Page 2 of Hawk

While I chewed, I opened my favorite images of Ellen and did some light edits. Just some cropping, a little exposure tweak here and there before I uploaded them to the file-sharing service I used that allowed for end-to-end encryption.

Ellen hadn’t believed me when I told her how beautiful she looked, but I hoped that would change tomorrow when she looked at the full gallery. Something about seeing yourself through someone else’s lens when the lighting was soft made it click in a completely different way.

Once I checked off the last of my tasks, I shut everything down and walked back to the little house I’d bought with some of the money from my parents' life insurance. I’d been so excited to find one with an unattached garage that I was able to convert into my studio.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening working on Ellen’s photos, then sent confirmation texts for myappointments for the next few days. Spring was always a busy time, and while the back-to-back appointments could be brutal, I adored my job so it always seemed to fly by.

But I made sure to take a day off every week if only to get paperwork and business stuff out of the way. I’d spent this morning editing and was checking over my to-do list while the completed photos were added to the client’s private gallery.

I reached for my phone out of habit but noticed the red notification badge sitting on my email app. Tapping it open, I didn’t think twice about checking the message even though I didn’t recognize the sender. As a small business, I received seemingly random emails all the time, and sometimes I ended up with a new client because of them.

The subject was a little odd, though.

Thought you’d want to know…

The message loaded slowly, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw the image embedded in the body of the email.

It was a photo of Ellen. Topless and wrapped in the white sheet from her shoot, her smile soft and a little uncertain. It was one of the final frames I’d taken and the first that I had uploaded to the drive only she and I had the password to.

It had been cropped tighter than my original. Whoever sent the message had adjusted the aspect ratio, zooming in on her face and chest.

There was only one line of text below the image.

She should’ve kept her clothes on.

The phone shook in my hand as my fingers clenched around it, and for a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Nobody should have been able to access that photo.

My stomach knotted so hard it felt like I’d been punched.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

I backed out of the email and tapped frantically into my file manager, checking the encryption log and verifying the folder integrity. Everything looked normal to my untrained eye.

But right before I shut the screen, I glanced at the download history and gasped. The files had no history of being accessed by anyone but me and the client, but there were dozens of folders with downloads made on the same day, yet there was no log-on recorded.

Something had obviously gone horribly wrong because that photo had obviously been stolen. And sent to me. Which made it likely that it was the same person who had taken copies of all the other photos as well.

I couldn’t run the risk that the women who’d trusted me with an intimate piece of themselves were about to be violated in the worst possible way. I needed help, and there was only one person I could think of who might have the connections I needed to get to the bottom of this quietly.

Someone I trusted.

My heart pounded as I opened my contacts and scrolled to Lainie Evanson’s name. We hadn’t talked much since she left for college, but she was the kind of friend who wouldn’t hesitate to help no matter how long it had been.

Pressing the phone to my ear with trembling fingers, I whispered, “Please pick up. I don’t know who else to call.”

2

HAWK

My trigger finger twitched, but it wasn’t because I was itching to shoot the man with my gun pressed against his forehead. Not that the guy cowering in front of me didn’t deserve it, but because my phone was vibrating for the third damn time in my back pocket. I smirked, and the pathetic drug dealer flinched when he noticed my expression shift. I let the muzzle of my Glock drift just slightly off center, dragging it along his temple as I pulled the phone out with my free hand.

The screen lit up with a number I knew well.

Midnight.

My boss and co-owner of Iron Shield. Our motorcycle club, the Iron Rogues, owned the other half.

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