Chapter 5
MIRA
My heartbeat has nothing to do with fear of motorcycles.
The Harley rumbles beneath us as Shaw leans into another curve, and I move with him automatically, body pressed against his back, thighs bracketing his hips, arms locked around his waist. Wind tears at the borrowed helmet, cool air rushing past as the Pacific coastline blurs by.
The bike tilts into the turn, and my grip tightens instinctively.
Shaw's hand covers mine briefly where they're clasped at his waist—steadying, possessive—before returning to the handlebars.
This should terrify me. The speed, the exposure, the complete trust required to let someone else control my safety while balanced on two wheels.
Instead, all I can focus on is the solid warmth of Shaw's body against mine.
The controlled power in how he handles the bike.
The way his muscles shift under my hands with every adjustment to throttle and balance.
Professional distance is impossible when you're wrapped around someone on a motorcycle. When your chest presses against their back with every breath, when your thighs align with theirs, when every part of you is in contact with every part of them.
And some reckless part of me doesn't want distance anyway.
Shaw makes a turn I'm not expecting, veering off the main road onto a smaller route climbing into the hills.
This isn't the way to Pete's storage facility—I studied the town map last night, memorized streets and landmarks.
We're heading away from the commercial district, toward residential areas sprawling across the hillside.
Where the hell is he taking me?
The road narrows, winding through stands of evergreen and madrone. Shaw slows as we climb, and I loosen my grip slightly. His hand comes down to rest on my knee—not steadying this time. Deliberate. His palm warm through my jeans before returning to the handlebars.
My pulse kicks up, and it has nothing to do with the bike.
We emerge onto a scenic overlook, a small parking area carved into the hillside with a stone wall separating pavement from the drop beyond. Shaw pulls to a stop and kills the engine. Sudden quiet feels overwhelming after the constant rumble. The ocean spreads out below us, gray-blue and endless.
I climb off carefully, legs unsteady, and remove the helmet. Shaw swings off with practiced ease and secures both helmets before turning to face me.
"Thought we were going to Pete's facility," I say, not bothering to hide suspicion.
"We are." Shaw moves toward the wall. "But I wanted to talk first. Away from witnesses and evidence."
Away from anything that might hold him accountable if this goes wrong. Smart tactical move. Isolate the investigator, control the environment, manage the narrative.
I join him at the wall anyway. The view is stunning—Pacific Northwest beauty that commands premium prices. Wind carries salt and pine, gulls crying somewhere below.
"Talk about what?" I ask, though I'm fairly certain I know.
"Your theory." Shaw leans against the wall, arms crossed. "You said the previous fires involved owners with expansion plans and financial stress. You've been assuming fraud. But I saw something shift at Sullivan's warehouse. What changed?"
Direct. No pretense. Shaw doesn't waste time with small talk when he wants information.
"Nothing changed," I say, meeting his gaze.
"The pattern still holds. Financial stress, expansion plans, convenient fires, insurance payouts.
Sullivan fits the pattern too—I ran a quick background check this morning.
He'd been trying to finance a warehouse expansion for months, couldn't secure loans, was facing cash flow problems. Same profile as the others. "
"So you still think we're running fraud."
"I think someone is running fraud. Whether it's the Brotherhood or someone using you as cover, the pattern is too consistent to ignore."
Shaw turns to face me fully, controlled anger in his posture. "You really can't let it go. Someone is burning down my brothers' businesses, and you're still convinced we're doing it to ourselves."
"I'm convinced the evidence points to fraud. Whether your brothers are willing participants or being used by someone in the club, I don't know yet." I hold his gaze. "But four fires with identical financial patterns and Brotherhood connections isn't coincidence."
"Someone is using us as cover. Approaching business owners, implying Brotherhood connections, then burning them out when they refuse partnership."
"Or someone within the Brotherhood is running exactly that operation and you're protecting them."
"I'm not protecting criminals. I'm protecting innocent people from false accusations." His voice drops lower, harder. "You want to know about the Brotherhood? We built something that matters—legitimate business, skilled work, family for people who need it. That's what these patches represent."
"Noble story." I keep my voice level. "But noble motivations don't preclude criminal activity. I've investigated plenty of organizations with compelling origin stories who turned out to be running sophisticated fraud."
"So nothing I say will convince you."
"Evidence will convince me. Not stories.
" I pull out my tablet. "You want to prove the Brotherhood is innocent?
Give me access. Financial records for every member whose business burned.
Communication logs. Business documentation.
Everything that proves expansion plans were legitimate and not preparation for fraud. "
"That's what I'm offering. Full cooperation. Access to victims, financial records, everything you need to see we're not criminals."
"Why?" I study him carefully. "Why give me access if you're guilty? Why not stonewall, refuse cooperation, make my investigation difficult?"
"Because I want you to see the truth." Shaw moves closer. "Because when you realize we're innocent, you'll help us find who's actually responsible instead of wasting time investigating the wrong people."
"Or you're trying to control my investigation by feeding me only what makes you look innocent."
"Or I'm trying to solve this case before someone else gets hurt." He holds my gaze. "Your choice, Mira. Work with me and get access to everything, or keep fighting me and waste time while the arsonist plans the next fire."
It's manipulation. Strategic positioning designed to make refusing look unreasonable. But he's not wrong about the tactical advantage—I'll learn more with access than without it.
"Fine." I don't soften my tone. "But understand something: if I find evidence of fraud, I'm reporting it. Your cooperation doesn't buy immunity."
"Fair enough." Shaw extends his hand. "Partners?"
I take his hand, grip firm. "Temporary alliance. Not partners."
His thumb brushes across my knuckles before he releases my hand—deliberate contact that has nothing to do with professional agreement. My pulse kicks up despite efforts to stay detached.
"We should get to Pete's facility," Shaw says, voice rougher. "Ask him about business proposals before the fire."
"Right." I push away from the wall. "The investigation."
Shaw's mouth curves slightly, like he knows exactly what effect that touch had. Bastard.
We walk back to the Harley. Shaw hands me the helmet, and I watch him swing onto the bike. When he gestures for me to climb on, I hesitate.
Getting back on means wrapping myself around him again. Means contact that blurs lines I should be maintaining.
"Problem?" Shaw asks.
"No." I climb on and settle behind him, arms circling his waist. Shaw reaches back and adjusts my grip, pulling my arms tighter.
"Better," he says. "Hold on."
The Harley surges forward. The ride feels charged with awareness I'm trying to ignore. Every shift of his weight, every curve that presses us closer registers in ways that have nothing to do with the investigation.
Shaw Riley is dangerous. Not because he's necessarily a criminal—though I'm not ruling that out—but because he's making me want things that will compromise my objectivity.
By the time we reach Pete's storage facility, I've got my professional mask firmly back in place.
Shaw pulls into the parking area and kills the engine. I climb off and remove the helmet. Pete emerges from the office, recognition crossing his face when he sees Shaw. Then he sees me, and his expression turns to barely concealed hostility.
"Riley." Pete approaches warily. "Didn't expect to see you today."
"Need to ask some follow-up questions." Shaw gestures toward me. "Mira's working with me on the arson case."
Pete's expression hardens. He has every reason to distrust me.
"What do you want to know?" Pete asks, directing the question at Shaw.
Shaw looks at me, silently offering me the lead. Testing whether I can get information without alienating a witness.
"Before your facility burned," I begin, keeping my tone neutral. "Did anyone approach you with business proposals or partnership offers?"
Pete frowns. "Yeah. Guy came by maybe a month before the fire. Said he represented investors looking to expand into the storage business. Wanted to buy a share of my facility."
"What did you tell him?"
"No thanks. Built that facility from scratch, didn't want partners." Pete's expression darkens. "He got pushy about it. Made me uncomfortable enough to mention it to Will."
Shaw tenses. "You told Will?"
"Wanted to make sure the guy wasn't using the club's name without permission." Pete looks between us. "Why?"
"Did he claim to be Brotherhood?" I ask.
"Implied it. Never said it directly, but the way he talked, the connections he mentioned, made me think he was one of us." Pete crosses his arms. "That's why I asked Will. Will said nobody in the club was approaching me, and if someone was claiming otherwise, they were lying."
Pattern confirmed. Someone approaching business owners with partnership offers, implying Brotherhood connections, getting aggressive when rejected. Then the fire.