Nabera told his lieutenants, “Change in plans. A quick trip to Anchorage right now. No point in putting this off.” Who knew what the cunt might get up to next?

“Anchorage, sir?” Luka asked.

“There are times it’s better to hire things out. Keep your own hands clean.” Law enforcement must not trace anything back to the Zealots.

Nabera glanced at Obadiah. “When we get back, we need to speak to Kirsten. The New Yorker couldn’t have discovered that Kirsten is here unless she was told.”

Killing the New Yorker would have been enjoyable but hearing Obadiah’s disobedient wife scream would make up for it.

The roadhouse was closed.

The night had been profitable, Bull thought as he finished with the bar receipts. Near the center of the empty room, Frankie waited for him at a table, doing her own paperwork.

The routine let them leave together so she could spend the night at his house. Even though he liked her little cabin, it wasn’t good to leave Gryff alone too long. The traumatized rescue needed more than his snug doghouse on the deck—he needed people.

After putting his paperwork away, Bull leaned on the bar top to watch Frankie work. Such a beautiful woman. Although when he called her that, she’d laugh and say she was pretty enough, but her sisters were the beauties. Not to gain herself compliments, just stating what she believed.

He didn’t agree. Maybe society considered her sisters to be more attractive than she was, but as a man, he had his own opinion.

Francesca Bocelli was beautiful.

However…

His jaw tightened. He might not know her as well as he’d thought. He’d figured her to be honest and straightforward. But tonight, her behavior with the PZs had him questioning his ability to read people.

Usually when men tried to touch Frankie, she sidestepped and called them on it. Effortlessly. Yet, earlier tonight, Nabera had held her hand, put his arm around her waist, even squeezed her ass. She’d not only let him but leaned in closer.

Her flirting had roused ugly feelings in Bull. Ones that hadn’t died down in the hours since.

Done with closing, Bull walked over to her table.

She rose and smiled. “Ready to go?”

“In a minute.”

Her smile faltered. “What?”

“Want to tell me what was going on with you and Captain Nabera?”

“That was Nabera?”

He blinked. She didn’t know who the guy was? Maybe he’d misread the situation. “It was Nabera who held your hand. Who squeezed your ass.”

Dark color rose in her cheeks, and his indecision faded away. That was guilt in her face.

Dammit. He’d been through this before, back when Paisley had taught him not to ignore his gut. “Oh, Bull, I was just flirting a smidgeon with the buyer. Everybody does it.” Only her flirting had been a prelude to fucking her clients.