Page 7 of Protecting Lainey (Broterhood Alliance #7)

Gus and his crew spent a good chunk of the morning cleaning up the mess and whitewashing the mural. The police stopped by again, took a report, promised more of a presence and gave a helpful suggestion that she should install security cameras.

Great. This looked so bad for her.

Lainey groaned under her breath. She needed this job, needed to complete it, needed to keep her reputation intact. But it seemed like it was all going down the toilet. Fast.

She stared at the freshly covered wall and glanced down at her phone again.

No updates.

No payment notice.

The city’s finance department was slow even on good days, but after two police visits and the second act of vandalism, they most likely were looking for reasons to delay the next check or worse.

And since she wasn’t technically a city employee, just an independent contractor, she had no protection—no HR, no city insurance and no one higher up to go to bat for her.

She’d already submitted an invoice for the last milestone. Already paid Gus and his crew out of pocket. But if the next installment of cash didn’t come through, she’d be covering payroll out of her own dwindling funds and crossing her fingers the city didn’t pull the plug.

“I’m not sure what to do,” she said quietly to Gus, dropping onto the picnic table they set up beside one of the buildings. She’d packed lunch that morning, but there was no way of eating now without vomiting. Not the image of confidence she wanted to project.

She stared out across the site as a hot breeze stirred up dust and the scent of drying paint. “The police won’t be much help,” said Lainey. “They’ll file a report, maybe increase the number of patrol cars. I wonder if the city will provide funds for security cameras. It’s in their best interest.”

Even as she said the words, she winced. Oh, she really did not want to go that route. Tell the city she lost control of the project because of a few punk kids? Riiight. Like they’d keep her on. If she were them, she would immediately replace the project manager.

Lainey’s throat tightened. What the hell was she going to do?

Gus sat on the bench across from her, unwrapped his sandwich, and took a bite. “I called a buddy of mine at the city planning office. Figured I’d ask a few questions.”

“You what?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said with a shrug. “Things aren’t going well here. I have a family and a crew I’m responsible for. I need to be prepared if the rug’s about to be pulled.”

“I understand.” Lainey let out a breath. Gus was right to be concerned. This project was her responsibility. “And?”

“Nothing’s official.” Gus took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly—too slowly, like he didn’t want to say what was next. “Some of the council members are getting antsy. They don’t like bad press and don’t like the mess.”

Lainey’s stomach dropped. “Are they going to pull out?”

“Not yet. But they’re looking for reasons. You know how it goes.”

“Shit, what am I going to do?” she asked, dragging her hands down her face. “So … is there money for cameras, or is that on me, too?”

“Most likely you,” Gus said. “Unless your contract says differently, damage like this? It’s up to you to clean it up and stop it from happening again.”

Lainey shook her head and stared at the ground, looking for answers that weren’t there. “My insurer will say I didn’t secure the site. Or that I should’ve had surveillance already. They’ll hike my rates just for calling.”

“Then don’t call yet,” Gus said. “Get ahead of it. Install cameras. Patch the leak before the boat sinks.”

Lainey let out a bitter laugh. “This is a disaster. I need this job, Gus. If word gets out, I can’t keep a site safe…”

Gus crumpled his sandwich wrapper and stood. “Lainey.”

She looked up.

His voice was quiet. “You’re not alone in this.”

She blinked.

“I might know someone who can take a look. Quietly. Unofficially.”

Her brows narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means”—Gus cracked a faint grin—“I’ve been around for a while. Let me check with a friend of mine. See what he can do.”

The sun was dropping low in the sky as Finn turned down the familiar road toward the Brotherhood campus. He planned to talk to Chase about the shelter and check in with Caleb before the week got away from him.

His dashboard lit up with an incoming call.

Gus Navarro!

Finn frowned. He usually gave a casual wave to Gus since he was working just down the street, but they hadn’t talked for quite a while.

He pressed the call button. “Navarro, what’s going on?”

“Ryder.”

“What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Been busy.” Gus paused. “Got a situation I wouldn’t mind you taking a look at.”

Finn glanced in his rearview mirror, slowing for a turn onto Hatcher Avenue. “Okay … talk to me.”

“The historic redevelopment project? It’s been vandalized a couple of times now. Broken windows, paint thrown at a mural, threatening messages. Might be something. Might be nothing.”

Finn thought about the project a few blocks from where his crew was working. Thought about Travis and Dean, who looked suspicious.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “You think it’s targeted?”

“Cops think it’s kids,” Gus said. “But I’ve got my doubts. Feels more deliberate. Project manager could use a second set of eyes. Unofficially. I know you’ve handled this kind of thing before.”

He had.

Too many times.

Finn turned onto Ironwood Drive and then down the gravel drive to the Brotherhood campus.

“I can do it tomorrow. I’ll check in with my crew first, then swing by.”

“Appreciate it.”

The call disconnected.

It was probably nothing. A kid with a can of spray paint.

But Gus wasn’t a nervous nelly. He’d been in the business for a long time. If he thought something was off—it probably was.