Chapter 6
Delaney woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of boots on wood.
She'd slept harder than she'd intended—four hours, maybe five, her body finally giving in to exhaustion after the adrenaline of the past two days had burned itself out.
The borrowed camera sat on the nightstand where she'd left it, and morning light filtered through curtains she didn't remember closing.
Float must have done that. Closed the curtains, started the coffee, kept watch while she slept.
She found him on the cabin's front porch, mug in hand, eyes scanning the tree line like he expected an army to materialize any second.
"Sleep well?"
"Well enough." Delaney accepted the coffee he handed her without comment. Strong, black, exactly how she needed it. "You didn't."
"Catnaps." He didn't look at her, still watching the trees. "Learned to sleep light a long time ago."
She studied his profile in the morning light—the stubble darker now, shadows under his eyes, tension in the set of his shoulders. He'd spent the night protecting her, and he looked like he'd fight the next threat with nothing but willpower and fury.
Something warm uncurled in her chest. She ignored it.
"I'm going to keep working on the photos," she said. "There's more in those images than I've found so far."
"I'll patrol." Float finally looked at her, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath catch. "Stay inside. If you see anything, yell."
"I know how to handle a threat."
"I know you do." His voice dropped, rough and low. "Doesn't mean I want you handling one alone."
He was gone before she could respond, boots crunching on gravel as he headed for the tree line.
Delaney watched him go, then took her coffee inside.
The photos told a story she was only beginning to understand.
Delaney spread the images across the laptop screen, zooming and enhancing until her eyes ached.
The Brush Creek property shoot had been routine—exterior angles, interior features, the standard documentation that vacation rental sites required.
She'd spent two hours on the property and hadn't noticed anything unusual.
But the camera had seen what she'd missed.
Three men in total, visible across seven different shots.
Ellers on the ladder, caught in profile.
A heavyset man handing up equipment—forty-ish, balding, the kind of face that belonged behind a desk instead of on a job site.
And a third, younger, watching the road with the alertness of someone who expected interruption.
She labeled them in her notes. Ellers: field crew leader. Heavyset: handler, manager type. Young one: lookout, possibly enforcer.
The van's plates traced back to a shell company—Float had gotten that information from Proof this morning. Dead end for now, but another thread to pull.
What interested her more was the equipment.
She zoomed in on the cases the heavyset man was holding. Professional-grade surveillance gear. The kind of cameras that could stream footage in real-time, store weeks of recordings, blend into residential architecture so completely that most people would never notice them.
This wasn't a small operation. Someone had invested serious money in watching people without their knowledge.
The question was why.
Delaney sat back and rubbed her temples. Her studio was compromised. Her equipment was destroyed. And somewhere out there, men with cameras and resources were trying to find her before she could figure out what they were protecting.
Movement outside caught her eye.
Float was walking the perimeter again—third time since she'd started working. He moved along the tree line with the restless energy of a caged animal, checking sight lines, scanning the road, disappearing toward the river and reappearing ten minutes later.
She watched him through the window, tracking his path.
He couldn't stand still. She'd noticed that about him from the moment they'd met—the constant motion, the need to be doing something, handling something, proving something. Like if he stopped moving, something terrible would catch up with him.
She recognized that energy. She'd carried it herself, once. The desperate need to keep working so you didn't have to feel what happened when you stopped.
Float completed his circuit and paused at the edge of the bluff, looking down at the river. Even from inside the cabin, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on the railing.
What was he running from?
She turned back to the photos before he caught her watching.
The afternoon passed in a rhythm of work and waiting.
Delaney cataloged every image from the Brush Creek shoot, then expanded her search to other properties she'd photographed in the past six months. If Ellers and his crew had been installing cameras at one rental, they might have been working others.
She found them in three more shoots.
Same van, different locations. The crew was careful—they only appeared at the edges of frames, partially obscured by trees or buildings—but once she knew what to look for, the pattern was unmistakable.
Four properties. Multiple cameras at each location. A surveillance network spread across the Ozarks, hidden in vacation rentals and residential homes.
She was documenting the third location when Float came inside, bringing the smell of pine and river with him.
"Found more?" He moved to stand behind her chair, close enough that she felt the heat of him against her back.
"Three additional properties." She pulled up the images, pointing out the crew members in each. "Same van, same pattern. They're installing cameras in rentals across the area."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet." Delaney leaned back, accidentally brushing against his chest. Neither of them moved away. "Blackmail, maybe? Hidden cameras in vacation homes could capture all kinds of compromising footage. Or they're watching specific people, using the rentals to track movements."
Float's hand came to rest on the back of her chair. Not touching her, but close enough that she felt the presence of it like a brand.
"How many cameras?"
"Based on the equipment I'm seeing? Dozens.
Maybe more." She turned to look up at him, and the angle brought their faces close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes.
"This is bigger than one photographer with inconvenient evidence.
Someone's running a major operation, and they've got the resources to silence anyone who threatens it. "
"We won't let that happen."
The words came out fierce, possessive. A promise wrapped in a threat.
"We?" Delaney raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was just under club protection until the threat was handled."
"You are." Float's gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her eyes. "But that's not why I'm saying it."
The air between them went thick and hot. Delaney felt her pulse kick, her body responding to his proximity in ways her mind wasn't ready to acknowledge.
"Float—"
"Movement on the road."
He was at the window before she processed the shift, every trace of heat replaced by cold alertness. Delaney saved her work and moved to join him, staying to the side of the frame.
A white van crept along the bluff road, moving slow. Unmarked. Windows tinted.
"Same van?" Float's voice was barely audible.
"Can't tell from here." But her gut said yes. The same van from the photos. The same crew that had been watching properties across the Ozarks.
The same people who'd destroyed her camera and promised to do worse.
A second vehicle appeared behind the first. Dark SUV, also moving slow. The kind of deliberate pace that said reconnaissance, not passing through.
"They found us." Delaney's voice came out steady, but her heart was hammering.
"Not yet." Float pulled his phone from his cut. "They're probing. Checking approaches. If they knew we were here, they'd already be coming."
He typed a message—backup request, she assumed—while keeping his eyes on the road. The vehicles passed the cabin's hidden turnoff without stopping, but they didn't speed up either.
"They'll be back," Delaney said.
"I know."
He moved through the cabin with sudden purpose, checking windows, testing the lock on the back door, pulling a hunting rifle from a closet she hadn't noticed.
"You know how to use this?"
"Four years Army." She took the rifle, checked the chamber, confirmed the safety. "I can handle it."
Something flickered in Float's expression—approval, attraction, the same complicated mix she'd been feeling since he'd shown up at her studio door.
"Of course you can."
He returned to the front window, positioning himself where he could see the road while remaining hidden from outside. The sun was setting, painting the bluff in shades of orange and gold, and the beautiful light felt like a countdown.
Delaney looked at the laptop still open on the table. The evidence that made her worth hunting. The proof of an operation that someone was willing to kill to protect.
She closed the computer and carried it to the floor safe Float had shown her last night. A small metal box built into the cabin's foundation, hidden under a loose floorboard in the bedroom closet.
The laptop fit inside. The backup drive went in after it.
"Leverage stays protected," she murmured, echoing something her CO had told her a lifetime ago.
She sealed the safe, replaced the floorboard, and returned to the main room.
Float was still at the window, rifle within reach, watching the road where the vehicles had disappeared. The last light of sunset caught his profile, turning him into sharp edges and shadows.
"Backup's coming," he said without looking at her. "Spillway and Cottonmouth, twenty minutes out."
"And if they come back before then?"
Float finally turned, and the look in his eyes made her breath stop.
"Then they'll find out what happens when you threaten something that belongs to me."
The words hung in the air between them—possessive, primal, a claim she hadn't agreed to and couldn't bring herself to reject.
Delaney held his gaze and didn't look away.
"I don't belong to anyone."
"Not yet." Float turned back to the window. "But you're starting to."
She should argue. Should push back against the assumption, the claim, the way he'd decided she was his without asking permission.
Instead, she picked up the rifle and took a position at the cabin's back window, watching the river trail for threats.
If they were going to survive the night, they'd do it together.
Everything else could wait until morning.