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But his blue eyes, an echo of Jace’s, held a sadness previously missing, edging out the hardness Al always exhibited.
Prison had done something to his father. Didn’t matter. They were finished, and he only wanted the old man gone before he started sniffing out the truth.
“Anything else? I’ve got to get this bike fixed.”
Al gave him a long, thorough look that made Jace squirm internally. Finally, he nodded. “I get it. Old biker like me, and you have no time for me. Got it. No worries. But if you run into Snake or Vic, tell ’em Diesel was here.”
His father walked out the open garage bay doors.
Too close. No warning. No time for him to reel in his emotions, pretend he didn’t care.
Good thing no one else witnessed this little interaction. Jace blew out an angry breath and saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He headed for the back door, saw a bulky, large figure disappear around the corner. It might have been one of the guys. Or not. Couldn’t worry about that now.
At least he’d succeeded in driving away his old man, who hadn’t a clue he’d chatted with the son who hadn’t seen him since the day Al got hauled off to jail by the cops.
An hour later, he headed to the apartment rented for his undercover assignment. Home never looked so good to him, even though this temporary place was to crash. It was safe from prying, suspicious eyes. Here, in the privacy of this little studio, he could be himself.
As he pulled into his assigned space, he saw Oscar Porter, the neighbor who’d recently moved into an apartment on his floor. Oscar was in his assigned space, putting new wiper blades on his elderly sedan.
The man turned and pushed his glasses up his nose, grinning, as Jace roared into his spot, pushed down the kickstand and switched off the engine.
“Hey, Jace. Wow. I love your bike. Harley, right?”
Jace bit back a smile as he removed his helmet. “Yeah.”
As if the bike’s insignia wasn’t already a clue, but Oscar wasn’t bad. Guy kept to himself and didn’t cause problems. Not too curious, either, which Jace appreciated after a long day of dodging questions and trying to act the part of someone he was not.
Someone he’d vowed to never become.
“Great bike,” Oscar continued, walking over and giving the motorcycle the same look some men gave an attractive woman. “Mind if I look her over?”
Jace dismounted. “No problem. Just don’t touch the chrome.”
Oscar whistled as he ran fingers across the hand-tooled leather seat Jace had specially installed. “Custom job, right?”
“Yep.”
Oscar’s dark brown hair was cropped short and spiky on top. With his button-down shirts, neatly pressed trousers and white socks with black shoes, he might as well carry a pocket calculator.
“You think I could get a bike like that?”
The wistfulness on his face gave Jace pause from replying with the flip answer he’d intended. “Maybe. But you sure you want a motorcycle? Your car suffices. Plus, with the weather down here in Florida, in the summer, you never have to worry about sudden rainstorms.”
For a mere few seconds, he saw contempt flicker in the other man’s gaze. But the sun was setting in his eyes, so Jace rubbed his face and then put on his sunglasses. Must be a trick of the light.
“Sure. You’re right.”
Oscar’s gaze traveled over Jace’s arms and one of the tats inked on his right bicep. “Rise? What does that mean? Like in flour? Or sunrise?”
Jace grinned. “It’s a reminder for me to rise above certain things.”
In truth, he’d gotten the ink shortly after he and Kara broke up. It served as a bittersweet reminder for him to get up each damn day and face the morning instead of wallowing in self-pity.
Kara had smashed his world when she’d left him. Hated to admit the truth, but though he’d told everyone it was mutual, he truly wanted to stick it out.
Work things out.
“Jace?” Oscar pushed up his glasses again. “Did you hear me? What kind of things?”
