Luke's expression doesn't change, but I see the calculation happening behind his eyes. He's putting pieces together—the nights I've been gone, the distraction I've been carrying, the way I've been preoccupied.
Tipping his chair back, he gives me a lazy smile. “She’s a vet. She’ll probably like this puppy-dog thing you’ve got going on.”
“Fuck you,” I say without any heat, because, damn it, he’s right. At this point, I’d roll over and let her scratch my belly just to feel her hands on me.
As if to drive it home, Shadow gets up, shakes, and ambles over to me, waiting for me to give him attention.
“You remember how a woman’s body works?” Luke asks, grinning like he thinks he’s funny. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen one. I can draw you a diagram.”
I flash on Lily lying on her bed and the way she touched herself. I don’t need a diagram—I’ll remember what turned her on for the rest of my life. I just wonder if she’ll ever be in a place to trust me with her body.
Frowning, I take a deep breath and tell him. “She has a barcode tattoo. Inner wrist. Turner's network.”
Luke sits up, his chair hitting the tile floor with athunk. All joking’s gone from his expression, replaced by sharp focus. “You saw it? There’s no question?”
“None.” I meet his eyes, crossing my ankles like I’m relaxed when I’m anything but. “She's connected to Turner's operation somehow. I don't know exactly how. I don't know what she's doing in Iron Ridge or what her endgame is, but she's connected. She almost passed out when Kelly, the new foreman, walked into the bar tonight.”
“Which confirms our suspicions that Kelly’s involved with more than just the ranch operation.” Luke studies me. “But you don’t think she's part of the trafficking?”
“No.” The word comes out hard, certain. “She's a survivor, Luke, not a perpetrator. There's a difference.”
“Is there?” Luke swings his legs up to prop his bare feet on the table, folding his arms across his chest. “Because from where I'm sitting, you've known this woman for what? A minute? And she came into Emma’s life when Turner was trying to force her to sell her ranch. She could be playing us all.”
I shake my head. “She’s not like that.”
“Based on what? What you know or your dick?” Luke lifts the bottle to his mouth, gaze steady on me.
“I feel it here.” I put a hand on my heart.
He studies me silently, the moment drawn out. “So what’s going on here really?” he asks finally. “You protecting her, or are you claiming her?”
I shrug. “Is there a difference?”
The corner of his mouth kicks up, and then he huffs a laugh. “On Blackthorn Ranch? Not at all.”
22
LILY
It’s early morning, still dark, and the rest stop is empty except for a couple semis parked at the far end and a plain black sedan under the single working streetlight. There’s a man sitting in the car, his seat tilted back and his head against the back like he’s resting.
I know better. Wes Mercer never rests.
I pull in two spaces away, kill the engine, and slowly count to thirty. That's the protocol Wes set—long enough to confirm no one followed either of us but short enough that we don't look like we're waiting for a drug deal.
Wes gets out first. He's dressed like an ordinary guy—jeans, flannel, work boots—but he moves like law enforcement. He’s got piercing blue eyes that see everything, a body honed for action, and a mind that edges toward suspicion.
He’s also the only true friend I have. I count Emma and Harper Garrett, the town’s deputy sheriff, as friends, but they don’t know everything about me.
Wes? He knows everything. He was the agent who found me thirteen years ago, half naked and freezing in a ditch. He was the only one who didn’t look at me like I was broken, always telling me that I was more than a survivor. He made sure I wasprotected, helped me secure a new identity at his own risk, and told me how to set up my new life. And when I told him I wanted to hunt down the men who killed Mandy, he just nodded and said, “Then you’ll need some training.”
Wes gave me more than a new identity—he gave me a way to fight back. So, yeah, he’s important to me.
I step out of my truck and meet him halfway between our vehicles.
“You look like hell,” he says as a greeting.
“Gee, it’s nice to see you too,” I reply with fake cheer.