Chapter 4
Delaney was loading her camera bag into the Jeep when the black SUV pulled into the lot.
She'd spent the day after meeting Float at the compound being interviewed by men with road names and hard eyes, explaining everything she knew about the Brush Creek property and the man who'd smashed her camera.
They'd listened. Asked questions. Told her they'd handle it and sent her home with a prospect following at a distance.
She'd almost believed she was safe.
The SUV doors opened and five men stepped out.
The one in front was the man from her studio. Same wiry build, same forgettable face, same controlled way of moving. But this time he wasn't alone, and this time he wasn't here to talk.
"Miss Cross." His voice carried across the gravel lot. "You didn't delete those files."
Delaney's hand was still on the Jeep's cargo door. The backup drive was in the hidden compartment under the floor panels—three feet away and impossible to reach without these men seeing exactly where she kept it.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"We checked your cloud storage. Your studio computer. Your client delivery systems." He walked closer, the four men spreading out behind him like they'd done this before. "The Brush Creek files are gone from everywhere we can access. Which means you've got them somewhere we can't."
"Maybe I deleted them like you asked."
"You didn't." He stopped ten feet away. "Women like you don't delete evidence. You hide it and wait for someone to come asking the right questions."
Delaney calculated distances. Ten feet to the man. Twenty to the nearest cover. Her Jeep at her back, engine off, keys in her pocket. The studio behind her, locked, useless.
Four years in the Army had taught her when to fight and when to wait for a better moment.
This wasn't a better moment.
"What do you want?"
"The drive. And you." His expression didn't change. "My employer has questions about who you've been talking to. The bikers who showed up at your studio last night—that complicates things."
So they'd been watching. Of course they had.
"I don't have a drive."
"Then you won't mind if we search your vehicle."
He gestured, and two of the men moved toward the Jeep. Delaney stepped back, putting herself between them and the cargo area, buying seconds she didn't know how to use.
The sound of motorcycle engines cut through the evening air.
Two bikes roared into the lot from the main road, chrome and black leather, the growl of V-twins drowning out everything else. Delaney recognized Float on the first bike—the prospect who'd shown up at her door last night with sharp eyes and an offer she couldn't refuse.
The second rider was bigger, older, with a jaw that looked carved from the limestone bluffs and a presence that made the four men behind her employer's messenger take a step back.
Float killed his engine and swung off his bike in one smooth motion. His eyes found hers first—a quick assessment, checking for damage—before they moved to the men surrounding her Jeep.
"Problem here?"
The wiry man didn't flinch. "Private business. Nothing that concerns your club."
"Lady's in our territory." The bigger rider—Limestone, Delaney remembered from the compound—crossed his arms over his cut. "That makes it our business."
"She has something that belongs to my employer."
"She's standing in a parking lot with five men who didn't ask permission to be here." Float moved closer, putting himself at an angle that gave him a clear line to both Delaney and the messenger. "That's not how things work in Ridgerunner country."
Delaney watched the calculation happen behind the wiry man's eyes. Five against two, but the two were wearing cuts that meant backup was a phone call away. Violence here would escalate into something bigger than a missing hard drive.
She used the moment.
While every eye was on the standoff, she reached into the Jeep's cargo area, popped the hidden compartment with a practiced motion, and palmed the backup drive.
It went into her jacket pocket in the same movement she used to grab her camera bag, a smooth extraction that looked like nothing more than a woman collecting her belongings.
"We'll be back." The messenger's voice hadn't changed, but something in his posture had. Retreat, not surrender. "The files and the woman. My employer doesn't leave loose ends."
"Your employer can come talk to us himself." Float's voice dropped, went cold in a way that made Delaney's pulse kick. "We'll explain how things work around here."
The men loaded back into the SUV. The engine started. Gravel crunched as they pulled out of the lot and disappeared down the lake road.
Silence settled over the parking lot, broken only by the tick of cooling motorcycle engines.
"You okay?"
Float was beside her before she registered him moving. Close enough that she could see the tension in his shoulders, the barely leashed energy that said he'd been ready to fight the second those men stepped out of the SUV.
"I'm fine." Delaney kept her voice steady, even though her heart was hammering. "They didn't touch me."
"They were about to search your Jeep." His eyes dropped to her jacket pocket, then back to her face. "You moved fast."
So he'd noticed. Of course he had.
"Four years of field work teaches you how to use a distraction."
Something flickered in his expression—approval, maybe, or recognition. Like he was seeing her differently than he had five minutes ago.
"They'll be back," Limestone said, walking over to join them. "That one's not the boss. He's just the attack dog."
"I know." Delaney touched her jacket pocket, felt the hard edges of the drive through the fabric. "They've been watching me since before they broke in. They know my schedule, my routes, probably my client list."
"Then staying here isn't an option." Float's voice had that territorial edge again, the one that said he'd already made decisions she hadn't agreed to. "We need to move you somewhere they can't find."
"I have a business to run."
"You have a life to protect." He stepped closer, crowding her space in a way that should have felt threatening but didn't. "Those men came to collect you. Not just the drive—you. What do you think happens when they get what they want?"
Delaney held his gaze. She knew exactly what happened. She'd photographed the aftermath of interrogations in places that didn't exist. Knew what men with resources did to people who had information they needed.
"I can't just disappear."
"You don't have to disappear. You just have to be somewhere they can't reach while the club handles this."
"The club." Delaney looked from Float to Limestone and back. "You've known me for twenty-four hours. Why would your club go to war over a photographer?"
"Because they're running surveillance on our territory." Limestone's voice was granite. "Our properties. Our people. You just happen to be the one who documented it."
"And because—" Float cut himself off, jaw tightening.
"Because what?"
He didn't answer. But the way he was looking at her—like she mattered in ways that had nothing to do with evidence or club business—said everything his silence didn't.
"Your equipment." He jerked his chin toward the camera bag she was still holding. "You're loading up for a morning shoot. You've got a dead camera and work to do."
"Insurance claim is processing. I borrowed a backup from a friend."
"Then you're still operating a business while these assholes know your schedule." Float shook his head. "That's not stubborn. That's stupid."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He was definitely too close now, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the stubble along his jaw. "You're smart. You proved that with the drive. But smart doesn't help if you're dead."
Delaney's temper flared. "I've been taking care of myself since I was nineteen years old. I don't need some prospect telling me how to survive."
Something dangerous flickered in his expression. "You think I'm worried about you surviving? You'll survive. You're too mean to die." He leaned in, voice dropping. "I'm worried about what they'll do to you before we can get there. What that'll do to you. What that'll do to me."
The last words came out rough, almost involuntary. Like he hadn't meant to say them.
Delaney stared at him. Her heart was doing something complicated in her chest, something that had nothing to do with fear or adrenaline.
"Okay." The word came out softer than she intended.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll go to your compound. I'll let your club handle this." She poked a finger into his chest. "But I'm not property, I'm not helpless, and if you call me stupid again, I'll break your nose."
Float's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
Limestone cleared his throat behind them. "If you two are done flirting, we should move. Those cameras might already be watching."
Delaney stepped back, cheeks warming despite herself. She grabbed the rest of her gear from the Jeep, the camera bag she'd use tomorrow if she was still alive, the backup drive burning a hole in her pocket.
Her studio sat dark behind her. Eighteen thousand dollars of broken equipment inside. A business she'd built from nothing. A civilian life she'd fought to create.
And five men who'd come to take her away from it.
She looked at Float, at the prospect cut on his back and the possessive intensity still burning in his eyes.
"Let's go," she said, and climbed into her Jeep.