Page 2 of The Tracker

Keely Malone—best friend, trust-fund rebel, the only woman who had once laced debutante champagne with ghost-pepper vodka for entertainment—blocked her path. Keely had the kind of courage that stared down smugglers and cartels for sport.

Emerald satin shimmered around Keely like defiance. One glance at Evangeline’s bare feet and wild eyes and she frowned. “You look like someone just fracked your soul.”

Evangeline yanked her into an alcove, still wielding her stilettos like daggers. “Peter’s a corporate spy. I heard him plotting a corporate coup. He’s using the engagement to steal the company.”

Keely’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s... aspirational villainy.”

“I knew he was ambitious. I didn’t know I was the oil rig he planned to drill through.”

Keely nodded, considering. “Option one: We drive his Maserati to the river, put it in gear and push it in. Option two: We pull every incriminating email and nuke him at the next board meeting—preferably while wearing sequined jumpsuits.”

“Option three?” Evangeline asked, still reeling.

Keely grinned. “Both.”

Behind them, the foyer erupted in applause—likely Stanley announcing her engagement to the company’s golden boy.Cameras flashed through the doorway like heat-lightning. Evangeline’s chest hollowed.

“You okay?” Keely asked softly.

“No.”

“Good. That means you’re done pretending.”

Evangeline barked a brittle laugh. “He called me a ribbon-tied signature. Like I’m a fucking party favor.”

“Well, he's wrong. You’re Evangeline freakin’ Shaw. You hold the master password to the investor portal and a Rolodex that makes senators sweat.” Keely fished into her tote and produced a flash drive like a dagger. “You in?”

Evangeline stared at the drive, then at the foyer gleaming with false promises.

Before she could answer, her phone vibrated. Unknown number.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU HEARD. KEEP QUIET OR WE’LL MAKE YOU.

A sharp pop cracked through the corridor a heartbeat later. One of the upper windows fractured in a sudden web of glass—clean, contained, almost too precise. Silenced gunshot. Or maybe a pellet round. Either way, the message was unmistakable.

Someone wanted to rattle her.

And it was working.

Keely’s gaze snapped to the fractured glass. “That was a warning shot.”

Panic flared, then crystallized into anger. Evangeline shoved her heels into Keely’s tote. “No shit Sherlock. I need traction if we’re going to burn this thing down.”

“We’ll need protection,” Keely said, voice steady. “Real protection—someone who doesn’t rattle when the bullets start.” She thumbed a contact on her phone. “Silver Spur Security."

"That's your brother's firm, and the one Jesse works for, right?"

"One and the same. All former military and Texas-tough. Reed will know who best to put on it. Their lead tracker I suspect,” she said with a grin.

Evangeline knew that grin all too well. It rarely boded well for those Keely was about to take on.

Evangeline swallowed. “Tracker?”

"Dawson Hart.” Keely’s eyes sparkled with mischief and something like faith. “Former Texas Ranger, and Army CID."

"CID?"

"Criminal Investigation Division. The Army's answer to NCIS. Cold eyes, bulletproof calm. If Peter’s playing spy games, Dawson will know how to sniff him out and make him run for cover.”

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