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I stretched my neck, tilting my head one way and then the other to alleviate some of the tension, and rolled my shoulders. Blowing out a breath, I tugged my hair tie free and scratched my scalp before twisting my hair back up into a messy bun.
I shook out my hands, ready to get back to it, and caught sight of Paz. He was at the kitchen island, staring at me. And not in his usual superior, judgmental way. But with heat and longing. My eyes snapped back to my computer screen as my heart pounded against my ribcage. Damn Paz and his killer good looks. Couldn’t he see that I was chasing a hot lead?
My fingers twitched as I waited for the results of my motor vehicle search to populate. Was it just me, or was the Wi-Fi lagging? His eyes were boring into me, sending tremors coursing through me. God dammit. It made me want to run up to my room and lock the door.
This day had been intense already. I didn’t have the bandwidth to think about the way his attention ignited a fire in my core or how ridiculously hot he looked in that shirt. And I couldn’t rehash the things I had said to him. That sleeping with him had been a mistake. That I didn’t want things to go further. At the time, keeping my distance had felt necessary.
Because right now? That all felt like a total crock of shit.
We were in this together. He’d driven my car at a giant moose to make sure I was safe. He escorted me everywhere like an impeccably dressed bodyguard. And he let me be me. With my mess and my chaos and my habit of falling down the research rabbit hole. The man was making me dinner because he knew there was no way I’d remember to eat tonight with all this fresh information in my brain.
Focus, Parker. I scrolled through the registrations. Despite the small population, the county was geographically massive, so I didn’t even recognize most of the towns.
I was about to start running checks on each name when my attention snagged on two words.
“What the fuck?” I gasped, dislodging my laptop. Thankfully, though my brain was a jumbled mess, my reflexes were in tip-top shape, and I grasped it before it could slide off my lap.
I blinked several times, and finally, my tired eyes cooperated and homed in on the details.
“You okay?” Paz was looming over me, looking particularly protective and masculine.
“Sit down.”
He joined me on the couch, our bodies flush against one another. And I couldn’t help it. I sank into his warmth, a little too physically comfortable with my fake boyfriend and client.
I pointed at the screen. “Look familiar?”
He leaned forward, examining the database until his focus landed on the state registration number for a 2021 black Ducati Streetfighter V4.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Nope.” I tracked the line on the spreadsheet with my finger. “The owner of this very fancy imported Italian motorcycle is a company called Pattes Holdings. Which is headquartered at Mountain Meadows trailer park. And the registered owner of this company happens to be one Mitch motherfucking Hebert.”
Paz stood, tugging at his hair and pacing around the living room. “How is this possible? The local drug dealer drives a flashy bike registered to a shell corporation owned by Mitch Hebert? The CEO of the largest timber operation in the state? Who happens to control hundreds of miles of remote roads leading to Canada?”
I bit my lip, a smile spreading across my face. “You were the one who told me he was dirty. And now we know he’s deep in this shit.”
Pulling up the photos from our stakeout, I patted the cushion next to me. Once he sat down again, we scoured each image for even a glimpse of the motorcycle. The photos were dark and blurry, but in one photo, part of the license plate was visible behind the two street bikes. And what we could see matched the registration database.
“Zoom in on their faces,” he said, scooting closer and putting an arm across the back of the couch.
My face flushed at his proximity. I hadn’t had this type of hormonal reaction to a boy since the sophomore homecoming dance. It was embarrassing and unprofessional. Could I blame my body? This man had doled out orgasms during a blizzard, and since then, sexy times had been nonexistent. Of course my nipples were begging for his attention while my clit complained from inside my sensible cotton panties.
In several of the photos, Mitch and his brother Paul were easily recognizable, but images of the others were less clear.
“One of these guys has got to be Stinger,” I said.
Beside me, Paz was still examining the photos. “The one with the sunglasses looks younger than the others. And sort of familiar.”
I took in the mystery man. In comparison to the others, he looked to be below average height, with a lanky build. His hair was long, obscuring part of his face. The large sunglasses did the rest.
The edges of a couple of tattoos were visible near the collar of his leather jacket, but not much else.
“What’s that on his face?” Paz asked.
“I think,” I scooted closer and squinted, “it’s a tattoo. Or a really bad scar.”
The damn sunglasses hid the mark, but the thin lines looked to be part of a small tattoo.
