The workshop felt strangely normal the morning after the power outage. The lights worked. The lifts hummed and the smell of fresh coffee drifted from the office while Ben argued with a stubborn oil filter that refused to cooperate.
Anyone walking through the front door would have assumed Lawson Customs had returned to business as usual but I knew better.
Every time I looked toward the road, I caught one of the Iron Vipers somewhere nearby. Sometimes it was Derek leaning against his motorcycle across the street with a cup of coffee in his hand and sometimes it was Cole filling his truck at the gas station that somehow took far longer than it should have.
Other times it was Hunter wandering into the bakery for the third time before lunch.
None of them announced they were keeping an eye o
