Page 68 of The Keeper

While Derek recounted the events surrounding the robbery, my eyes wandered to the framed photos on the shelf behind his desk. Most were of the bakery and people I assumed were his family, but one caught my attention. It was Piper, laughing as she frosted a cake. The sight of her carefree smile made my chest ache.

“That’s a good picture of Piper,” I said, nodding to the frame.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, I took that when we were updating our website photos a few years back. Not bad for a phone camera, right? I may have missed my calling as a photographer.”

I ground my molars together, resisting the urge to tell him he was liable to throw his shoulder out, yanking his own dick the way he was. Instead, I settled for, “What if our investigation leads back to you? What then?”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he laughed. “I take it you’re not familiar with Ross Williams.”

“The oil guy?” I asked, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

Derek’s laugh immediately set my teeth on edge. “Yeah, the ‘oil guy.’ Number 302 on the Forbes 400 list of richest people in Americaand my old man.” He leaned back, resting his arms on the chair rests. “What possible motivation would I have to rob my own bakery?”

The question hung in the air, effectively shutting me up. I glanced at Carnage, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“Look,” Derek continued, his tone softening. “I get it. You’re protective of Piper, and you want answers. So do I. My employees should feel safe coming to work.”

Carnage nodded, his expression unreadable. “We’ll draw up a contract and get started as soon as it’s signed. You have my word. We’ll find whoever’s responsible.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. He reached into his desk, pausing to check his phone before retrieving the thick folder lying beneath it and sliding it across to us. “Here’s everything I thought you might need—past and present employee records, regular customer information, and details on the neighboring businesses. I’ve also arranged for you to have full access to our security feeds. Maybe you’ll be able to spot something I haven’t.”

As we stood to leave, Derek pulled me aside. “One more thing, Dane. About Piper…” He lowered his voice. “She’s out of vacation time. I’ve got her on the schedule starting tomorrow, but I don’t want her feeling pressured to come in before she’s ready. I’m willing to put her on paid leave until then, but I wanted to get your thoughts on it.”

I eyed him warily, taken aback by the unexpected generosity. Was this the same guy who’d been pressuring Piper to pick up shifts just a few weeks ago?

“That’s…actually really decent of you,” I said, struggling to keep the surprise out of my voice. “I appreciate it, and I know she will too.”

Derek nodded, his expression softening. “I get it, man. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t want her leaving the house until we knew who was behind this shit.”

I found myself agreeing before I could stop myself. Fuck. Had I been reading this guy all wrong? His actions didn’t match up with the picture I’d built in my head of Piper’s asshole boss.

“There’s, uh…another reason it might be good for her to stay away for the time being,” Derek continued, hesitating before reaching into his desk drawer. He pulled out a manila envelope and held it out to me with a grim expression. “One of my employees found this in the back this morning.”

My stomach dropped as I opened it to find a crudely photoshopped image of Piper’s face on a bound and naked body being gang-banged by a group of bikers.

No words accompanied the image.

None were needed.

The message was crystal fucking clear.

Stay with the biker, end up as a club whore.

My laptop screen flickered with surveillance footage, casting an eerie glow in Piper’s darkened kitchen. Despite the high resolution, my eyes burned from the strain of scrutinizing every goddamned pixel.

I pressed the pads of my fingers against my eye sockets and leaned back in my chair, feeling a tension headache coming on. Its vise-like grip tightened around my temples, souring my mood even further. I’d spent the entire day combing through security footage, refusing to stop until we had a lead.

Carnage pulled his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “Without a clear shot of the back hallway, there’s no way to see who left this.”

My jaw ticked, rage gnawing at me like a relentless itch I couldn’t scratch. I wanted to tear the metroplex apart brick by fucking brick until I found the piece of shit responsible.

I scrubbed a hand over my face in a bid to stay awake when something caught my eye—a delivery guy I hadn’t noticed before entering through a side door.

“Hey,” I said, tapping the screen. “We get IDs on the people who make deliveries?”

“A few. Jimmy’s still working on it,” Carnage muttered, slipping his glasses back on before leaning in to study the figure. “Looks like the SKS Food Distribution logo, so he is—” He turned to his tablet. “Isaac Scott. No criminal record. He’s been working for SKS for two years.”

“He’s at the bakery multiple times a week and would have had full access to the lockers in the back. Any of them would, for that matter.”

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