Page 15 of Queen of Rebels (Shifters of Sherwood #3)

The sharp rap on the hideout's door jolts me from sleep. My heart slams against my ribs as I reach for the closest weapon – which turns out to be one of Guy's stolen books. Real threatening, Maren.

But then a voice calls out: "Doordash. Anybody home?”

I don’t move, reality slow to pierce my sleepy mind.

“And if you don't let me in soon,” the voice adds, “this coffee’s getting cold."

At the sound of the magic word—coffee—I leap to my feet.

"Zayn?" I'm already moving toward the door when a hand catches my wrist—LJ.

"Wait." His voice is soft but carries that edge of authority that makes my spine tingle. He nods to Will, who takes up position beside the door. Even Tuck has gone still, his usual nervous energy focused to a sharp point.

"Guys, it's just Zayn," I protest, but I know it’s pointless. I guess trust is...complicated when you're fugitives. Even though we don’t exactly have an overflow of allies.

Rob, though, ignores them, and throws a glare at both LJ and Will as he strides across the room and opens the door. Sure enough, there's Zayn, somehow managing to balance two drink carriers and multiple paper bags while grinning like this is a normal hangout. "Thought you all could use breakfast." His eyes sweep the room, taking in our defensive positions. "What, you need to sweep me for explosives or something? It’s from the place right in town, I promise.”

"Can't be too careful these days," Rob says. “ Apparently. ” He glances at LJ again.

Zayn's smile falters slightly when he sees LJ's milky eye.

“Just some dissension in the ranks,” I say quickly, willing the awkward moment to pass. “Cabin fever. Nothing to worry about.”

To his credit, Zayn recovers quickly, setting his offerings on our makeshift table. "Y’all are okay with gas station drip, right?"

Will looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“I’m kidding,” Zayn says. “You should’ve seen the look on your face, though. Hilarious.”

"It's not hilarious to have standards," Will says from his corner, but he drifts closer, looking relieved.

“Well, it’s not espresso, but it’s not swill either," Zayn goes on, pulling items from the bags. "Plus some apple fritters. And plain glazed for Rob, because he’s boring."

"Reliable," Rob corrects.

On the one hand, it's such a normal moment – friends sharing breakfast, giving each other shit – that my throat tightens. When was the last time we did anything this ordinary?

And when will we ever again?

But there's an undercurrent of tension I can't quite place. Tuck keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes not sure where to land.. Will maintains a careful distance once he grabs his coffee. And LJ...

LJ hasn't moved from his spot by the door. He’s watching Zayn with the kind of fierceness in his good eye that I haven’t seen since...well, I first arrived into their lives and I thought he hated me.

I’m guessing LJ and Zayn’s relationship won’t end up the same way, though.

"I’ve got a good cover story in for you," Zayn adds quickly. "Got Wheatley and the boys convinced you're hiding out near the state line...maybe. Just a vague enough location that they’re not going to truck all the way out there yet.”

LJ makes a grunting sound that could be approval...or disapproval. Zayn, though, looks unfazed.

"So," he goes on, settling into one of our rickety chairs. "I come bearing donuts and information.”

"In that order?" Will asks mildly, but his eyes are sharp.

"Depends." Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. "How much do you know about this whole...” He gestures. “...crime wave thing?”

“You mean there are crimes in Sherwood we’re not responsible for?” Rob says. “Damn, I’m almost insulted. Someone’s horning in on my territory.”

"Yeah, well, here’s the thing." Zayn leans forward, voice dropping. "Wheatley’s got me on desk duty lately. I don’t know why, but something’s stuck in his craw. So I’ve been filing incident reports, organizing evidence catalogs, that kind of thing.

"Sounds riveting," Will drawls, but I catch the way his fingers still on his coffee cup.

“Yeah, it’s absolute bitch work. And the other guys keep piling it on because they know I’m technically a provisional re-hire. So I’ve been seeing a lot, is what I’m saying.”

“And?” LJ says.

“It’s...” Zayn glances at the door like he half-expects his fellow deputies to materialize. "I started noticing some weird patterns.”

“Patterns?” Tuck echoes.

Zayn nods. “Okay, like, last month. String of assaults in East Nottingham, over the train tracks. I’m reviewing the incident reports, standard procedure to get two sets of eyes on them before they’re filed, whatever. But I saw that the response times were...odd.”

“Odd how?” I ask. “Like no one showed up?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, the opposite. Deputies arriving almost too fast. Like, too fast to take all these victim statements, let alone drive there. So I follow up with the contact information of these supposed victims...” He shrugs, empty-handed. “All the numbers out of service.”

“So they skipped town,” Will says. “Would you stick around after being beat up by hoodlums?”

Hoodlums? Tuck mouths, frowning, but I wave him off.

“Or, okay, how about this, then?” Zayn says, an edge to his voice. “That shooting at the old flour mill, the warehouse? Over on the other side of MegaValu?”

“I know that place,” I say. “That’s where the bad kids from school used to sneak off and smoke weed.”

“What are you implying, pretty lady?”

“Not me!” I say hotly. “Just...you know, small town. You hear stuff.”

“Right, so, they called an ambo for that, obvious,” Zayn says, getting us back on track. “I checked the emergency response logs? The ambulances were at the MegaValu gassing up when they got the call.”

“That’s...suspicious,” Rob hedges. “What are you getting at, here?”

“Is it?” Will counters. “Gas there has gotta be cheap.”

“We have our own EMT and LEO fueling station at the sheriff’s office,” Zayn says matter-of-factly. “Can’t beat government prices. So the fact that they were there at all is...yeah, suspicious.” He looks at Rob. “I guess I’m saying that this crime wave looks phony as shit.” He pulls a folded paper from his jacket. "Look at these response logs. Three separate armed robberies last week, all with identical witness statements. Word for word. Like someone copied and pasted without bothering to change the details."

Rob takes the paper, frowning.

"Look at the one from Chen’s Market—the little corner store on Marion Street," Zayn instructs, pointing. "Report says three men, knives, very threatening, right? Except I talked to Mrs. Chen herself. I used to buy Sour Patch Kids from her back in the day, get my mom a TV Guide. Mrs. Chen wouldn’t lie to me. Says she was there all evening, never saw a thing. When I told her there was an aggravated assault out there, she said no way. Couldn’t believe it.”

Tuck takes the paper from Rob, and motions for Zayn to hand the rest over. He studies them, face intent.

“These are all addresses around the forest,” he says. “East Nottingham to this edge of town, then cutting southeast.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “I saw that too. So what?”

“So...it matches what we found in his office," Tuck says quietly. "The development plans, the property acquisitions—that’s right around the parcels he has earmarked."

“Hold up. Found in whose office?” Zayn looks alarmed. “You didn’t...”

Tuck goes sheepish. “We...might have broken into Guy’s house last night.”

Zayn’s eyes go wide. “Who’s we?”

“Me and Maren,” Tuck says, a note of pride in his voice.

“Watch it,” LJ says, warning in his tone. “You wanna incriminate yourself in front of a lawman?”

It could be a joke, but I can tell he’s deadly serious. LJ doesn’t trust Zayn, he’s made that much clear. And I’m not sure he ever will.

“Gisbourne’s got a whole scheme,” I say, and lay it out as quickly as I can.

“Damn,” Zayn says, after I’ve walked him through everything, with a few assists by Tuck. “That’s what this is all about? Some landgrab?”

“That’s what I said,” I cry, smacking the table. “It’s almost too boring.”

“Damn,” Zayn says again, slumping a little. “I was hoping he was into some Scarface shit. Real estate’s practically white collar crime.”

“White collar crime is still a crime,” Tuck points out.

“And convincing people to leave their homes under false pretenses is hardly a victimless one,” Will cuts in. "Which they inevitably will, given the apparent crime wave in those exact neighborhoods."

“Hang on.” Zayn’s brow knits, and I can practically see the gears turning in his eyes. He pulls out his phone, which is struggling to get even one bar, but manages to call up his browser and tap away a search request. “Yeah, I thought so. Suspicious as hell.”

He puts the phone on the table, spins it around so we can see.

“Guess who showed up yesterday to make a concerned statement about rising violence in our community?"

The headline screams DA CANDIDATE GISBOURNE DECRIES CRIMINAL ACTIVITY, CALLS FOR IMPROVED POLICING.

“Of course he’d be right on the scene,” I almost spit.

"With news cameras in tow." Will’s laugh holds no humor. "Real touching speech about how Sherwood deserves better. How he'll restore order when he's DA."

“And no mention of just how much this little crime wave of his will tank land valuations,” Tuck puts in. “So that the eminent domain offers can be bottom dollar.”

Rob rubs his jaw. “Man, fuck this guy and the damn horse he rode in on.”

Zayn pockets his phone again, looks at each of us in turn. "So what’s...how deep do you think this thing goes?"

I look at the pile of papers. Think of John and Guy, toasting their genius success at the Fox Hunt Club. At my father’s money— my money—going to help exactly the wrong people.

"Deep enough,” I say.

A heavy silence follows. I watch Zayn process it all. His hands clench around his coffee cup, knuckles tense. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a while, and I wish we had something to offer him besides stale snacks and some leftover deer meat.

“So now what?” To my surprise, LJ’s the first to break the stalemate. “That’s all I wanna know.” He stares hard, right at Zayn. “Now. What.”

“Now we move." Rob's voice has that edge that means he's ready to fight. “We pulverize the bastard—”

“Easy, jailbird,” LJ says, and Rob relents.

“Fine. We...take what we know, and—"

“Make sure other people understand it, too,” Tuck interrupts, more forcefully than usual, and Rob stops, surprised. I have to stifle a smirk at his newfound boldness.

“Well, proceed, then,” Rob says.

Tuck swallows and goes on. “Look, it took us ages just to unspool it all ourselves last night, right? This is technical stuff. Not easy to put on a bumper sticker, or whatever. There’s no clear smoking gun. Guy knows how to hide his tracks, and if we confront him directly—well, it’s not like he can’t fire right back with pretty surefire evidence of our guilt of...” He looks briefly at the ceiling, tallying. “...at least several federal crimes each.”

“Okay,” Rob says. “So your point is...”

“They need to see the forest for the trees. We can’t just shove spreadsheets in people’s faces. They’ll fall asleep. Evidence means nothing if people don’t see what it’s pointing at.”

“And there won’t be any people here if we wait too long,” Rob counters.

“Evictions are picking up,” Zayn puts in. “I’ve processed a lot of those too. It’s getting ugly out there.”

“See?” Rob says. “If we wait—”

“But if we blow our only chance—”

"You're both right," I cut in, and they turn to look at me. "We need to move fast and smart, okay? We have to figure out how to destroy him from the inside. Without ending up in handcuffs,” I add. “We have to meet people where they are.”

“But where are they?” LJ asks gruffly.

“Exactly,” Will says. “Going to post on Facebook, or something?”

“No,” I say hotly. I look at LJ. “In a literal sense?” I chew my lip, thinking. Where do people go in Sherwood? Not the Fox Hunt Club—too insular and small, and I’d be recognized in a heartbeat. I need somewhere big and busy, where I can blend in but still get attention when I want it...

Zayn straightens suddenly, nearly knocking over his coffee. "The auction."

"What auction?" Will asks, arching a brow.

“Mason's Farm, this Saturday. It’s county-owned property—half the county will be ther,” Zayn goes on, looking to me for support.

A vague memory stirs in my mind. “The place with the homemade ice cream?

“Yeah. I think it's the biggest dairy operation in Sherwood." Zayn leans forward, warming to this idea. "Honestly, it’d be a perfect place to spread information. Everyone talks at these things, shares gossip..."

"And no one would look twice at a few more people showing up to bid," Rob says thoughtfully.

“They would if they’re wanted felons,” I shoot back. “You’re not going, Rob. Don’t even think about it.”

Rob pouts, but nods. “I know I’m not. And I have a sneaking suspicion I know who is.”

I straighten up. “Is that such a problem?”

“We just don’t want you hurt,” LJ says, and the tenderness in his word twinges at my heart.

“Well, I’m fired up,” I say. “This has gotten personal. I mean...” It’s already been personal, I realize. “ More personal.” I clench a fist. “I want to be the one to turn people on him. It’d give me great satisfaction.”

“Gisbourne’s doing a town hall at Second Methodist that day,” Zayn says, scanning his phone and holding up what appears to be Guy’s campaign website. “So a good half-hour away. I’m on patrol duty that day too...I could tail him for you if you’re at the auction, Maren. Could get you a burner phone to get in touch with me.”

He says it brightly, casting around the guys for approval and getting nothing from anyone but Rob—less than nothing from LJ.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “I’m there.”

“Great. Though...” Zayn's enthusiasm falters as he really looks at me.

“What?”

"You might want to..." He gestures vaguely at my entire existence. "You look a little..." He squints, like he’s searching for a diplomatic word.

"Feral?" Tuck supplies helpfully.

"Like someone who's been living in a bootlegger's shack for longer than any human should?" Will says.

“Hey!” I object.

"I was going to say 'rustic,'" Zayn mutters. “But okay.”

"We can fix that," Tuck says quickly, probably trying to head off my rising urge to throw things at Will's perfect head. "Right?"

Rob's looking at me with that expression that usually means I'm not going to like what comes next. "Oh, of course," he says slowly, "We definitely know someone who can help with that."