“She’s part spic,” Obadiah said slowly. “Dark brown hair, brown eyes, full rack, mouthy.”

The description matched, and Frankie wasn’t a common name for a woman. “She lives in New York?”

“Yes, sir. She works—worked—at some fancy-ass job for her rich family.”

Now she was in Alaska working a minimum wage job? Not fucking likely. His teeth ground together. “She knows Kirsten is in Rescue. She was trying to get information about her. And about our compound.”

He’d thought she was tempting—innocent and stupid.

The filthy, lying bitch.

Luka’s mouth dropped open. “Captain, could she be the one who operated the drone?”

It got worse and worse. “The operator’s footprints were from a woman’s shoe. She’s snooping around, all right.” Nabera’s mouth thinned. “If we’re not careful, the feds will show up with search warrants. They’ll take our weapons. Remove our women.”

Conrad glared at Obadiah. “Your woman needs—”

“She’s not involved.” Obadiah snarled, his teeth barely visible behind his yellow-brown beard. “She knows if she’s stupid, her whiny-ass boy will accidentally fall off a cliff.”

Nabera wasn’t so sure. The barmaid—Frankie—had said, “A couple of your women were at the grocery,” and spoke about the younger woman with them. She’d seen Kirsten. “The snoopy ‘friend’ already knows too much about us. If she’s not stopped, she’ll learn more.”

Luka stiffened. “The chief of police is just waiting for us to put a foot wrong.”

Nabera growled under his breath. One day that cop would drive down the wrong back road, and his head would get blown off. “Let me think.”

The others waited respectfully as he considered.

They couldn’t leave the busybody alive. That was obvious. But if she disappeared, there would be a search. Awkward questions of why she was here.

A car accident might work, but…there still might be questions.

What if it appeared as if the target was someone else and she was—what was that big city term?—collateral damage.

She was staying in one of the Okie’s rental cabins. “Luka, didn’t you tell me about Dante fighting with someone?”

“Yes, bunch of wannabe gangsters from Anchorage. They got high and were shooting things up. He kicked them out of the cabin they’d rented.” Luka smiled. “They almost shot him as they drove away.”

Conrad spat on the ground. “City assholes can’t shoot for shit.”

“Just as well.” No one would question that the city thugs would want revenge—and would love to burn all four of those nice wooden cabins.

With some money as incentive, a few Anchorage scumbags could be found to pay a visit to the cabins. Nabera smiled. It would be worth the money to fuck up the old Okie who’d given the Prophet so much trouble.