant at arms of a motorcycle club and obstructing justice on a federal level.
Totally normal.
I started the car and pulled out of the lot, pointing myself toward the edge of town. Toward Finn's house. Toward whatever came next.
The New Mexico sunset was doing its thing as I drove—streaks of orange and pink and purple painting the sky. The mountains in the distance looked like they were on fire. It was beautiful, the kind of beautiful I usually ignored in my rush to get from point A to point B.
Tonight, I noticed.
I thought about the last few weeks. Meeting Finn in that holding cell. The Shady Meadows hotel room that had changed everything. The night I'd shown up at his door with a fax that could have destroyed us both.
I'd risked everything. My job, my freedom, my future. For a man I'd barely known, a man who ran guns and rode with outlaws and had "bad idea" written all over him in permanent ink—literally.
And I didn't regret a single second of it.
The fax was still there, buried in my filing system. The task force could circle back around any time. My position at the station was about as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane. Nothing was really solved—just delayed.
But right now, in this moment, we were okay. Finn was okay. The club was okay. And I was driving toward the man I loved with the windows down and the wind in my hair and nothing but possibility stretching out ahead of me.
Wait.
The man I loved.
The thought hit me like a punch to the chest. I hadn't said it out loud. Hadn't even really let myself think it. But there it was, clear as the sunset blazing across the sky.
I loved him. Finn. The biker with the chocolate eyes and the gentle hands and the fierce, protective heart beating under all those tattoos.
I loved him, and I was going to tell him.
Tonight.
I pressed the gas a little harder, the desert blurring past, and smiled all the way to his door.