Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
He was up before six.
An old habit the Army had installed in him. He’d slept well, which surprised him slightly. The guest room was quiet, the bed was big enough for him, and Desi had visited twice in the night, the second time staying, a warm weight at the foot of the mattress that CB hadn’t had the heart to move.
The house was still quiet, and the security app for the bar showed nothing except a moose strolling through the parking lot at the bar just after they’d left, probably on its way to the lake.
So he checked in with Mack, outlining his plan to handle the extortion, and got the go-ahead.
He also responded to an email from Vivi about his missed session. The woman was relentless.
He was heading for a shower when the bathroom door opened. Regan emerged in a cloud of steam that smelled of raspberries. Her hair was wet, her feet bare, and she wore nothing but a towel that covered what it needed to and made him acutely aware of everything it didn’t.
She was looking down, working a smaller towel through her hair, and she walked directly into him.
He caught her by the shoulders before she could bounce off.
She looked up, startled.
He’d been in a lot of situations that required composure under pressure. He applied that skill now, while his mind was racing with thoughts about her and what he wanted to do with that towel. “Good morning.”
She simply stared at him. Her hair was dripping, the raspberry smell was everywhere. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it. Blinked.
Not a morning person, then . He logged it, released her shoulders, and stepped to the side.
She hurried past and vanished into her room. After a beat, he heard the distinct sound of her pressing her back against the door and sighing.
He smiled to himself and appreciated the fact that Regan Hill off-guard was a completely different, and entirely compelling, creature from Regan Hill in command of her bar.
When he finished his shower, Lucy was already in the kitchen.
Although she’d been up like him and Regan until nearly two a.m., Lucy had the energy of a woman who’d slept for a solid eight hours. She had eggs going, toast in the toaster, and a pot of coffee brewed.
“Sit,” she said, without turning around. “Eggs will be ready in five.”
“You don’t have to feed me, Mrs. Hill.”
“I know I don’t have to.” She turned long enough to give him a look that told him not to argue. “I want to. There’s a difference. Now, sit.”
He sat.
Desi materialized and put his head on CB’s knee. CB put a hand on his head and drank some coffee.
Regan appeared, dressed in cut-offs and a tank top—this one pink. Her hair was still damp but now in a messy bun on top of her head. “Morning,” she muttered to the room in general.
Definitely not a morning person.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Lucy said.
Regan poured a cup and sat across from CB without looking at him. If he didn’t know better, she was blushing. Because he’d seen her in a towel? He held in his chuckle. Good thing she didn’t know the lurid thoughts racing through his mind.
Lucy set plates in front of both of them before she sat down with her own, folded her hands, and said, “So. What are we doing about Friday?”
Regan looked up. “Can we please eat in peace?”
“Friday is two days away. I want to know what the plan is.” She looked at CB with expectation. “You have one, I assume.”
“I do,” CB said.
Regan set her fork down and rubbed her temple.
“Friday’s pickup is a leverage point,” he said. “You’re not going to pay the extortion, obviously, but there are several things we need to do to stop the threats.”
“I hired you to stop the threats,” Regan said.
“And if you follow my instructions, that will happen.”
Her lips thinned, but she motioned for him to continue.
He did. “Today, you talk to Claire Dawson, an FBI colleague of mine in Missoula. She’ll open a case file, log the letters you’ve received, and get our statements concerning what happened two nights ago. This bypasses the local dirty cops and judges.”
Regan reared back. “FBI? Are you crazy? They won’t be interested in this.”
“It may not be a federal-level case yet, but the Outlaws have been on their radar for years. And the thing is, it’s not only about the gang—it’s about the cops and judges who’ve been turning a blind eye to their illegal activities. We let Claire worry about that part of it.”
Lucy seemed riveted. “Really? You think the FBI will help us?”
“I do.” He looked at Regan again. “After you speak to Claire, I’m going to have you talk to an attorney SPS hires when needed.
Kristina Davies. She’ll work with Claire to create a Cease and Desist letter to be delivered to Denny Crue or Ryder, I don’t know which.
Claire and Kristina will decide. We should have the C she wanted truth.
He handed it to her. “That’s why you hired me, remember?”
Her face shifted. Her eyes narrowed. “What he said about your dad. About your grandfather.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
She’s asking about me . He hadn’t expected that. “I’m fine,” he said automatically.
She raised a brow.
He almost smiled. “Rule eight only goes one direction.”
“It absolutely does not.” She crossed her arms. “Answer truthfully, Clive. Are you okay?”
Clive . She hadn’t called him that before. So few people did these days, and he was okay with that. His mom had only ever called him by his first name.
It came with bittersweet memories, but when Regan said it…
Yeah. He liked it. “Ryder’s been sharpening that particular blade for a long time,” he told her.
“Were you close growing up?”
He nodded, paused. “But I know what my grandfather actually built. And I know what Ryder’s done with it. He and I both know that if Granddad were still here, Ryder’s the one he’d be disappointed with.”
Regan looked at him for a moment, then uncrossed her arms. Most of the fight had drained from her body, but her eyes were still filled with fire. “Okay,” she said. “Your plan for handling this—I’m in. We do it your way.”
“Good call. My way is usually the best.”
“Don’t push it.”
He smiled.
“Regan? CB?” Lucy called from the kitchen. “Customers!”
Regan headed for the door, and he moved aside to let her pass. She paused, and for a moment they were close enough in the narrow space that he could smell the raspberry shampoo again, faint now, but it still did things to him.
“Thank you,” she said. “For—” She gestured toward the bar. “All of this.”
Her dark eyes were so serious and still scared, no matter how tough she acted. He gently squeezed her arm. “Soon, when you claim you’re fine, it’s going to be the truth. I’m going to make sure of it.”
She huffed a laugh. “Even if it costs you your family?”
He dropped his hand. “You let me worry about that.”
She brushed her hands over her face and reset her expression, ready to take on the impending lunch crowd. “For what it’s worth, I think your grandfather would be proud of you.”
Once more, she’d surprised him. Before he could respond, she walked away, head high. “Customers at the bar,” she called back to him.
He smiled to himself and went to work.