Page 39 of Torgash

She's not Carman—some idealistic kid who got in over her head. Nova's steel wrapped in flesh, and she just proved it by crossing every line she's drawn to protect this town.

Ten minutes ago, she was fighting this war with one hand tied behind her back, following every rule in the book. Now she's ready to fight dirty.

I thought Nova following rules was dangerous. Turns out that was her with the leash on.

Watching her break free from those self-imposed rules is the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.

Chapter Eight

Nova

I'm losing my mind, and it has nothing to do with the work, that's progressing faster than I dared hope. The interviews with displaced families have revealed a pattern more systematic than I initially suspected. Under-the-table cash bonuses for "early departures." Above-market offers with twenty-four-hour deadlines. And when residents hesitated or refused, follow-up visits from men who weren't there to negotiate.

Mrs. Henderson described them perfectly: "Big fellas who didn't say much, just stood on my porch looking at my grandkids playing in the yard." The Garcia family got a similar visit after turning down Royce's first offer. Suddenly their cattle started getting sick, their well water tested contaminated. Coincidences that weren't coincidences at all.

Working from the MC's war room should make this easier. Instead, what's driving me insane is the suffocating presence of Ash Thornshade.

He's everywhere. Reviewing legal briefs over my shoulder. Questioning my investigative methods. Hovering like a six-foot-four shadow every time I take a phone call or step outside for air. Security, he calls it. Joint task force cooperation.

This is control wrapped in his legal terminology, and we both know it.

"The Garcia deposition needs to be moved up," I tell him without looking away from my laptop screen. "Royce's people contacted them yesterday. Offered to settle for triple their original mortgage value if they withdraw their complaint."

Ash leans over my chair to scan the notes, his chest brushing my back. The contact makes my pulse spike despite my irritation. He smells like leather and warm spice that I can't identify, but makes me want to lean closer.

"Smart move on his part," he says, his words rumbling near my ear, reminding me we're working on cases and not whatever my brain was just doing. "Buy them off before they can testify about the forged documents."

I lean forward, creating an inch of space between us. It's not much, but it gives me enough room to think. "Which is why we need their sworn statement today. Before he sweetens the offer enough to make them reconsider." I shift to glance at him. "Can you arrange it?"

"Already done. Henry Garcia will be here at three."

Of course, he's already handled it. Ash anticipates my needs before I voice them, coordinates witnesses before I ask, reviews evidence with the kind of thoroughness that should reassure me, but instead feels like another form of surveillance.

"You could have mentioned that earlier," I mutter, irritated when I should be thankful.

"I'm mentioning it now."

I turn to glare at him, but he's already moved away, settling into the chair across from me with that casual sprawlthat somehow looks both relaxed and predatory. Days of close quarters, and I still can't read him—every gesture calculated, every expression controlled. Layers of carefully guarded information locked away behind those amber depths.

Except for his gaze. The way it tracks my movements when he thinks I'm not watching. The subtle flare of his nostrils when I lean close to point out details on his screen. The careful distance he maintains, like he's fighting the same unwanted awareness that's been eating at me since I walked into this room. His breathing changes. His jaw tightens. His hands clench briefly before he forces them to relax.

My phone buzzes. Santos's name flashes on the screen.

"Sheriff, we've got a situation at the Caldwell farm. Vandalism, but it looks deliberate. Property destruction, threatening messages spray-painted on the barn."

I grab my jacket, already standing. "I'll be right there."

"Whoa." Ash rises too, blocking my path to the door. His massive frame fills the doorway, and for a second, I'm struck by just how much space he takes up. How solid he is. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To do my job. You know, that thing I was hired for?"

"Your job is building a case against Royce. Santos and Walker can handle vandalism."

"My job," I say, stepping closer, close enough to catch that leather and spice scent again, "is protecting the people of this county. All of them. Not just the ones convenient to our investigation."

His pupils dilate slightly. His nostrils flare. We're standing close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his stare, and the angle makes my breath catch. "The people trying to hurt you are still out there, Nova. The sedan that ran you off the road? The surveillance equipment in your office? None of that disappears because we're making progress on Royce."

"So I'm supposed to hide in here indefinitely? Let Santos handle everything while I play desk jockey in your bunker?"

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