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If not for his deep guffaw, she’d never have recognized him.
Confidence drained out of her like a deflated balloon. She fiddled with her iced tea, tracing a droplet of condensation on the glass. It felt like a teardrop. Like the damn tears she’d cried the day they broke up.
Motorcycles always meant more to Jace than she did. Not even the amazing sex they’d had, or the way they clicked on other things, like the theater, or their long conversations, had been enough to keep them glued together.
Filled with bitter memories and a sudden, sharp longing, she glanced up.
Only to see him pull a woman in denim short shorts and a sleeveless shirt onto his lap. The woman planted a big kiss on his mouth as Jace wrapped his arms around her. Stinging jealousy shot through Kara. She tried ignoring it, but there it was, like a cloud of gnats at sunset. She knew how Jace liked to do it—long, deep, intoxicating kisses, making her forget everything but him, and then they’d end up in bed together.
Kara bit her bottom lip, remembering his lazy smile, the way he’d cup the back of her head, holding her steady for those drugging kisses...exquisite, filling her with heat.
She dared to look at him again. The way he kissed this stranger on his lap wasn’t the same. He kissed without the finesse he’d always displayed, kissed this woman as if she meant nothing.
Forget him. You’ve moved on.
Still, the ache for something she had and lost couldn’t be fully ignored. Kara felt like a hungry diner staring inside an exclusive restaurant, knowing she could never dine there again.
Reggie finished his catfish. Time to go. She paid the check in a hurry and as she pushed back from the table, Jace glanced over.
He saw her.
Chapter 2
Kara. 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.
