Chapter 2

K ara. What the hell was she doing in a place like this?

Elegant five-star restaurants on the beach were her style. Not this laid-back bar in the middle of farm country.

He rubbed his bearded face, ruefully thinking of what he must look like. Not the clean-cut man in black tie she'd seen recently at a fundraiser for the turtle hospital. Seeing her at the gala had been the first time he'd encountered her since their bad break-up six years ago, and wow, that hurt. He hated what he had to do for this assignment, hated having to act like his old man. But the end surely must justify the means. He needed to nab the small fish—Lance—who was the president of the Florida Devil's Patrol, to get to the big fish.

The leader and holder of power in the Southeastern Division of the Devil's Patrol was nicknamed Marcus Aurelius, and he was a shadowy figure much like a mafia kingpin. Before Marcus came along, the Devil's Patrol was an outlaw biker club into petty theft.

A year ago, they began stealing, selling guns and even distributing drugs. Intel picked up chatter about a new mover and shaker in the DP and his name was Marcus, a biker wanting to protect his identity and avoid law enforcement.

Anyone could be Marcus. Little was known about him. They needed to nail the bastard. Surveillance chatter on social media indicated a possible domestic terror plot in the works. Marcus was going after something big and the public was in danger.

For more than three months, Jace had grown his hair and beard. This undercover assignment required him to look the part. Taking his motorcycle out every day, hanging in the places where the Devil's Patrol gathered. Using his old man's knowledge of the gang to make inroads, thankful his old man was still imprisoned. Getting a job as a motorcycle mechanic in the garage the club owned.

The Bureau had even set him up with a fake criminal record for assault on a police officer, fake jail time and fake fingerprints to loan him credibility with the DP.

Jace was close to acceptance. So close to gaining an inroad with the group he needed to infiltrate.

Kara might blow his cover. Then again, when they'd dated, he hadn't yet worked for the FBI.

He couldn't deny his attraction to her, the pull of longing when he saw her.

The woman on his lap turned his head toward her. "Hey, lover boy, pay attention. I asked a question. Stop staring at the eye candy. She's way out of your league."

Jace blinked hard, inwardly cursing. Seeing Kara had almost made him blow it. He looked up at the woman, gave a lazy grin and took a swig of beer. "What can I do for you, little lady?"

Allison Lexington was a female biker who hung around the Devil's Patrol. Unlike other DP female groupies, she was an experienced biker who eschewed the men's advances.

Lance, who regarded women as assets, gave orders that she wasn't to be harassed because Allison was also a trauma-room nurse who'd saved his life a few weeks ago. At a bike rally, Lance had taken a bullet to the shoulder and refused to go to the hospital, which had to report all gunshot cases to the local police. Allison, who witnessed the gun battle, brought Lance to a friend's veterinary office and patched him up. Lance never forgot a debt.

Or who owed him.

Allison brought over beer, groceries, did their laundry, did everything but sleep with the guys. Brunette, with big brown eyes and a pretty smile, she was as tough as the bikers. Probably tougher, since she'd seen a lot working trauma cases.

"You're awfully quiet, Gator," Allison cooed as she ran her red manicured nails down the front of his shirt.

Allison knew things. Last night while sharing a beer, she hinted Lance's boys on racing bikes had knocked over a jewelry store last week and the haul was small, but significant. Lance organized the heist. The burglaries began two months ago with a pawnshop.

So he'd told her everything about himself with the cover he'd created, to increase his rep and knowing the information would trickle down to Lance.

Speaking of the chief devil, Lance skirted the bar after returning from the men's room, and eyeballed Kara with interest. Too much interest. He planted himself in front of Kara.

"Hello, beautiful. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes," Lance drawled.

Every muscle in Jace's body tensed. He fought the urge to spring up, rush to her side and defend her from this prick. Maybe even punch him in the face. He used all the self-control he'd learned in the Army Rangers on missions to play it cool.

Kara looked him up and down as if Lance was a new species of cockroach. Her pert nose wrinkled. "If your eyes are sore, may I suggest an optometrist?"

Then she sidestepped Lance, her cool look of disgust stomping on the man's ego as if she'd danced a flamenco in her designer heels all over the front of his dirty gray shirt. Jace silently applauded. Atta girl.

With a snort, Lance swaggered toward Jace's table.

"Jace Brown." Lance swung a leg over a chair. "We need to talk."

Without ceremony, silently apologizing to Allison for being a prick, Jace shoved her off his lap. "Beat it."

As she pouted and flounced off, he looked at Lance. "What's the deal with her?"

Jace jerked a thumb at the departing Kara.

Lance frowned. "Pretty, but snobby. Women are only good for cooking and screwing, and I can have all the ones I want."

Right. Keep telling yourself that, Lance. There was no shortage of women for club members, but not the kind Lance seemed to covet. Women like Kara—cultured, sophisticated and beautiful.

"Why you interested?" Lance demanded.

"Just asking."

"More than asking." Lance's brown gaze sharpened. "Seeing the way you keep staring at her, looks like you're into her. Or were into her. You know her? Who is she?"

Sweat trickled down his back. Damn. Lance wasn't foolish. If he denied knowing Kara, Lance could do a little more digging into Jace's past, and despite the cover story the Bureau set up for him, things could get dicey.

He was almost in with the DP. Lies only got him so far, and he couldn't blow it now.

"I did know her. We dated once." Jace took a long chug of beer. "You know that guy she was with, Lance?"

If he turned the attention away from himself, and Kara, maybe Lance would lose interest. Instead, the biker grew speculative.

"Reggie. Old dude who comes here every week. What's her name?"

"Kara. Why ask if you're not interested?"

Lance used his cell phone to take a photo of the bar. "You've hung with us for weeks, proved your worth and loyalty. You wanna join us?"

No application, no references needed, but Jace knew he'd have an initiation challenge to prove his loyalty. Don't look too eager.

He shrugged. "Thinking about it."

Lance glanced over at Kara, who was walking out of the bar with the older man who'd accompanied her. A sly grin touched his face and the knife scar stretching from his mouth across his cheek tightened.

"Go say hello to her. See if she blows you off like she did with me. Me and the boys could use some entertainment to liven things up."

His blood ran cold. He grinned. "Naw, I don't think so..."

Lance's gaze narrowed. "Do it, prospect."

His chest felt hollow, but he stood, giving a long stretch. "No prob."

Jace followed Kara to the parking lot, wondering how the hell he was going to do this.

As they left the Tiki Bar, Kara almost collided with a biker headed for the parking lot and staring at his cell phone. The man, covered with tattoos, apologized profusely.

"Sorry, miss. Wasn't looking. My wife says I'm on my phone too much. But got new photos of my grandson and couldn't wait to see them." He waved his phone.

Kara thawed a little and smiled. "No apology necessary. How old is your grandson?"

The biker beamed. "Two months. We're going to ride out to Utah see him soon. Can't wait."

She reached for his phone. "May I see?"

Like a proud grandfather, he showed her the photos. Kara's smile widened as she handed him back to the phone. "Thank you. He is adorable. Congratulations and good luck on your journey west."

Nodding at her, he walked toward his bike. Reggie gave her a knowing look. "See? Most bikers are friendly and love the open road. They're like you and me."

Maybe she'd judged too harshly. Something to think about.

Kara escorted Reggie to his Mercedes and waved as he drove off. Pure relief surged. With this new contract, if she did a great job, word of mouth would surely spread. The summer season was always slow in Florida, but this commission would tide over nicely.

She'd finally be able to give Dylan the raise he deserved, the one she knew he needed. Her cousin was a hard worker, and he brought every penny home to his mother. Even though they were family, he refused help and insisted on working hard.

Dylan had been Conner's best friend. A year younger than her baby brother, Dylan had worshipped Conner.

Kara tried to push back the guilt that always lingered in her conscience, like a slow winking neon sign.

As she headed for her sedan, she heard a noise behind her. The firm tread of boots. Motorcycle boots.

Jace ambled up to her with a swagger and blocked the path to her car. Several bikers wearing Devil's Patrol jackets and vests trailed behind him, rounding the corner of the building and standing close to their motorcycles. Watching Jace. Watching her.

Fear curdled her stomach. Kara swallowed hard, knowing instinctively if she showed emotion, they would trample all over her. They could smell fear like a dog scenting a bone.

What happened to Jace, the man she once loved? Who'd once declared his love for her? Why was he acting like this?

"Hi, Kara. Looking good."

Summoning her coldest look, she lifted her chin. "Jace. You've changed. Not for the better. Excuse me."

Kara tried to sidestep Jace, but he blocked her way. She went the other way and he followed. Jace whipped off his mirrored sunglasses and grinned.

"What's your hurry, sweetheart?"

Glaring at him, she lifted her chin to tell him to get lost, but couldn't speak. Couldn't move. All she could do was stare at him with longing, caught in the past.

He got closer. She heard catcalls and laughter behind him. His biker friends, that gang. Why had Jace changed so much? What drove him to hang out with criminals?

Jace got closer. Closer still. Feeling like prey trapped by a much larger and more powerful animal, she remained motionless. Maybe he'd walk off.

"What do you want?" she asked, hating the quaver in her voice.

Something flickered in his eyes and he mouthed an apology. "Sorry," he whispered so low she wasn't quite sure she'd heard him correctly.

"You. How about a drink for old times' sake?" he asked in a much louder voice.

"Jace...please..."

Jace circled her like a lion stalking a gazelle. Kara's stomach clenched hard. His stance was predatory, without even a flicker of the tenderness and emotions from the past, when they were each other's everything. When he'd put himself between her and danger, and then they broke it off and became ghosts to each other.

"Or a ride. You used to ride a long, long time and never get tired with me."

The double entendre, reminding her of the times when they had made love for hours, made awareness rush through her. Barely aware of what she did, Kara licked her lips. Then as the other bikers laughed and hooted, she stepped back, horrified at her reaction.

"You're despicable," she muttered.

Jace pulled away, but in his deep blue eyes, she saw a hint of something of the old Jace. Shame.

He laughed and took her hand, unfurled her palm and gestured to the bikers.

"Anyone got a pen?"

Hoots and whistles, as a biker rushed over with a pen. A thrill of awareness and fear rushed through her as Jace scribbled a phone number on her open hand.

"Here's my number, sweetheart. Give me a call if you want a nice, long ride all night long." He released her hand, winked at her.

Clenching her fist, she turned and hurried to her car. Behind her, whoops and hollers from Jace's friends.

Jace had been different. Courteous, friendly and never this abusive. Always tender and passionate, and their sex life had been amazing, but never crude or base.

Her entire body went cold. The delight of closing on a major deal turned to bitterness.

She, who never drove fast, pressed her foot on the gas pedal and tore out of the parking lot. She needed to go home, where she'd be safe in her house, her world.

Leaving behind the new, ugly Jace and his world. I hope I never see you again.

It hurt to watch her drive away, see a glint of tears on those perfect cheeks, knowing he'd made her cry. Jace grinned and slapped Lance's back, hating himself. Why the hell did Kara have to show up now, of all times?

But he saw a new expression on Lance's face—respect. Lance admired him because Kara was his ex-girlfriend. How screwed up is this?

"Man, she's gorgeous. I saw the way she looked at you, like she couldn't wait to get into bed with you. I bet you five hundred dollars she calls you."

His grin slipped. "She won't."

Not if I can help it. I hope she goes on a business trip and doesn't return until after this assignment ends. I don't want her anywhere near you assholes.

Lance narrowed his gaze. "You never date. You don't have an old lady. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jace sucked in a breath. Damn. He had to say something, quick. Excuses, excuses...

"You saw her." Jace shrugged. "Nothing compares to Kara. Hard to get over her."

"Huh." Lance slapped his back. "Go after her. Women can't resist bikers. They all secretly want us. But remember, club loyalty comes first. Show up at the den tonight at seven. Have the club rules memorized."

Jace's grin widened. He felt sick to his stomach.

My old man would be proud.

For that, Jace hated himself, hated this assignment. But he was in. Right now, all he wanted to do was race home, jump in the shower and scrub away all his disgust. Get clean.

He knew he could never erase the stain of his past. No matter what.