Page 2 of The Tracker (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #5)

EVANGELINE

D ownloading proprietary company data while wearing a ballgown felt exactly as sketchy as it sounded. Her fingers trembled over the keys, tension vibrating just beneath her skin like a plucked string. The low hum of the server fans filled the silence, echoing too loud in her ears.

Evangeline's stomach churned with nerves—not just fear, but adrenaline that surged like liquid fire in her veins. Her palms slipped against the keyboard, sweat pooling where her skin met plastic. The flash drive glinted beneath the dim office lights, a slim, metallic lifeline trembling between her fingertips. It wasn’t just data—it was power, and she was one slip away from losing everything.

This wasn’t the kind of thing debutantes did between champagne toasts and merger speeches.

This was the underbelly, raw and pulsing beneath the gloss of gala lights and stockholder smiles.

And she was buried in it, silk gown sticking to her legs with sweat, adrenaline roaring through her veins.

Her heart thudded so hard it shook her ribs, each beat like a countdown to detonation.

The danger wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was here, in the air, electric and lethal. And she had never felt more alive.

But then again, she'd always known the tiara came with shackles—gilded and polished, but tight all the same. Expectations passed down like heirlooms. Smiles rehearsed, roles assigned. But tonight, she wasn't the princess. Not the prop. Not the prize.

Tonight, she was the thief breaking out of the palace. The saboteur inside the gates. And with every keystroke, every stolen byte of data, she wasn't just bending rules—she was tearing up the whole damn script.

Evangeline hunched over her desk, her navy silk gown hiked up and tucked into her waistband like some desperate battlefield maneuver. The absurdity of her couture-meets-cloak-and-dagger act wasn’t lost on her, but there was no time for irony.

Her fingers moved in a blur, the clack of keys too loud in the silence, syncing with the frantic beat of her pulse.

The blue loading bar on the screen crept forward, maddeningly slow, each pixel another breath she held too long.

Her breathing was shallow, heart thudding in her chest like it wanted to claw its way out.

Sweat traced a path down her back, sticking the silk to her skin as if even her dress knew how dangerous this moment was.

Every second felt like an eternity. Her thoughts ran wild: what if Peter came looking?

What if someone already knew? Her palms slick on the keyboard, her stomach fluttering with panic—and beneath it, something sharper.

Anticipation. That dangerous, heady thrill that only came from doing something she absolutely wasn’t supposed to.

She was terrified. And she was alive.

"Ten percent. Come on, you overpriced memory stick."

Keely chuckled, lounging near the window, heels dangling from her fingers, chewing gum like she was tailgating instead of committing corporate espionage. “Why do you even need a backup? I thought you had access to the master system.”

“I do. But if I log in from an outside IP now, they’ll know something’s off. This is cleaner. Local. Safer.”

Keely nodded like she was following, then popped her gum. “Nerd speak makes my brain itch.”

Evangeline rolled her eyes, a tight laugh threatening at the corner of her mouth, but the tension in her chest loosened by an inch.

The sound of Keely's gum pop and deadpan sarcasm was a lifeline—proof they weren’t drowning yet.

If Keely could still crack jokes, then they hadn’t crossed fully into catastrophe. Not yet. Not quite.

Evangeline glanced over. “You lick USBs for fun.”

“For your information,” Keely said, hopping onto the edge of the desk, “it was an HDMI cable, it was just the one time, and I was very drunk. These days I confine all my licking to Jesse—most often his very large dick.”

Evangeline snorted. “Semantics.”

The door creaked open. Both women froze. A uniformed guard stepped in, expression bland but curious.

“Oh it's you Ms. Shaw? Mr. Rhodes was asking for you.”

Evangeline straightened slowly. “Was he?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was concerned. Asked us to keep an eye out. I can walk you down.”

Before Evangeline could form a coherent lie, Keely stood and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Appreciate it, but she just needed to grab her migraine meds. We’re heading down now.”

The guard hesitated, his fingers twitching once before he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“Found her. On the PR floor,” he said, voice clipped, with an undercurrent of something sharper—alertness, suspicion, maybe even fear.

The words felt like a detonator click in Evangeline’s chest. Her breath caught, climbing fast, hot and choking, leaving no room to breathe.

Keely went rigid beside her, the shift in her energy so sudden it felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Evangeline’s heart stuttered, breath catching as if her body had forgotten how to function for half a second.

A chill raced up her spine. Keely’s jaw ticked, the transformation immediate—her playful poise hardening into something lethal.

The glint in her eyes turned from teasing to tactical, and for a split second, Evangeline saw the woman who had once stared down smugglers without blinking.

The danger wasn’t just real—it was close, and Keely was already calculating the fastest way out.

Keely's smile went razor sharp. “I wish you hadn't done that. Now there'll be a big fuss, and Evvy just wanted to make her exit quietly.”

“Protocol,” the man said. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Sure,” Keely replied sweetly. “Well, you keep doing your rounds. We’ll catch the elevator.”

Dragging Evangeline behind her, Keely beelined for the elevator bank. As the doors slid shut, she pulled out her phone and typed furiously, thumbs flying across the screen.

"Texting Jesse," she muttered. "Told him we’re in motion. PR floor now. Exit plan in play."

A second later, her phone buzzed. Keely scanned the reply.

"He’s at the valet loop. Told us to meet him at the stairwell exit. Six floors down."

She shoved the phone back into her clutch. "We need to move... now."

The elevator dinged and they ran for the stairs, Evangeline clutching the flash drive like it might explode.

They made it down two floors before they heard a door open above them and voices echoing behind them.

Evangeline's pulse spiked, feet pounding faster on the concrete steps. Sweat slicked her spine as adrenaline surged. She glanced back up, saw shadows closing in, and pushed harder. “They’re in the stairwell!” she hissed.

“Shit.”

The two women pelted down the stairs, Evangeline huffing as her train came loose again. They burst through the exit into the night just as a black SUV pulled up hard at the curb.

Jesse Bryant—blond hair tousled, tux undone, and calm as ever—leaned across the front seat. “Move, ladies!”

They dove inside. Keely slammed the door shut just as Evangeline heard the exit door flinging open and pounding footsteps on the sidewalk behind them.

“We’ve got a tail,” Jesse said. “Hang on.”

The SUV peeled away from the curb, tires screeching. Through the back window, two more black vehicles followed. Evangeline’s heart pounded.

“Silver Spur or Iron Spur?” Keely asked.

“We’re closer to Iron,” Jesse muttered. He reached for his comm. “Reed, we’re inbound. Two cars on our six. Coming in hot.” He turned to Keely, "Your brother is going to love this."

The streets of San Antonio streaked by in a smear of headlights and neon reflections, the SUV a speeding bullet cutting through the heart of the city.

Evangeline's breath hitched with every sharp turn Jesse made, the seatbelt biting into her ribs as the world outside tilted and spun.

The Riverwalk glimmered to their left—serene and oblivious—its tranquil surface mocking the chaos inside the vehicle.

Jesse turned hard without warning, tires shrieking as they fishtailed onto a narrow, dimly lit side street.

The buildings closed in, tighter and tighter, the brick and stucco crowding around them like walls in a trap.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Keely reached over and grabbed Evangeline's hand, grounding her, her grip tight and wordless.

Ahead, a set of wrought-iron gates rose from the darkness like the jaws of something ancient and unyielding. Armed security stepped from a booth, rifles leveled, faces unreadable. For one breathless moment, no one moved.

Then, recognition clicked into place. The guards nodded once. The gates groaned open.

They were in.

Inside, the club’s private lot was lit like a fortress. As Jesse braked, the black SUVs behind them slowed, spotted the rifles, and thought better of continuing. They peeled off with tires howling.

Jesse exhaled and turned to Evangeline. “Welcome to The Iron Spur.”

Keely waited for Jesse to open the passenger door and help them out. Reed Malone stood waiting. His dark eyes swept over his sister.

“Nice of you to drop in,” he said, hugging Keely tight. Then he turned to Evangeline. “Wasn't sure I'd ever see you here Evvy. Come on. Let’s get you out of sight.”

He led her through a heavy side entrance door and up a flight of stairs to a narrow hallway above the main floor.

A small office perched above the lounge, offering a partial but elevated view of the club’s heart—its dungeon floor below.

The space was discreet and soundproof, but not blind.

Evangeline sank into the leather chair by the conference table, breath still shallow.

“Take a deep breath Evvy. You're safe here. We'll take care of you,” Reed said. “Sit tight. I’ll bring water and something to eat.”