Page 25

Chapter Eleven

Ash

N ova's twenty-three minutes late, and something restless prowls through my chest.

I check the war room's secure entrance again, scanning the empty parking lot behind the clubhouse. No county cruiser. No sign of the woman who's been arriving at nine sharp every morning for the past week, armed with case files and that stubborn determination that makes my chest tight.

The Garcia deposition is scheduled for eleven, and she wants to prep the witness beforehand. We should be reviewing testimony by now.

I pull out my phone and call Knox. "Yeah, boss?"

"Where's Nova?"

"Station. Normal route this morning, apartment, coffee stop, then there."

"What's keeping her?"

"Don't know. She's just... been inside longer than usual." Knox pauses. "Santos rolled up maybe ten minutes ago, so maybe she was waiting for him? But she should've been done by now."

Something's off. Nova doesn't wait around for small talk. She grabs what she needs and moves. And she definitely doesn't need Santos for anything related to our case.

"Any visitors? Anyone else go in or out?"

"Negative. Just her, then Santos. Roberta hasn't shown yet."

I end the call and check the time again. Nine twenty-five. Maybe I did wear her out last night. The thought makes my mouth curve despite the irritation gnawing at my chest. She'd been responsive as hell, coming apart in my hands like she'd been starving for it.

But Nova's tougher than that. A few hours of good sex wouldn't slow her down, if anything, she'd be sharper. More focused.

So what's keeping her?

The Garcia deposition can't be delayed. Mrs. Garcia is nervous enough about testifying against Royce's people without us showing up unprepared. And if Nova is running behind on prep work, it could compromise the entire case.

I spend the next fifteen minutes pacing the war room, checking my phone every few minutes. The Garcia files sit ready on the strategy table, but without Nova's witness prep notes, I can't do much more than review what we already know.

Nine forty-five comes and goes. Then nine fifty.

I'm about to call her cell when I finally hear tires on gravel outside.

When Nova finally walks through the door, I'm ready to give her shit about the timing.

"The Garcias are already nervous about testifying. We can't afford to—"

The words die in my throat.

Her shoulders are rigid, spine straight as a steel rod. Her face carries that careful blankness she wore when we first met—jaw set, eyes focused on everything except me, lips pressed into a thin line. She moves with sharp, efficient motions, every gesture controlled and deliberate.

This is different from the competence she puts on for witnesses or court hearings. This is colder, more distant. The woman who saw me as just another threat to manage.

The annoyance dies, replaced by something darker. Something that makes tension coil through my ribs.

"The judge is running behind," she says without meeting my eyes, dropping her laptop bag onto the strategy table. "The Garcias' deposition was pushed to noon."

Her voice carries no trace of last night. No acknowledgment of what passed between us, no lingering warmth from the way she'd curled against my chest and trusted me with her secrets.

That's when the worry kicks in. Real worry, not just irritation about being late.

Something happened between when I left her apartment and walking through this door. Something that put those walls back up and locked me out completely.

"Nova." I move toward her, but she steps away, putting the table between us.

"Then we can review the Williams testimony before the Garcias arrive." She flips open her laptop, fingers already flying across the keys. "Their timeline doesn't match the bank records. It’s just like all the others."

I put my palms on the table and lean in. "Look at me."

"The discrepancy could be—" She's blocking me.

"Look at me." I don't raise my voice, but authority bleeds through.

Nova's hands pause on the keyboard. When she finally lifts her head, her eyes hold nothing. No anger, no regret, no echo of the woman who'd whispered my real name like she owned it.

Just cold, empty assessment.

"What happened?" The question comes out rougher than intended. It's not guilt asking, it's genuine concern. Fear. Because this isn't morning-after regret. This is something deeper.

"Nothing happened." She returns to her screen. "We have work to do, Ash. We need to focus."

Her pulse jumps at her throat when she says it. The lie makes her breathing shallow, barely perceptible unless you know what to look for.

But the restless energy under my skin won't settle. There's more than just the cold shoulder and careful distance. Nova's scent carries traces of anxiety, faint but unmistakable to an orc’s senses. It's not old fear from yesterday's threats, but fresh. Recent.

Knox said she'd been in the station longer than usual. And now she's here acting like I'm a stranger she has to manage.

The pieces don't fit. I need to retrace her steps.

"I need to handle something before the Garcias arrive," I tell her, keeping my voice casual as I push off the table. "I'll be back in thirty. Call me if they're early."

Something flickers across her face—relief, maybe like she's grateful for the breathing room.

"I can handle the Garcia prep alone."

My jaw tightens. She wants me gone.

I'm already moving toward the door, pulling out my phone as I head for the parking lot. Knox said no visitors at the station, but something spooked her during those extra twenty-five minutes. Diesel answers on the second ring.

"Yeah?"

"I need you to call Vargan. Have him check with Savvy about Nova's stop at the diner this morning. Who she talked to, how she acted."

"Something wrong?" Diesel's voice sharpens.

"Maybe. Something's got her spooked, but she won't fess up to what." I swing my leg over the bike, engine roaring to life. "I need to know what happened."

"On it," Diesel says, and I can hear him already moving.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside Nova's apartment while Knox works on the door I destroyed.

The splintered wood has been replaced, new hardware installed.

No trace of my violent entrance remains.

Kid's doing good work, erasing the evidence of what a monster I am.

"How's it look?" I ask him.

"Good as new. Maybe better." He tests the lock mechanism, then meets my eyes briefly. "Figured it needed fixing."

Knox doesn't wait for approval or thanks. Just saw what needed doing and handled it, which is why Diesel put him on Nova's detail.

"Anyone else been around? Building maintenance, residents, anyone suspicious?"

"Negative. Been quiet all morning." Knox packs his tools and stands. "The door should hold up fine now."

"Good." I grab his shoulder. "Head back to the clubhouse and keep tabs on Nova's movements. From a distance. She needs space today."

Knox nods his understanding, then opens the door and hands me the keys before walking off.

Nova's apartment shows no signs of intrusion beyond my own. Her wine glass still sits on the coffee table, an open bottle next to it. The bedroom carries the scent of sex and Nova's recent shower, but nothing else.

Nothing wrong here. So whatever spooked her happened elsewhere.

The sheriff's station carries a tension I can taste. Roberta sits at the dispatch desk, filing her nails to avoid actual work. Santos hunches over a mountain of paperwork at his desk, looking like he hasn't slept in days.

"Morning, Santos," I call out, heading toward Nova's office. "Need to grab a file."

"Sure thing." He doesn't look up from his reports.

I step into Nova's office and freeze. The air carries expensive cologne—not the cheap shit most cops wear, but something that screams money and power. Rich, cloying, with undertones that make every instinct snarl with recognition.

And underneath it, the same anxiety I'd detected on Nova this morning.

Royce was here. In her space, where she's supposed to be safe. And he left his mark like a fucking dog pissing on territory.

I'm moving before the rage fully hits, crossing to Santos's desk in three strides. "Who's been in Nova's office this morning?"

Santos looks up, eyes wide. "Just the sheriff, far as I know. Why?"

"Anyone else? Visitors? Delivery people?"

"Negative. Been quiet all morning." Santos frowns. "Is there a problem?"

But I'm already moving. I need to get answers from her, and then I'll finish Royce once and for all.

Nova doesn't look up when I walk back into the war room, but her shoulders go rigid at the sound of my boots on concrete. She's arranged the Garcia files in neat stacks, every document perfectly aligned, every paper clip positioned just so.

Obsessive organization. Her fingers tremble slightly as she adjusts the papers.

"Find what you were looking for?" she asks, still staring at the paperwork.

"Yeah." I study her profile. She won't look at me. "Expensive cologne in your office. Recent. Anxiety mixed with it. Someone was in your office that shouldn't have been."

Her hands pause on the files. "That's not possible. I have the only key."

"Locks can be picked. Doors can be bypassed." I move closer, and she immediately shifts away. "Royce was there, wasn't he?"

"Lots of people go in and out of the station. Anyone would be nervous in there."

Too smooth. Too rehearsed. She's been practicing this lie, which pisses me off even more than the fact that she's lying.

"Look at me," I demand, fighting to keep my voice level.

Nova glances down at the table, purposely deflecting. "Garcia's deposition prep takes priority—"

"Look at me." I don't hold back this time.

She finally lifts her head, and for just a moment, the mask slips. I see the fear underneath. The terror she's trying so hard to bury.

Then the walls slam back up.

"Last night was a mistake," she says, voice emotionless. "We lost perspective. Got distracted from what matters."