Twenty minutes later, we were gathered around my kitchen table, coffee steaming in mismatched mugs. Harper had retrieved the cameras from his truck—eight of them, lined up on the table like evidence in a crime scene. Which, I supposed, they were.
I picked one up, turning it over in my hands. Commercial grade, just like they'd said. A small antenna on the side forcellular upload. Someone had been watching my property for God knows how long, and I'd never even noticed.
"How long do you think these have been here?" I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my hands wanted to shake, turning the camera over to examine its mounting bracket.
"Hard to say." Harper's jaw was tight, his gray eyes dark with barely controlled anger, one hand flat on the table like he was bracing himself. "Some of the mounts looked weathered. Could be months."
"The survey stakes were fresh, though." Silas's voice was flat, factual, his pale gaze fixed on the cameras like he was cataloguing enemy positions. "Within the last few weeks. They're getting ready to move."
Remy pulled out his phone, scrolling to something he'd bookmarked. "Crescent Holdings filed permits for the resort six months ago. Construction was supposed to start this spring, but they hit a snag." He turned the screen toward me, the blue light illuminating his sharp features, showing a map with property lines. "Your bayou frontage. Without water access, the whole project is dead."
I stared at the map, at the way my property sat like a cork in a bottle, blocking their precious boat access. Aunt Marguerite's land. My land.
"So they've been watching me," I said slowly, the pieces clicking together in my mind like tumblers in a lock. "Waiting for me to fail. Or trying to find something they could use against me."
"That's what we think." Harper's hands were flat on the table, knuckles white against the wood grain, every line of his body tense with restrained fury. "Isolated Omega, no pack, no support. They probably figured it was just a matter of time."
Something hot and fierce rose through me—not fear, not despair. Rage.
"They figured wrong." I set the camera down harder than I meant to, the plastic cracking against the wood. "This is my land. Marguerite left it to me because she knew I'd fight for it. And I will."
The three of them exchanged looks—quick, assessing. Then Harper nodded, a hint of pride softening the hard line of his mouth.
"What do you want to do?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral, giving me the lead, his gray eyes steady on mine. "We can go to the sheriff. File a report about the cameras—that's trespassing, surveillance without consent. Might be enough to spook them."
"Or we could go public," Remy offered, leaning forward with that sharp intelligence he usually hid behind charm, his amber eyes bright with strategy. "Local news loves a David and Goliath story. Big corporation harassing a small landowner? That's bad PR they don't want."
"Lawyer first." Silas's contribution was quiet but certain, his scarred hands folded on the table, his pale gaze unwavering. "Document everything. Build a case. Then decide how to deploy it."
I looked at the cameras, at the map on Remy's phone, at the three Alphas watching me with careful attention. Waiting for my decision. Respecting my right to make it.
"Lawyer first," I agreed, nodding at Silas, my mind already racing through Marguerite's filing system. "Marguerite kept meticulous records—deeds, surveys, everything going back generations. I need to go through her files, make sure everything's in order. Then we document the cameras, the stakes, all of it." I met Harper's eyes, holding his gaze. "Sheriff after. I want to have my ammunition ready before I fire."
Harper's smile was slow and warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes, pride evident in every line of his face. "Yes ma'am."
"In the meantime..." I looked at each of them in turn, letting them see the steel underneath my skin. "I'm not hiding. I'm not running. And I'm sure as hell not selling. If Crescent Holdings wants my land, they're going to have to go through me." I bared my teeth in a grin that was all fight. "And the nine-foot alligator who lives here as well."
Remy laughed, bright and delighted, leaning back in his chair with that spark of mischief in his expression. "Have I mentioned lately that you're terrifying and I love it?"
"Noted." I stood up, gathering the cameras into a pile, already making mental lists. "Now. Who wants breakfast? I'm thinking eggs and revenge."
The morning passed in a productive blur. Harper helped me haul boxes of Marguerite's paperwork down from the attic while Silas catalogued the cameras with military precision—photographing each one, noting serial numbers, documenting the locations where they'd been found. Remy made phone calls, his charm suddenly weaponized as he sweet-talked information out of county clerks and permit offices.
By noon, we had a clearer picture. Crescent Holdings had been acquiring land around mine for two years, slowly building their resort footprint. My property was the last piece they needed—and apparently, they'd decided surveillance was easier than negotiation.
"They never even made me an offer," I realized, flipping through Marguerite's carefully organized files, my fingers pausing on a survey from 1952. "Not once. They just assumed I'd fail."
"Their mistake." Harper's voice was a low rumble from across the room where he was sorting documents into piles, his broad shoulders tense with focus. "You're not the failing type."
I looked up at him—this steady, solid man who'd walked into my bar looking for moonshine and somehow ended up in my nest. "No," I agreed softly, holding his gaze. "I'm not."
The moment stretched between us, warm and full of promise. Then Remy burst through the front door, shattering it completely.
"I have a plan!" he announced, his arms full of grocery bags, his grin wide and slightly manic, curls wild from the wind. "A brilliant plan. A plan that will solve everything."
Silas appeared in the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his chest. "Everything?" The single word was dry as dust, skepticism clear in every syllable.
"Well." Remy set the bags on the counter with a thump, already pulling items out with theatrical flourish. "One very important thing. The most important thing." He started unpacking with dramatic flair—premium cuts of steak, whole fish wrapped in butcher paper, what looked like an entire rotisserie chicken. "I am going to make peace with the gatekeeper."
