Page 116 of Mile High Daddy

His expression sobers, and just like that, the teasing disappears. “Something’s off.”

I tilt my head. “Specific.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on things, like you asked.” He sets his cup down, voice lowering. “And I’m noticing a lot of movement in town. People who don’t belong here. No one’s making noise, but something’s shifting under the surface.”

My fingers drum against the table. “Could be local crews looking for an opportunity.”

Torres shakes his head. “No. It’s not the usual players. At least not what it looks like. This isn’t New York. In fact, this is the most vanilla place I’ve ever been, which is what actually tipped me off in the first place.”

“What else?” I say, knowing Torres isn’t usually spooked.

“Truck movement. Unmarked.” He continues, “A few nights ago, I caught some moving in and out of an abandoned compound about fifteen miles outside of town. Nothing registered to anyone local. No obvious ties. No signs of a known operation. Just men bringing in shipments and leaving just as fast.”

“Drugs?” I ask.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

That makes me pause. If it’s not drugs, then what?

“Could be weapons,” I say after a moment.

Torres leans back, tapping his fingers idly against the side of his coffee cup. “It’s strange, yeah. But it’s not our problem.”

I lift a brow. “You sure about that?”

He nods. “No smoke, no fire.”

“We aren’t that far from New York,” I say. It wouldn’t be the first time someone set up business in the upstate, so close to the border.

“I don’t think any of the New York families are involved. If they were, we’d have heard something by now. Whatever’s going on at that compound, they’re keeping their heads down. Which means they’re either small-time, or they know better than to step on anyone’s toes.”

I exhale, considering. If it’s not a direct threat, then I have bigger concerns.

I drum my fingers against the table, my thoughts shifting. “No one knows I’m in town.”

Torres smirks. “Yeah, you’ve been real discreet, hanging outside coffee shops, tailing your wife.”

I shoot him a look. “Lila is my priority.”

Torres snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, no shit.” He lifts his coffee, sipping slowly like he’s entirely too entertained by this conversation.

I lean back against the booth, rolling my neck to ease the tension. If whatever’s happening out at that compound doesn’t concern me, then I won’t waste my time.

Right now, I have one focus.

Lila.

Lila isquiet the entire ride home.

Too quiet.

She usually fills the space, whether it’s with her snark, her stubbornness, or the way she sighs dramatically when I annoy her. But tonight, she just stares out the window, her fingers curled protectively over her belly.

Something is wrong.

I don’t push. Not yet.

By the time we pull up to the house, the streetlights have flickered on, casting a soft glow over the driveway. I park, shut off the engine, and glance at her. “You okay?”

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