Chapter 9 #2
“Something like that.”
His tone, the way he held his shoulders, the deliberate vagueness—it was a lie, or at least not the whole truth.
“Clive.”
He looked up, but nothing changed in his demeanor. “An SPS operative is on the way to watch you and the bar,” he said.
Damn it. She needed to find out what he was hiding. “Let me come with you. I want to meet your father. You’ve been staying in my house, protecting my family—I’d like to know yours.”
“No.”
Everything in her tensed. “Why not?”
“Because this is something I need to do alone.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “The operative is Lynx, and he’s on his way to relieve me. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Lynx? Oh, good lord. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
Frustration and hurt tangled in her chest. This wasn’t the man who’d held her last night. Not the man who’d opened up about his family, who’d let her see the scars beneath the surface. This was someone else entirely—colder, harder. Someone she didn’t know.
“You’re lying,” she said quietly.
His expression didn’t change. “I’m protecting you.”
“From what? Your father? The man who had a stroke and can barely function some days?” He flinched, and a chasm opened up between them—all the distance she’d thought they’d bridged in the past few days suddenly yawning wide again. “What are you really doing, CB?”
The front door opened, and a man walked in. Tall, dark-haired, dressed in a casual suit but with the same alert carriage as Claire. He nodded at CB.
“Lynx,” CB said. “This is Regan. She owns the bar. Regan, this is Lynx. He’s former Secret Service. You’ll be in good hands.”
Former Secret Service? Any other time, she’d be salivating at the chance to talk to him—the stories he could tell. As she studied his face, something about it seemed familiar. “Your name is Lynx?”
“Codename, ma’am.”
“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. It’s Regan.”
His dark eyes glanced at CB. The two men seemed to share some nonverbal communication. She could just guess that it had to do with her being difficult. Then he gave her a professional smile. “Of course.”
Damn, she knew she’d seen him before. But she didn’t have time to scan her memories that in depth.
CB was already moving toward the door. He paused on the threshold, glancing back at her.
For a moment, she thought he might say something—an explanation, an apology, anything to bridge the gap that had opened between them.
He didn’t.
The door closed behind him, the bell sounding flat and annoying. Regan stood rooted to the spot, watching through the window as he climbed into his truck and pulled away. She turned from the window, her throat tight.
Is he meeting with his dad, or is something else going on ?
The question gnawed at her as she went through the motions of prep work— checking the ice machine, refilling napkin holders and ketchup bottles.
Lynx moved to a stool at the end of the bar, positioning himself with a clear view of both the door and the pool tables. He didn’t speak, didn’t order anything. Just watched.
CB had been so open with her last night. He’d told her things about his family that clearly cost him to share. She’d felt closer to him than she had to anyone in years.
And now this. The shutdown. The secrets. The flat refusal to let her in.
The front door opened again, and her stomach dropped. Two men walked in, leather cuts marking them as Outlaws. They didn’t acknowledge her, just headed straight for the pool tables in the back. A few minutes later, two more arrived. Then another.
Her pulse raced again. What were they doing? More intimidation. Were they going to start a fight? Wreck the bar?
How convenient that they’d waited to show up after CB left. Right on cue.
She wiped off the bar near Lynx and dropped her voice to a soft murmur. “Those are Outlaws.”
He nodded and typed on his phone. She assumed he was sending a message to CB or whoever might be available to help if things went south.
By six o’clock, half the pool area was occupied by men from the gang. They weren’t doing anything threatening—just playing pool, drinking beer, talking among themselves. But their presence was a message. A reminder that Ryder was watching.
Regan moved through her shift on autopilot, pouring drinks and making small talk with the handful of regular customers who’d braved the unusual crowd.
Lynx stayed at his post, silent and watchful.
She noticed a few dark SUVs in the parking lot.
Their owners didn’t enter the bar. SPS operatives? FBI?
Underneath it all, the doubt kept building.
CB had asked her to trust him. She’d tried. She’d let him into her home, her mother’s life, her investigation. She’d kissed him, wanted him, opened herself up in ways she hadn’t allowed in years.
Trust went both ways, and right now, he was keeping something from her.
Will he end up protecting Wade no matter the cost ?
The thought made her sick, but she couldn’t shake it. Blood was thicker than water, people said. Family first, always.
What if, when push came to shove, CB chose his father over the truth? Over her? Is that why he’d turned her protection over to someone else and walked out?
The urge to get in her car and track him down was almost physical. She wanted to see for herself where he’d gone and who he was meeting. Her journalist instincts screamed at her to do exactly that.
But she couldn’t. Lucy was gone, CB was gone, and she had a bar full of Outlaws who’d notice the second she walked out the door. Lynx might be a capable bodyguard, but he didn’t know the first thing about running the tavern. She was trapped.
A customer flagged her down, and she forced a smile. Poured the drink. Made change. Repeated.
Another hour crawled by.
By closing time, the Outlaws had filtered out one by one, leaving the bar quiet and empty. Lynx helped her flip chairs onto tables without being asked, his silence somehow less oppressive than it had seemed earlier. Maybe he sensed her mood. Maybe he just wasn’t the chatty type.
Regan locked the front door and leaned against it, exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Lucy. Settled in at the compound. Desi’s already made friends with someone called Bobcat. I’m fine. Stop worrying .
She typed back: I’ll always worry. Get some sleep .
No text from CB. No explanation, no update, no reassurance.
Regan stared at the dark screen, and the anger she’d been holding at bay all night finally broke through.
She’d let herself believe that CB was different, that he wasn’t defined by his family’s legacy, that he was genuinely on her side.
But actions spoke louder than words. And his actions tonight had told her everything she needed to know.
He was keeping secrets. And until she knew what they were, she couldn’t afford to trust him with anything else.
Not her investigation. Not her family.
And definitely not her heart.