"Find out if he's here."
"And if he is here?"
I look at her standing in my kitchen, in my shirt, with bruises I put on her throat still visible above the collar and her eyes steady on mine even while she's talking about a man who hurt her, and the cold, tactical part of my brain that handled threats in Kandahar comes fully online.
"Then I'm going to make sure he understands that you're not available," I say.
"Ronan—"
"Get dressed," I say. "I'm taking you somewhere safe before I go to the clubhouse."
"I don't need—"
"Harper." I step closer. Not touching her, but close enough that she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. "This is nota negotiation. If Derek Sutton has money and connections and he's looking for you, he's not doing it because he wants to apologize. Men like that don't let go of things they think belong to them."
Her eyes flash. "I don't belong to anyone."
"I know that." I do touch her now, one hand on her jaw, firm but careful. "But he doesn't. And until he does, you're going somewhere I know you're covered."
She holds my gaze for three full seconds.
Then she steps back and goes to find her clothes.
I watch her go and pull out my phone.
One text to Judge:Name is Derek Sutton. Bay area. Financial consultant. Family money. Run it.
The reply comes back in under a minute:On it.
Patty Greer's house is four doors down from Harper's rental, a small craftsman with a porch that looks like it was built to hold conversations and a front door that opens before I've even cut the engine.
Patty comes out in overalls and gardening gloves, takes one look at Harper getting off the bike behind me, and nods like she's been expecting this.
"Trouble?" she asks.
"Potential trouble," I say. "I need her somewhere I'm not worried about for the next few hours."
Patty looks at Harper. Then at me. Then back at Harper with an expression that suggests she's drawing conclusions I'm not going to enjoy hearing about later.
"Inside," she says. "I just made banana bread."
Harper hesitates. Looks at me.
"I'll come back," I say.
"When?"
"When I know more."
She doesn't like it. I can see that in the set of her shoulders, the way she's holding herself like she's bracing for an argument she's too tired to have. But she doesn't argue. She just nods once and follows Patty inside.
I wait until the door closes.
Then I get back on the bike and head for the clubhouse.
Judge is waiting when I walk in. So is Stone, silent and massive at the far end of the table. Blaze is there too, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed and that grin nowhere in sight, which means this is serious.
Gear walks in thirty seconds after me, wiping grease off his hands.
