Chapter 7

H e risked a lot meeting with his team leader in person, but Jace needed an update, fast.

The meeting spot was too close to the apartment complex where he currently lived, but he couldn't risk riding his bike. Too conspicuous. Instead, he changed into worn jeans and a shirt with a baseball team logo on it, then stuffed his long hair into a baseball cap. For good measure, he carried a baseball glove. Now, as he walked on the sidewalk toward a local park, he looked like an average guy on his way to a game with friends.

The sun sank behind fluffy clouds, turning them gold and pink as he entered the field. Jace punched the glove as if eager for a game, skirted the bleachers that contained a few people watching a game in progress. Stadium lights buzzed into life, illuminating the darkening field.

Rafael Jones Rodriguez lingered by the chain-link fence near the bleachers, eating a chocolate bar and studying the game as if it held all the answers in the world. Rafe, who was about the same height and build as Jace, had the same dark hair, but any resemblance ended there. With his striking good looks and dark eyes, Rafe was a lady-killer. Gray feathered his temples, making him look older than his thirty-five years. Rafe had seen a lot of action in his career with the FBI, and sometimes Jace wondered what secrets he held.

They'd been good friends growing up together. Jace's mother worked for Rafe's family, cleaning their house, and Rafe had taken Jace under his wing, teaching him Spanish, sticking up for him when other kids bullied him and Jace wanted to fight. They'd lost track of each other when Rafe graduated, but after the breakup with Kara, when Jace felt lost, he'd contacted Rafe to get advice about moving on.

Rafe told him to apply to the Bureau. He needed good men on his team like Jace.

A pink scar snaked down his neck, vanishing into the collar of his red polo shirt. Rafe had gotten the scar during an op that went south about a year ago. Two agents on his team were killed and Rafe spent six weeks in the hospital, fighting for his life. Since then, Rafe had returned to duty, but seemed more guarded than ever.

But they'd caught the bad guys. Guy put his own life on the line for his team, no questions asked. But he also didn't put up with any BS from them, either.

Rafe didn't glance up as Jace approached. "I take it you walked here and didn't ride."

"Yep. You?"

Rafe made a quick gesture with his hand. Jace glanced around and saw a gleaming Harley parked in the space closest to the field. "Sweet. New? What happened to the Triumph?"

"Sold it. Bitch to start ever since the surgery. Needed an electric start, so bought the Harley."

"Good game?" Jace asked.

"Not bad. Horner's Plumbing and Hardware could use a better outfielder, but they're beating Davidson's Medical Supplies." Rafe took another bite. "I love baseball. Even amateurs."

For a minute they stood in silence, watching the players. Jace punched his glove.

"I have a number. Overheard Lance needs two hundred thousand for Marcus."

Rafe didn't look at him. "That number will buy a lot of weapons. Or something bigger the DP plans."

Nodding, Jace felt his stomach lurch as he remembered the violent rhetoric tossed about the clubhouse recently. "Lance said Marcus wants to make a statement, loud and clear."

"A statement," Rafe mused. "Same chatter we've been monitoring. We still don't have a target. But whatever is going down is big unless it's all talk and bluster, and nothing solid."

"The target is local and he plans to make the execution of his plans public for all to see. That much I know. But Lance needs to score big on tonight's smash-and-grab to pay for it. He has a buyer in Miami who will pay cash, untraceable bills, for the jewels, soon as he returns from New York."

Rafe finished his candy bar. "What about Marcus? Anything on him, anything at all?"

"Something that might come in handy." He told him about finding PrisonerXYZ's text on Big Mike's cell. "The message was cryptic. I didn't have time to investigate further. Big Mike is already suspicious of me."

"I'll check it out. You watch yourself. Anything else?"

"Lance won't even blink without direction from Marcus." Jace squinted at the baseball field, where someone had just hit a home run. "I did get something on him. Marcus did time and got out two years ago. Went underground after to run the DP. No more riding in the open. Big Mike said Marcus found something in prison and it wasn't the good Lord."

Rafe's gaze darted to him. "He found purpose?"

"That's what I think. Lance shut Big Mike up pretty quick after he spilled that. I don't think Mike was supposed to blather about Marcus's prison time."

"State prison in Florida? Any idea of the charges?"

Jace rubbed his neck. "Tried to open up a convo about it without being obvious. I mentioned my record and doing time in jail and how bad it was, and Mike just laughed and said Marcus did the big time, not like me."

"Federal charges," Rafe mused. "That doesn't give us a lot, but I'll have Darkling run records, see if anything pops up."

"Maybe this PrisonerXYZ is Marcus."

"Possibly."

"Marcus has been eyeing this target for a long time, maybe even years. He's cautious, but elated, I keep hearing. When it all goes down, he will be vindicated. It may be public, Rafe, but it's sounding personal. Lance said something about blowing everything sky high to the heavens."

"When will it go down?"

"Lance is headed on a red-eye to New York, selling the jewels from the last heist while the others make sure the new theft goes down tonight. Risky, but he needs quick cash. He's using the kids again on the crotch rockets to make a quick exit."

Rafe's eyes never left the game. "Keep at it. Let me know the minute you find anything useful about Marcus. Lance is at the bottom of the food chain, but even minnows can prove useful."

"Lance doesn't talk much. Not forthcoming with info, but I think with a few beers, his tongue will loosen more. He trusts me."

"Good. Whatever you do, keep your cover. You're the best chance we have of cracking this and helping us nail down who Marcus really is."

"You let me know through Darkling soon as that target's nailed down." Jace nodded at the game. "Think I'll bat a few balls around."

Rafe glanced at him. "Think you were followed?"

"Nope. Just need to work off some steam."

Rafe caught his arm. "Jace, I wanted you on this case. Asked for you personally. You're good, smart and this will get you promoted. I want that for you as much as you want it. But you're not alone. You get in a jam, let me know. I won't lose you...like the other guys on my team. Got it?"

Throat tightening, Jace nodded as he remembered the two agents killed in the line of duty. Good men, both of them, leaving behind wives and kids. Rafe had taken it personally.

"I won't let you down. I'm no Rambo. We're a team."

"Better than they are." Rafe nodded to the outfield, where a man missed a ball and someone yelled at him.

Jace flashed a brief grin. "Better believe it."

He headed to the field, his blood running hot as Rafe remained by the fence, watching the action.

By the time Jace retrieved a bat and a ball, Rafe had vanished.

The Devil's Patrol clubhouse, nicknamed the Devil's Den, was a somewhat dilapidated two-story wood building that once housed a family. They got evicted and the club bought the property under a corporate name.

Jace trudged up the outside steps to the second floor and used his key to open the outside door leading to the rooms used by bikers to either crash after a long night of partying, or indulge in other activities, such as bringing their old ladies up here for a quick bout of sex. Lance had given him one of the bedrooms for his own use, as a reward for all the business Jace was bringing into the garage with his repair skills.

He unlocked the bedroom door, and then closed it, leaning against it to survey his "reward." The room was as small as a walk-in closet, but clean, with a window overlooking the wooded backyard, where rusty car parts grew more rapidly than weeds. There was a table, chair and gooseneck lamp, and a rickety wood dresser with drawers that creaked. Ignoring the sounds of loud music and laughter drifting from downstairs, he sat at the chair and dug out his cell phone.

On his cell, Jace scrolled through emails and read one from his contact at the FBI who was working the cyber side of this case, a skilled agent whose code name for this case was Maria Angelo. Her nickname at the Bureau was Darkling. Darkling was a tech expert, and she played the part of an average mom living in an average suburb.

Not just an average suburb. He grinned as he thought of exactly where Maria lived. Neighborhood filled with cops.

Darkling didn't have much, but she warned him the social-media chatter had picked up a bit, warning about the DP having a personal vendetta. It could be anything.

Jace stuffed the phone into his jeans pocket and fell onto the bed, utterly exhausted.

The big mattress sported clean sheets—his—and a soft pillow, and a few minutes later, he fell asleep. The edges of a dream teased his subconscious. Kara, her long blond hair spilling past her shoulders, a shy smile teasing her carnation-pink mouth, her big blue eyes soft with emotion. An azure blue ball gown clung to her slim curves, billowing in the wind. Damn, he adored her in that color, as if she was Venus rising from the depths of a clear blue ocean with a cerulean sky overhead. Her arms were outstretched, beckoning to him. But as he took a step forward, her shy smile turned into a terrified scream, her eyes wide with shock as something pulled her backward, something smelling of hot metal and death...

Jace awoke with a strangled sound and sat up. Only a dream. But the light outside the grimy window had vanished, showing a silver nickel of moonlight beaming in the sky, peppered by dozens of stars.

Something he'd forgotten—damn, he'd been working so hard lately living this double life as a biker and trying to keep up with tracking information on the gang...

Kara. His brain cells kicked into gear and he rubbed the back of his head. She'd better not show up at her store tonight. The cell phone he'd swiped was a message to her that he meant business.

With a muffled curse, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and accessed the staircase leading downstairs. Stay sharp. Don't let your guard drop for a nanosecond.

As he entered the clubhouse living room, finger-combing his long hair, he surveyed the scene. About one dozen bikers draped in chairs or at the pool table, indulging in a game. Three young people, barely out of their teens, sat near Lance on the sofa, Dylan included. They were doing their best job of looking tough.

But Dylan's mask slipped a minute. Too obvious. The kid was scared and showing it. Lance, who could smell fear like a bloodhound on the trail of a fleeing fox, narrowed his eyes at Dylan.

"What's wrong with you?" Lance demanded.

Dylan's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Nothing."

Jace crossed the room to hose down the tension. "Hey, Dylan, how's the bike running now? I know you're worried she won't be fast, but I put a lot of work into her, so relax, kid. I got you covered."

Was that the faintest shade of relief on the kid's face? Even if not, Lance's muscled shoulders relaxed. Jace felt a surge of his own relief. He liked the kid, who had looked up to him as a mentor. Dylan had even asked Jace to show him the basics of bike repair.

He hoped like hell that the kid would gain common sense and get away from this crowd, but suspected he owed Lance. A lot.

"Good job, Gator. Dylan's gonna need speed tonight." He glanced at Jace. "Appreciate you staying late to work on all the bikes."

Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed past it, thinking of the letters flashing in the air. Aiding and abetting in a felony.

If he had his preferences, he would have dismantled every single crotch rocket Lance brought to the shop for him to work on today.

But the big fish still remained out there, waiting to be hooked. Bringing in Lance and the other bikers wasn't the goal. Lance reported to someone heading this ring of jewel thieves. The same someone orchestrating the as-yet unknown domestic-terrorist event that would light up the night with horrific violence.

Jace grabbed a beer from the fridge. Lance thumbed at a teenager named Cody to leave and gestured for Jace to take his place on the sofa. Jace sat, yawning, and stretched out his arms, nodding his thanks. He took a long swig, relishing the beer sliding down his throat.

Remaining quiet, pretending to be absorbed in his beer, he listened to Lance dole out instructions to the kids, including Dylan. They were doing the job at 1:00 a.m. Definitely knocking over Kara's store. He hoped the hell she would stay home with a pizza and watch Antiques Roadshow or one of those rom-coms she'd always tried to get him to watch.

"About tonight. Sweet job. Dylan's employer has about half a mil in jewelry stashed in her store, and a puny alarm system."

Lance stood, paced over to the wooden bar near the pool table and gestured for Jace to follow. Clutching his beer, he joined the gang leader. Lance was tense, more wired than usual, and not even the three beers he'd consumed had taken the edge off.

"Gator, remember I'm leaving tonight for New York. Sales trip." Lance popped open another beer and swigged it.

Jace knew the New York trip was urgent because Lance's European contact to sell the stolen jewels had been arrested by Interpol. The Bureau had worked with Interpol to cut off Lance's source at the knees, nudging him closer to home.

"I'll be gone about a week. While I'm gone, Big Mike is in charge. I'm appointing you in charge of watching over Dylan."

Jace nearly choked on the beer he'd intended to swallow. "Why me?"

As a newer member, he was not trusted as much as others. Big Mike had been with Lance since Lance became club president five years ago.

"The kid is skittish and I don't want him messing up tonight. Too important. I want you watching him pull off tonight's job. Let me or Mike know if they're running scared." Lance's beady brown gaze narrowed as he studied Dylan in the corner, playing a video game on his phone. "Dylan's trying to prove himself, and I don't fully trust him, and if he screws up tonight, he's out."

A cold chill raced down Jace's spine. Out, as in not booted from the club, but out as in lying cold in a ditch by US 27, where only the gators would find him.

"If you don't trust him, don't send him."

Lance frowned. "He knows the store and has the alarm codes. He's the one who alerted us to the new alarm system being installed tomorrow. We need his wheels. He's fast and I need speed for this job. Dylan will disarm the alarm system and wait outside the store with you and the other two kids. Snake will crack the safe, Big Mike and Maverick will grab the goods. You'll be on a separate bike and if there's trouble, you're the diversion."

Meaning the cops. Lance planned to sacrifice him to the police, after he led authorities on a chase through downtown streets.

Lance gave him a long, cool look. "Don't disappoint me."

"I won't."

"Good. You like it here, having a place to crash?"

As far as couch surfing went, he could do better. Like at a flea-bitten motel with enough bedbugs to start their own country.

Jace nodded.

"Room's yours for as long as you need it." He gave him a sly look. "How's it going with that good-looking broad at the Tiki Bar? She call you yet? Saw her with you at Earl's."

"Got a date with her tomorrow night," he lied.

The interest on Lance's face increased. "Told the guys she wanted you. Give her a tour of the clubhouse and then use the room upstairs. Maybe you can warm her up for me if you don't want her as your old lady."

Scoring with Kara was the guy's real goal, Jace realized. Cold sweat trickled down his back.

"Wait until tomorrow night, after Mike moves the jewels out. Let me know how you make out."

Lance continued to make sexual suggestions about Kara that made Jace's blood boil. But he managed to stay calm, and grin.

Lance glanced around. "Your job tonight is keeping Dylan in line. If I hear Dylan screwed up this job, I'm blaming you."

The gang leader's next words were a grim warning.

"Your new address will be out in the Everglades with the real gators. Permanently."