Page 50 of Her Broken Biker
“Havoc’s shutting that part down. County got an anonymous call about the dead man and the stash at the cabin. Saints are watching the roads. Cartel knows law is sniffing around and we’re not letting them tear through Lovestone Ridge looking for stolen product, so they’re backing off.”
“Briggs is hurt, alone, and stupid enough to think Reina is his loose end.”
My grip tightens around the phone.
“Because she saw who stole from the cartel,” I say.
“Yeah. And because dead witnesses don’t talk.”
“She’s not his loose end.”
“Then keep her close while we find him.”
“That was already the plan.”
“Good,” Ghost says. “We’re moving.”
The call ends.
I set the phone on the counter.
For half a second, all I hear is wind in the pines.
Then she stands.
“I have work.”
“No.”
Her brows rise. “No?”
“No.”
“That was impressively caveman.”
“Good.”
“Ace.”
“Reina.”
“I have a shift.”
“You were taken from that hospital parking lot last night.”
“And if I vanish from work, people will ask questions.”
“Let them.”
She folds her arms. The shirt rides up her thighs, and I almost lose the argument before it starts.
“I’m calling my supervisor to say I’ll be late,” she says. “But I’m going in. I just need to go home first and change my clothes.”
“Wrong answer.”
“It’s the only answer.” Her voice shakes, but her eyes don’t. “That job is mine. My patients are mine. My life is mine. He doesn’t get to take that too.”
That shuts my mouth.
