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It was a long time before she stopped screaming...
Chapter 1
Bad-boy biker coming through. Sure hope I look the part.
Wind in his long hair, sunshine overhead and nothing but road stretching ahead of him.
FBI agent Jason “Jace” Beckett smiled behind the windshield of his helmet as he roared on his Harley toward the Tiki Bar. Along with reputable motorcycle riders, the Devil’s Patrol lunched there every Sunday. Jace stood on a knife’s edge of acceptance into the outlaw motorcycle club. Infiltrating was key to his undercover assignment. Almost there. Today could be when Lance, the leader of the DP’s powerful Florida chapter, tested his loyalty and then Jace was no longer a prospect, but a member.
But as he headed to the bar through a less than desirable area of town, past crumbling buildings and gang graffiti that decorated walls, he spotted an older couple standing by an expensive sedan on the side of the road. Didn’t take eagle eyes to spot the problem—flat tire.
Or the potential problem. Their shiny, polished presence and their expensive vehicle made them stand out like diamonds in a trash heap.
Inwardly cursing, he pulled to a stop in front of them. Pulled off his helmet and placed it on the seat. Jace hurried over to them. If any Devil’s Patrol riding to the Tiki Bar saw them, the couple would be robbed. Or worse.
If any DP saw Jace aiding them, they’d be suspicious. To stay in character, he had to act like a total prick. But no way in hell was he leaving Ma and Pa America stranded here in this part of town, ripe for violence.
As he neared them, the couple backed off. The white-haired woman put a hand to her throat. Jace stopped, realizing their fears. He wasn’t a member of the Devil’s Patrol yet, but the Prospect patch on his jacket indicated he’d embraced the outlaw lifestyle.
“Got a spare and a jack in that trunk?” he asked.
The man’s shoulders relaxed, but the woman still shrank back. Jace gestured to the trunk. “Pop it.”
The man obliged. Jace pulled out the spare and the jack, relieved they at least had the equipment, if they lacked the knowledge.
“We called the auto club, but they said it would be at least an hour.” The woman, who had followed her husband to the trunk, had a quavering note in her voice.
“One hour in this place is not a good idea.” Jace set about changing the tire as they stood by, wringing their hands.
In minutes he had the tire changed and the flat and jack tucked back into the trunk, which he closed with a firm hand. He glanced at the relief on their faces.
“Thank you, young man. May we give you something for your trouble?” The man pulled out his wallet and Jace glimpsed several bills.
He groaned. Why did people carry that much cash?
“No, thanks. Glad to help.”
The woman gave a real smile. “You remind me of our grandson. He’s a police officer. Always helping others.”
Terrific. If the DP saw this display of kindness, their impression of Jace as a potential member would turn to suspicion. Mistrust. They wouldn’t allow him into the club. Or worse, admit him and then when he happened to turn his back, slice him up and dump his body into the Everglades. Make him gator food so no one in his family could ID his body.
He almost laughed. What family? His father was serving twenty-five years in prison and his mother had moved on to her third husband, who’d made it clear Jace was not welcome at family reunions.
Jace offered a brief smile. “No problem.”
The woman had finally uncovered her throat, only to display a diamond pendant.
He stared at it and her smile dropped. She put a hand to her throat again. He glanced up and down the road and heard the distant, but distinct, roar of motorcycles. Dammit. Had to leave. So did they.
Now.
“Ma’am, I highly advise you to put your jewelry away where no one can see it. And when you leave here, take the long route. This is not a good area.” He gestured east to the growling engines approaching. “There are people who use this shortcut who wouldn’t hesitate to rob and beat you.”
Blood drained from their faces, but they hurried back inside the car. He scurried to his bike. The motorcycles drew closer, but the couple sped off, the man turning down a side street Jace knew led to the main road.
Too late for him, though, because the bikes were closer. He recognized the unmistakable cough of an engine. Lance, the leader of the Devil’s Patrol.
Excuses. He needed one fast. Jace sighed, went to the side of a nearby building and unzipped his jeans.
