Allies like Macon Wainright who owned more land than anyone else in the state. That, and a shit ton of money, gave him power.

They’d gotten together and made deals. Pretty much Marshall did Wainright’s dirty work.

I hadn’t been back to Montana for more than a week at a time, other than for my parents’ funeral, since I went to college. I’d lived in Virginia or DC and forgotten how special the Big Sky state really was.

The quiet. No rat race. Open land as far as the eye could see. Hell, even family.

Until this undercover op. I was “back” for good now, or that’s what it seemed like to everyone. Maybe even me, too.

I was replacing rotting trim on the house. Fixing broken fences. Oiling squeaky doors. Everything that had been neglected because the house had been sitting empty. I liked it here. Now that I’d seen North, touched her, I was screwed.

Fuck. What a mess. I licked my lips remembering her taste and wondering if it was the last I was going to get.

The FBI had been interested in Wainright for everything from public corruption—bribing local and state officials, or even threatening them—to white collar crimes like money laundering and other fun stuff. If North knew about it all, then I was going to put her in handcuffs. If she was innocent, then I was going to be the shady asshole as soon as she did a little digging.

My cell vibrated in my pocket and since Marshall was occupied, I pulled it out. My boss.

Need an update on the delivery of the fence posts.

To any Montanan who read the text, it seemed like I was tackling a summer project. To me, it meant Director Amy Sprouse wanted me to check in about what I’d learned from making contact with North. I met Marshall’s eyes even as he spoke on the phone. That was why I was here in his office.

An update. It seemed my boss would have to wait in line.

Finally, Marshall slammed the phone back in its cradle, then set his forearms on his desk and eyed me. He was sixty, overweight, balding. He looked like Wimpy from Popeye. All that was missing was the little brown hat. Sweat dotted his forehead, even in the air-conditioned building.

“Well?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows going up.

“You want a play by play?” I asked.

I saw the disgusting interest in his eyes.

“I’m surprised she spread her legs for a guy like you.”