Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Buying the land made practical sense even without my history with Otis. The Rutledge acreage bordered the compound along our southern edge, and an old service road climbed through the property toward a ridge that overlooked part of Black Castle’s training grounds. Owning it would close a vulnerability in our security perimeter, prevent developers from filling the neighboring hills with houses, and give us room to expand the equestrian side of the veterans’ rehabilitation program we had been discussing for nearly a year.
The practical reasons weren’t the ones that kept drawing my attention toward the south window, however. I wanted to protect the ranch because Otis had protected me when I was too young and angry to understand I needed it. I wanted to keep the fences standing, the barn repaired, and the pastures open beneath the valley oaks instead of watching some developer scrape the land bare and divide it into expensive lots for people who liked the idea of country living more than the reality of it.
The need sat beneath my usual control, quiet but immovable. I wouldn’t pressure Jack into accepting less than the ranch was worth, and I wouldn’t use the club’s influence to steal an inheritance from Otis’s family. I would make a clean offer, pay fair market value, cover the closing expenses, and preserve the land exactly as Otis would have wanted if his grandson decided he had no use for it.
A knock landed against the open office door, pulling me from my thoughts before Judge entered carrying a tablet beneath one arm. Hawkeye followed him with the deceptively casual stride he had possessed even when he carried a sniper rifle and moved through hostile territory several hundred yards ahead of the rest of my team. He had been my operator before he became my best friend and the Black Crowns VP, which meant he could read my silences better than most men read spoken warnings.
Neither of them asked how I was holding up when the answer was written plainly enough in the untouched reports on my desk. Judge crossed to the chair opposite me and sat, placing the tablet across one thigh, while Hawkeye walked to the bar built into the far wall. He poured three glasses of bourbon and handed two over to us before he toasted, “To Otis. The only civilian who ever told our president his work looked like shit and made him do it again.”
“Repeatedly,” Judge added.
I grunted. “He was usually right.”
Hawkeye’s eyebrow rose as I lifted the glass, and a faint line appeared beside his mouth. “That admission should probably be entered into the club minutes.”
“I’m already recording,” Judge joked, tapping the edge of his tablet.
“Delete it.”
They touched their glasses to mine, and we drank. The bourbon burned across my tongue and down my throat, loosening none of the pressure beneath my ribs but warming the place where it sat. The three of us remained silent, giving Otis the kind of tribute he would have preferred over speeches.
Judge eventually lowered his glass and unlocked the tablet. His thumb moved across the screen before he looked up. “I got the probate papers.”
“Did you contact Jack about buying the land?”
His thumb stopped above the screen. The pause lasted just long enough for Hawkeye’s attention to shift from his drink to Judge’s face.
“I did.”
“And?”
Judge drew a slow breath through his nose, and his eyes narrowed slightly as though he were selecting each word with the care of a man cutting the correct wire on an explosive. “Don’t think they’re interested in selling.”
The exhaustion and grief I had kept contained all week sharpened into irritation. I leaned back in my chair and held Judge’s gaze until the muscles along his jaw shifted, because he had known me long enough to recognize the look and understand I had no patience left for verbal maneuvering. “Talk to the grandson and make it fucking happen.”
Judge’s brows rose by a fraction. “That isn’t generally how probate law or private property works.”
“I’m not telling you to steal the ranch. Offer full market value, cash, flexible closing, and we cover every fee attached to the sale.”
“Ah.” Hawkeye settled one hip against the edge of the desk and took another drink. “For a second, I thought we were finally using the kidnapping clause.”
“There is no kidnapping clause,” Judge told him.
“There should be. Your contracts lack imagination.”
Judge rolled his eyes, “They lack felonies.”
“Same problem.”
“Both of you can fuck off,” I muttered.
Hawkeye’s mouth curved with quiet satisfaction, apparently pleased that he had managed to irritate me enough to draw a response. Judge merely lifted his glass and took another measured swallow, although the faint twitch at one corner of his mouth told me he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended.
“I spoke to the family’s attorney,” Judge added. “Jack is apparently coming down to see the property.”