Chapter 12

B y 8:00 a.m., Jace and Kara arrived at the location Rafe had given him.

He guided the bike down the pothole-strewn street and pulled into a parking lot, accelerating until reaching the back of the warehouses.

Jace's gaze assessed the ruins of the decaying, abandoned warehouses with boarded-up windows and peeling paint. Once they'd housed businesses and storage, but Hurricane Igor a few years ago had ripped off roofs and smashed glass. The owner never restored the buildings, as he was waiting for an insurance dispute to resolve legally. After the hurricane, they served as hangouts where drug dealers met at night to exchange cash for cocaine. The FBI had conducted more than one raid here, cleaning up the area with the help of local law enforcement. Few people ventured there now, scared off by the Feds. Place was as silent as a ghost town, flanked by abandoned railroad tracks.

It made for a perfect location to swap vehicles.

The big bike roared down the cracked pavement, sound bouncing off the buildings. Jace halted by the railroad tracks, engine still running. If someone had followed him here, he needed to make a quick exit.

"Can I get off now? My butt is sore," Kara told him.

"No." He spat out the word with more worried urgency than he cared to show. "Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Our ride."

Gritting his teeth, he hoped the hell Rafe had come through, and not with an SUV that looked like a typical Fed vehicle. He needed to look innocuous, but on short notice, he worried Rafe wouldn't be able to pull this off.

He turned his attention to the train tracks. Early morning sunlight glinted off a still unrusty section of railroad track. A dense canopy of tall, spindly Australian pines flanked the tracks, swaying in the breeze. Trash littered the tracks—soda cans, orange peels, candy bar wrappers. Brush and sun daisies grew between the tracks. The colorful yellow flowers softened the sense of decay and neglect. Grackles crowed in the nearby trees. A few dropped down to forage for scraps in the litter lining the railroad tracks.

Nature takes over everything eventually, if given enough time.

A few minutes later, a sleek black sedan drove up behind them and stopped. Engine still running, the driver's side door opened.

Jace breathed relief as Rafe stepped out of the vehicle, leaving the door open. Never one to drop his guard, his team leader scanned the surroundings, not once, but twice, before putting distance between himself and the car. The car was an older model, nondescript, but gleaming in the harsh sunlight.

"Now we get off," he told Kara, turning off the engine and dismounting.

As Jace grabbed their backpacks from the saddlebags, Kara removed the helmet and placed it on the seat next to the one he'd placed there. They walked over to the car. Jace bent down and peered inside. He rolled his eyes at the rearview mirror.

"Fuzzy dice?"

"My cousin's car. He likes to gamble. Borrowed the wheels from him."

Kara looked over Rafe as one might scrutinize a new ally. Or an enemy. Her gaze whipped back to Jace. "You look somewhat like Jace."

Rafe offered a dazzling smile. Jace couldn't see the resemblance. Yeah, they were about the same height, bearded, similar slender but muscle-toned build and had dark hair, but the resemblance ended there. Rafe's skin was sun-darkened, hinting of his Hispanic origins.

His hair brushed the collar of his white dress shirt, where Jace's was down to his shoulders.

"Hello. You're Kara. Heard much about you, but Jace never mentioned how beautiful you are," Rafe said in his deep voice.

"Funny. Jace never mentioned you," she said.

Rafe gave a sharp bow. "Rafael Jones Rodriguez, at your service, Miss Wilmington."

"Jones?" Kara's brow wrinkled.

He shot her a toothsome, aw-shucks grin that usually made women melt. "I'm Cuban, on my mother's side. My dad is Joshua Jones. Old family joke is keeping up with the Cuban Joneses."

Kara's pretty, glossy lips quirked up in a faint smile. Rafe's dark eyes gleamed with intensity as he studied Kara. Rafe might be his friend and a top-notch, dedicated Federal agent, but he was a guy as well. Real ladies' man, and the ladies loved him back. Kara, however, only sniffed and turned back to Jace.

He felt an utterly juvenile thrill that Rafe's charm hadn't had any effect on her.

"We're leaving the bike with him?" she asked.

"Yeah. The car is less conspicuous. Just hope she's fast."

"Fast?" Rafe shook his head in apparent amusement. "We're talking my cousin Luis, who's a mechanic and swapped the original engine for real power. New tires, the works. Got a full tank of gas as well." Rafe spoke to him but kept looking at Kara.

"Good enough. If they start shooting, I can always toss the fuzzy dice at them," Jace drawled.

A joke to ease the uncomfortable tension, but Rafe's smile dropped.

"That's not funny, Jace."

"I promise I won't get any blood on the seats."

"They start shooting, you get the hell away, Jace. That's a direct order. I'll be damned if I lose anyone else."

Gone was the ladies' man. Rafe turned into the stoic FBI agent who'd witnessed two of his men gunned down in a hail of bullets.

He didn't like the dawning questions on Kara's face, as if she was starting to put pieces together.

Raising his hand to his ear, he signaled Rafe he'd call him later. Rafe gave a brusque nod and walked around the car to open the passenger door for Kara.

Ever polite, Kara nodded. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones Rodriguez."

Rafe didn't answer but shut the door when she was settled inside. He helped Jace toss the two packs into the trunk. Then he fetched the extra helmet from the bike and tossed that inside as well.

"Here. I can't use two helmets."

Jace reached inside the car, removed the dice from the rearview mirror and handed them to Rafe. "Return these to your cousin. I can't guarantee the car will be in terrific condition when he gets it back, but at least the dice will be intact."

"We need to talk." Rafe's gaze flicked to Kara as he peered inside the car. "Alone. Excuse me, Kara, if I seem rude."

He began speaking in rapid Spanish to Jace. Kara held up a hand. "Sorry. I'm fluent in Spanish. You're saying something about critical information at this juncture?"

Rafe stared while Jace grinned. He didn't know why, but he liked Rafe underestimating Kara.

"Let's talk over here a minute. But only a minute. I have to get on the road."

" We have to get on the road," Kara pointed out.

"I'll be a minute. Stay there."

Jace steered Rafe over to the side of a warehouse, out of hearing range for Kara. Stomach tight, he jammed his hands into his pockets.

"What's up?"

Rafe kept scanning the area. "They want those jewels Dylan took. Or more likely, Dylan himself. The heat is on, Jace. You're sure to have a tail on you because Lance's crew knows you're out to find him."

Jace nodded. "I promised Lance I'd find Dylan. Soon as they get hold of him, adios, I'm sure. Lance wants that jewelry back."

"Which is why you can't take her—" Rafe jammed a thumb toward Kara "—with you. Too dangerous. What the hell are you thinking?"

Something didn't make sense. "You're holding back on me. What is it?"

Rafe's face tightened. "I'm almost ready to call you in, Jace. You're in deep, but too deep. It's getting dangerous."

"I'm in deep, which is why I'm the best man for the job. Dammit, Rafe!" He blew out a breath. "Talk to me. What happened? And why the hell couldn't I reach you yesterday?"

The other man's shoulders slumped and his gaze turned empty. "We lost John Myers yesterday."

Holy crap. "Johnny? He was working on Devil's Patrol angle from the outside."

"He got intel from Parker, a DP who promised to hook him up with a member who reported to the top man, Marcus. He offered to take him to a meeting. Johnny went, against my express orders. It was an ambush. They set him up." Rafe swore a string of curses in Spanish. "Local LEOs found his body in ditch off US Twenty-seven this morning."

Damn. Jace's chest felt hollow. Lost another one, a good agent, a nice kid who only tried to make life safer for civilians. Johnny was young, eager to prove himself. Now, he understood Rafe's concern.

"I'm sorry, Rafe. Johnny was a damn fine agent."

Rafe's dark gaze glittered. "We got a break with Parker. Tracked him down and arrested him for peddling drugs at a local club. He told me a few things."

Jace blew out a breath. "Good."

If anyone could make a suspect blather, it was his boss.

"I want you to come in, Jace. This assignment's gone south. I won't lose another member of my team." Rafe sounded broken. "Not you. They knew, somehow, that John was an agent. It won't take much for them to realize you're one as well."

"I'm not John. My cover's good. Lance knows I'm after Dylan to get those jewels back."

"I doubt that numbnut even knows he's being outmaneuvered and Marcus is using him. The jewelry is a drop in the bucket, Jace. Why do smash-and-grabs for jewels when Marcus is bringing in more than ten million dollars a year using the Devil's Patrol for drug dealing, extortion and gunrunning? I think the jewel thefts are a cover for something else. Something Marcus wants more than money."

His knees felt weak. "What? Any idea?"

"We don't know. But it's personal. More than power, Marcus wants something and is planning to blow up a target because of it. He killed those kids, not because they stole the jewelry, but because they knew too much. Maybe they overheard something they shouldn't have. Dylan as well. Marcus didn't want to leave witnesses behind."

Jace's stomach roiled.

Rafe caught his shoulder. "Jace, we can't be sure that Johnny didn't talk before they killed him. If he did..."

His stomach tightened as he looked at Kara, pacing back and forth by the railroad tracks. "Marcus would know I'm a federal agent. And come after me."

"Right now you're the best means of finding Dylan. They're certain to follow you, not to get the jewelry back, but to finish what Marcus started."

"Unfortunately, Kara's the only one who has a clue where the kid went. She has to go with me. Dylan trusts her."

Rafe's mouth compressed. "Maybe it's better she does. Then you'll take extra precautions with her around. I'm damn sick and tired of losing my team. Too many damn funerals."

Jace felt grief at the loss, and more than a little concerned for Rafe. He'd grown a lock of gray hair since getting shot more than a year ago and each loss he took personally, as if losing a member of his family. He squeezed the other man's shoulder.

"You need to go to a wedding. Remember the good things about life."

A short laugh. "Right. I have a wedding the same day as John's funeral, can you believe it? My cousin Christina on my mom's side. Had to cancel and my family is furious. Weddings are mandatory on my mom's Cuban side of the family. The only good excuse is you're either in the hospital or below ground. Good thing my abuela considers me her favorite, or I'd be toast."

"Your grandmother has good judgment. Nice lady."

Rafe laughed. "Oh, she'd smack me down if she thought I was getting out of line. And then probably make me a huge meal and force me to eat because she thought I was too skinny."

Such family devotion was foreign to Jace. His family didn't care if he went to funerals, weddings or any gathering. He was almost invisible. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he saw his maternal grandmother. As for his father's side of the family...those grandparents were long dead and his uncles and aunt were lowlifes somewhere out west. He had met them only once, and once was enough.

Jace felt a tinge of envy for such close connections, which also came with their own set of problems, from what Rafe had told him.

"Some days I think I should give up. Turn in my shield. Retire early."

Now, real concern shot through him. "No way, man. Not you. Your career."

Rafe snorted. "What good is a career when you keep losing members of your team?"

"You can't quit, Rafe. You're too good. We need you." Jace glanced backward at Kara. "People like her count on you. The world's a dangerous place that keeps shattering and you're one of the good guys who glues the broken pieces together."

Rafe gave a brusque nod. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, then cocked his head. Alert, tense.

Recognizing the sound, Jace's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. Motorcycles. At least two big hogs. He ran to the railroad tracks. Two big bikes roared on the street on the opposite side of the tracks, the sound growing dimmer as they headed south. But that street was a dead end. Soon, they'd turn around.

He wanted to believe they were out for a leisurely drive. Knew better. Jace cursed, whipping his gaze around. "How the hell did they find me this fast?"

Something flickered in Rafe's gaze. "If you were followed, then they tracked you a different way. Who has access to this bike?"

"Anyone. Everyone, when I park it in the open."

"I'd bet my sweet abuela's secret family recipe for comida criolla they put a GPS tracker on your bike."

Jace swore. He didn't like the idea of Rafe being a new target. "Yeah, I figured as much, which is why I want you to take Kara and leave. I'll find the tracker."

"Change clothing with me. It'll buy you time. Kara said we resemble each other a little. We're about the same size."

He didn't like it, but Rafe had a point. Jace sat on the ground to tug off his biker boots while Rafe toed off his shoes. They stripped and exchanged clothing. Rafe's white cotton button-down shirt and linen trousers felt odd after months of going casual.

The clothing was a little loose on him, but it worked. He eyed Rafe in his T-shirt, black leather jacket, worn jeans and biker boots.

"Now I know where your salary goes, bruh. Nice threads," Jace said.

Rafe tucked his weapon into the back of the jeans. He climbed onto the bike, saluted Kara.

"Stay safe," he told Jace, and then he was off, the big bike roaring and the sound finally fading away.

Jace watched him leave. Getting to Georgia and finding Dylan was imperative now. They had to get to the kid.

Before Marcus launched his op to blow his target sky high.