by Skye Jordan
“I don’t see—”
“It’s Misty’s.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and started that direction. “What in the fuck are you trying to do? Get yourself hurt?”
She didn’t answer, her mind a jumble of thoughts in the wake of the adrenaline rush.
Ian walked her to the driver’s side and pushed her in with “Don’t go anywhere” before rounding the car and climbing in the passenger’s side.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was at the grocery store,” he told her. “A better question is what the hell were you doing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to get—”
“Involved? Too late. Why would you take a risk like that? You have to know he’d jump at the opportunity to throw you in jail.”
“I… I…” How to explain? She took a breath. “I overheard him fighting with Lyle about something Hank was supposed to do tonight at eight. I thought I could catch him doing something I could use against him in a custody hearing.”
Ian exhaled hard. “Well, did you?”
She shook her head and gave a shrug. “I don’t know. He had a bag of passports in his car. He picked them up at the church on Ninth and Main. I can’t see how I would use that against him.”
Ian’s expression shifted, and the intensity of his focus shivered down her spine. “Passports? Are you sure?”
She dragged her phone from her pocket and pulled up the images she’d taken. “You tell me.”
He took her phone and inspected the images, enlarging them to view the photos and names, asking, “How many were there?”
“I don’t know, maybe ten or twelve?”
“Do you know these guys?”
“In the passports? Sure. Everyone comes into the café at some point.”
He glanced up. “How long have they been in town?”
She heaved a breath and looked out the windshield, thinking. “About a year, I guess.”
Ian nodded and tapped on the share function.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Forwarding them to myself. I might be able to do some research. These may be more valuable against Hank than you thought.”
“I don’t see how they can help either one of us, but, whatever. I’ve gotta go. I have to pick up my car and get Jamison at a playdate.”
Ian handed her phone back. When she took it, he used his free hand to cover her own. “Savannah, please don’t do this again. If you have suspicions, need information, or want to track Hank, come to me. I have experience in this kind of thing, and it would be better for me to get caught. You have Jamison to think about.”
She didn’t know what to think of that offer. She certainly didn’t know him well enough to trust him in that way, but she nodded, ready to get her son and get home. “Thank you.”
7
Ian was knuckles deep in the engine of a sheriff’s cruiser when his cell rang. He put the ratchet down, wiped his hands on a rag, and glanced around for Mo. His temporary new boss was in the office, so Ian picked up the call from Everly.
“Hey.” He wandered toward the heater near the partially open bay door. “What’s up?”
“I’m in at the mine. Start tomorrow. I just talked to Sam. Reiz and Sarak are Bosnian. Clark’s Canadian,” she confirmed the team’s suspicions. “None of them have ever possessed a US passport, nor do any of them qualify for one. But none are on any terrorist watch list.”
Still, excitement tingled through his gut. One step closer.
“No irregularities have popped up on Hank’s financials yet,” Everly told him, “but Lyle has been sending a monthly stipend to an anonymous bank account—through Bitcoin.”
“Fucking Bitcoin.” The virtual-cash payment system was a favorite among privacy-seeking individuals. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that they’re using a mixing service.”
“Ding-ding-ding, you win.”
Ian swore and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Bitcoin’s anonymity was hard enough to hack, but add a company that served as an escrow account, mixing all incoming funds before distributing them again, and you had a virtual money-laundering service. One that was beyond difficult to track.
The image of the little black box sitting near Savannah’s computer popped into his head. Ian’s brain made quick, automatic connections, but the idea of Savannah paying Lyle Bishop for anything made him balk.
He still found himself saying, “Not the same company—”
“That Savannah uses for internet privacy?” Everly said. “No.”
He exhaled with relief. A second later, a sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the driveway at Mo’s.
“I gotta go,” he told Everly before disconnecting and returning to his work.
Mo came out of the office. He was in his midfifties, but like so many others in this part of the country, the man looked older. His crown of salt-and-pepper hair showed beneath the rim of his knit cap, and his jaw hadn’t seen a razor in days.
He took one look at the customer and told Ian, “Good time to take lunch, son.”
Ian lowered his head to peer through the gap created by the open hood. Hank Bishop sauntered toward the garage bay in uniform, rocking his black felt cowboy hat into place.
Fuck that. “I’ve got a lot of work here, Mo—”
“Lunch is a better use of your time. This won’t take long.” He held Ian’s gaze an extra moment before turning to Hank. “Afternoon, Sheriff.”
“Mo.” Hank stopped at the driver’s door, his hard warning gaze on Ian. “We’ve got some business to discuss.”
“Ian,” Mo said with a go-on tilt of his head.
Retreating went against everything Ian believed in. Everything he was made of. But he straightened from the car and settled the ratchet in the toolbox at his side. “I’ll just grab a quick bite.”
Wiping his hands with a rag, Ian exited the back door, leaving it slightly ajar. He pressed his back to the exterior wall and rested his head near the gap. Without the cranking space heater warming the garage, the cold sank into Ian’s bones.
“How’s business?” Hank asked.
“Busy. What can I help you with, Sheriff?”
“I’m just gonna get right to the point, Mo. You need to fire him.”
Fucker. Even though Ian had known it was coming, the order still pissed him off.
“Why’s that?” Mo asked.
“Just tell him you made a mistake. That you don’t need him.”
“I didn’t make a mistake,” Mo hit back, deepening Ian’s respect for the man. “And I do need him. My arthritis is actin’ up. Can’t do everything I used to.”
“Find someone else,” Hank told him.
“I’ve tried two other guys with half his experience. Neither worked out. I’ll oversee him until I know he’s reliable, but being he’s just out of the military where he worked on anything with an engine, I’m guessing he knows even more than I do.”
“I don’t care how much experience he’s got. I don’t want him working on sheriff’s department vehicles.”
Motherfucker. The man knew exactly how to exploit a weakness.
“You know somethin’ I don’t?” Mo asked.
“Not anything I can repeat. Just trust me—you don’t want him here.”
“If he’s bad news, he’ll show his colors soon enough.”
“I haven’t made myself clear.” Hank hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and leaned toward Mo, his voice clearly carrying a threat. “This is not a discussion. It’s an order. Fire. Him.”
“I’ve been running this shop since you were in diapers, Hank. And I own my own business so I don’t have to take orders. The fact that you think I will is both arrogant and disrespectful.” Mo lifted his chin in defiance. “This about Ian working on the cars? Or about Ian living next door to Savannah?”
“Just fucking fire the guy, Mo.” Hank’s voice dropped, raspy around the edges with frustration. “Or I’ll find another
garage to handle the maintenance contract for the department’s vehicles.”
“Fuck,” Ian whispered.
“Good luck with that,” Mo told him. “I doubt you’re going to want to drive every car in your fleet to and from Whitefish for maintenance.”
Ian didn’t need to hear any more. It was almost three o’clock, and he hadn’t stopped to do anything but piss since six a.m.
He took a side street so he didn’t have to enter the garage again and walked to the diner. As soon as the thought of food and Savannah entered his mind, he was starving. For both.
He approached the café, disappointed when he didn’t see her car. But when he walked in, he found her standing near the counter, pulling off the apron around her waist where she carried pens, straws, and an order pad.
The bell signaled his arrival, and she glanced over. Her face lit up, creating a sparkle in her eyes. “Well, hey there.” She turned away from Misty and leaned her hip against the counter. “Didn’t see you this morning. Are you making yourself breakfast now that you have a kitchen?”
Damn, she had a great smile. Considering all the hell her ex-husband and ex-in-laws had put her through, how many men came and went in this town, he didn’t know how she could take to him so fast or be so friendly. If he were in her shoes, he’d be homicidal, which would be a very bad thing for everyone, considering how much training he’d had in killing people.
He also knew that if Savannah ever found out who and what he really was, he’d never see her smile at him like this again. The thought created a pang in his gut. A painful one. Ian needed to check his barriers.
“I burn water,” he told her. “I wanted to get a jump start on my first day with Mo. But now I’m so hungry, I could eat the bear that left tracks behind the house.”
Her smile melted away. “What bear?”
“There were tracks in the snow when I took the trash out this morning.” He could see her mind turning. Hoped that information would give her pause when she thought about bailing out the back window with Jamison again.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t see them.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll build an enclosure. That might not keep them from sniffing around, but it’ll keep them from making a mess.”
“Okay. We’re a little tight on cash for materials, but I’m happy to help build it. I can handle a hammer well enough.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He’d bet she could handle more than a hammer. Divorcing an abusive, overbearing man. Raising a boy on her own. Living in this frozen wasteland. Battling powerful in-laws. Yeah, he’d trust her to get the job done. “I need to wash my hands. Will you be here when I get back, or are you leaving for the day?”
“My shift’s over,” she said. “But I’ll get you started. Coke?”
“And water. Thank you. Be right back.” In the restroom, he washed his hands and face, returning to find Savannah carrying two glasses toward the nearly empty dining room. He glanced around. “Where do you want me?”
“Anywhere you’d like.”
“Now there’s a dangerous proposal,” he muttered under his breath. He’d first and foremost like to be in her bed. But other places instantly came to mind—the kitchen counter, the shower, the floor… He slid into a chair at the nearest table. “Do you have time to join me?”
She set the drinks on the table, and her gaze jumped to his before it traveled around the café. Finally, she exhaled, rubbing her hands down the thighs of her jeans. “Sure, I guess. For a minute.”
Savannah eased to the edge of a chair across from him as Misty wandered up to the table. Her hazel eyes moved between them, and a slow smile lifted her mouth. “You two look good together.”
“Misty,” Savannah snapped, almost before Misty had finished the remark.
She held up her hands. “Just sayin’. What can I get you, handsome?”
He ordered a burger, and Misty returned to the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” Savannah said, still on the edge of her seat, as if she were about to jump to her feet. “She’s a consummate matchmaker. It never ends.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” He picked up his water glass.
She tipped her head. “It seems like not much does.”
He shrugged and drank down half the glass of water. “Life’s too short to get ruffled by the little stuff.”
She smiled. Seemed to relax a little. “So, Mo finally let you out of the cave to eat?”
“Yeah.” He laughed and set his glass down. “He’s got one busy shop.”
“Only game in town.”
“True.” Maybe he’d have a job when he returned to the shop after all. He sat back with a sigh, letting his sore muscles relax.
She glanced around before lowering her voice to ask, “Did you find out anything about the passports?”
“Only that they’re forged.”
She sucked in a surprised breath. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”
“I sent the information to a friend I served with overseas. He does contract work for the government now. He looked into the names of the men in the passports and found that not only weren’t they eligible for a passport, none of them had even applied for one.”
She met his gaze steadily, but her mind was in another place. “Misty told me she’d heard of ways to get a fake passport.”
“How would Misty know?”
“Her boyfriend works in the mine. Word travels.”
“Why would Misty think to tell you that?”
Savannah refocused, shook her head, and averted her gaze. He saw the lie coming before she even answered. “Just conversation.”
“Savannah.”
She pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We were just tossing around worst-case-scenario ideas.” She stared at the table. “I can’t lose Jamison.”
He wanted to reassure her, promise her she’d never lose him, but Ian didn’t have enough information to offer her that reassurance. “I can understand. He’s a great kid. And you’re a great mother.”
Her smile was quick but shy. “Thanks. He’s…” She shook her head. “He’s everything to me. My whole world.”
“The way it ought to be.” He paused before testing deeper waters. “Do you have family in town?”
“Oh no.” She shifted in the chair, rested her forearms on the table, and leaned forward, dropping her chin into one hand. “I don’t really have family. I mean, my mom’s still alive, but she has another family. We parted ways a long time ago.”
“Did you grow up here?” he asked, easing her toward confiding in him.
“No. Los Angeles, then Michigan.”
“What brought you here?”
“Hank.” A shadow darkened her eyes, and her gaze went distant. “We met at U of M.”
“University of Michigan?”
She nodded. “He was a different man then.”
“What changed?”
“Moving here.” She met his gaze, serious, sober. “This place, his father, the job. All of it. Over the last few years, he’s become a man I don’t recognize at all.”
“Why do you stay? Why not move to another town where he can’t harass you?”
She laughed, but the sound wasn’t humorous. “I think you’ve figured out by now that he wouldn’t take to that idea.” She shook her head. “Besides, that’s a looooong, messy story.”
“I’d like to hear it.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, holding her gaze. He knew this was a long shot, but if he could get her alone, somewhere she felt safe, he might get a lot of information. “Over dinner? Sometime this weekend?”
Her gaze jumped to his, surprised. Color flushed her cheeks. “Oh…” She shook her head. “Um…”
“Mo told me about some hole-in-the-wall in Whitefish I have to try. Says it’s the best barbeque in the state.”
A smile quivered over her mouth. “Smoke.” She nodded. “It’s amazing. Haven’t been there in so long…”
“Does Jamison ever stay wit
h his father?”
“Rarely.” The mention of Hank killed her smile. “He uses work as an excuse to get out of taking him. He’s supposed to take Jamison Friday night, but he hasn’t come through on anything in so long—”
“Friday’s perfect,” he said before she could give him a definitive no. “Pick you up at six?”
“Like I said, he’s not the most reliable when it comes to Jamison. Besides, I don’t really, you know, date.”
Her rejection niggled beneath his ribs, a sure sign he was crossing that professional-personal line. Ian reined in his desire and refocused. She was a source of information, nothing more. “Because Hank doesn’t want you to date?”
Her gaze slid away with traces of embarrassment and disappointment. “No. Kind of. It’s…complicated.”
“He’s your ex. You’re a free woman. An attractive, sweet, free woman.” Her gaze jumped back to his, assessing, as if she didn’t believe him. “And I’d really like to get to know you better.”
She smiled, threaded her fingers, and rested her hands on the table. “I like you, Ian. I really do. Every other man in town lets Hank bully them into compliance. Which is why I’m saying no.” She shook her head. “This is your fresh start, and I don’t want Hank to ruin it.”
“You mean like trying to get me fired on my first day?”
Her spine straightened; her eyes widened. “What?”
“I only left the shop to get something to eat because Hank was giving Mo an earful about me.”
“No.” She breathed the word, clearly stricken.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Oh my God, I’m so—”
He pressed his index finger to her lips to halt the apology. They were soft and supple. And Ian had an urgent and immediate need to feel them under his own.
His gaze dropped to her perfect lips beneath his thick, rough, calloused finger, and something raw and primal clawed low in his gut. He couldn’t deny it—he wanted her.
When she didn’t move away from his touch, Ian forced himself to lower his hand. But it drifted to hers, covering hers with a reassuring squeeze. Again, she didn’t pull away.
“No more apologizing for him,” Ian told her. “You make Jamison take responsibility for his words and actions. Hold Hank accountable. He’s a grown man who makes his own choices. In truth, he’s nothing more than your average bully; you said it yourself. But he’s messing with the most important things in your life—your freedom and your son. It’s not right. I don’t care how he tries to hurt me, I’m not backing down. Believe me, baby, I’ve dealt with assholes far worse than Hank.”
