by Brook Wilder
I leaned against the car, relaxing my pose. “You’re on private property.”
She frowned, looking around. “The street is private property? I thought it was owned by the county.”
I pointed at the curb. “That is part of the private property. We could have your car towed.”
She arched a brow. “We? Are you like private security or something?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Clearly, she wasn’t scared that I had approached her. “You are asking a lot of questions.”
She mimicked my stance. “And you aren’t offering up a lot of answers, Mr. …”
She was fishing. Fine. I would give her a small bite. “Keith,” I stated. “You can call me Keith.”
I wasn’t prepared for her smile as she stuck out her hand. “Jill. Nice to meet you.”
I gritted my teeth as I shook her hand, ignoring the feel of her skin gliding against mine. “Jill, you are on private property.”
Her smile dimmed and she dropped my hand like a hot potato. “Is that all you can say, Keith?”
“It’s all I am going to say, Jill,” I answered firmly.
She looked over her shoulder at the clubhouse, her lips upturned. “I know this is a biker club.”
I chuckled. “It’s not hard to identify that. There are bikes out front, after all, and we don’t wear these vests for a fashion statement.”
Jill laughed and I felt my blood warm at the sound. It was husky, even a bit sexy.
Damn, it had been too long.
“Well then,” she said, tapping her finger against her chin. “I guess that means that you could tell me a lot of things about that clubhouse and the two clubs that reside together. That’s right, isn’t it? Both the Rough Jesters and the Hell’s Bitches share that space, correct?”
Well, hell. She had been investigating the clubs. Why was still up for debate, but I imagined we would find out soon enough. So, I decided to try a different tactic. “So you want to know what goes on over there, don’t you?”
Something glittered in her eyes, telling me I had hit my mark. She sidled closer to me, until I could see the light trace of freckles over the bridge of her nose. “I would very much like for you to tell me, Keith.”
I grinned. “I bet you would, Jill, I bet you would.”
She smirked. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
I had a sudden urge to pull her against me. “No, I’m not, Jill. Get out of here and don’t come back.”
Her smile faded and she now looked pissed. “You’ve been playing with me.”
I bent down, until our noses almost brushed each other’s. “Darling, if I played with you, you would know it.”
Her cheeks flushed and she took several steps backward to put distance between us.
“You need to leave,” I told her, seeing I had her rattled. “Next time I won’t be as friendly.”
Jill pressed her lips together, but she didn’t respond, turning around and climbing in her car without another word. Once she was pulling onto the street, I raked a hand over my hair and continued on to the clubhouse, replaying our interaction in my head. She wasn’t afraid, that was for certain.
Which meant she would be back. We hadn’t seen the last of Jill.
***
Later, I sat at the bar, nursing a beer in between my hands. The club was loud and boisterous tonight, members bleeding out of every corner. Every once in a while I would speak to one of them that bellied up to the bar, getting a nod or grunt in return. I hadn’t fought next to them in the war against the cartel, and they didn’t understand that the work I did on the computer was what kept them together in this clubhouse.
It was a hard thing to understand.
I didn’t blame them. I still had to earn their trust and that was okay with me.
I would. I would show them that I could be part of this club even if I didn’t enjoy the same fighting style.
“That’s some heavy thought for a beer.”
I turned to find Crankshaft grinning back at me. “I thought you would be with your wife.”
He signaled for a beer. “As much as I would like to be with her, she has found some thread of something on that damn computer of hers and shooed me away.”
Yeah, that sounded like Sabs. “She’s like a dog with a bone.”
Crankshaft shook his head, though the grin remained. “That’s my girl. She’s really happy that you joined the club too, man. As much as I fucking hate the fact that she talks about another dude, I’m glad it’s you, fucker.”
I chuckled. “It’s only for my brain, I promise you.”
A beer appeared in front of him and Crankshaft took a long swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You are doing good things for the club. Just because you don’t fight with us doesn’t mean you aren’t important. Don’t forget it.”
I thought about his words long after Sabs had come and ushered him away from the bar, still nursing that same beer. Maybe there was some reason I was here.
Chapter 5
Jill
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. I had thought the bottle of Jack Daniels would drown the day’s events, but it hadn’t.
Instead it had filled my dreams with a handsome hazel-eyed devil that had given me a run for my money and nearly upset my entire train of thought. When Keith had first approached me, I had a thousand ideas in my mind of what I was going to say, how I would worm my way into the clubhouse and get the story.
But all those great thoughts had flown out of the window the moment I laid eyes on him up close. He was the biker I had watched outside the clubhouse that day, the one without a care in the world.
Not to mention he was quite gorgeous when he was only inches from me. Those hazel eyes were flecked with gold, that strong jaw dusted with the lightest of stubble. My eyes had followed the strong column of his neck to his broad shoulders, though I had forced myself to stop there.
Last thing I needed was to be ogling him like that.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t helped me out at all. There had been a moment, a brief one, where I had thought about really turning on the charm, turning into a sexy siren that would have him panting after me. There were a lot of journalists of the female kind that did that exact thing for a story. I had heard all sorts of stories of women desperate to make their way in a man’s world and doing all they could to get the sensational story that would break them out into true journalists.
I hadn’t stooped that low. Even when Julian had me in his bed, I hadn’t been doing it for a job or a story.
I had done it because I thought he truly cared about me.
Not anymore. Now, I was going to find the source, and I’ll do whatever it takes.
After a long shower and a few tablets to kill the headache, I climbed back in my car and headed to the police station, hoping that the chief of police would see me. I had plenty of pictures, and based on what I had heard on the chatter feeds, I knew that the police had to have tabs on both clubs.
I could potentially bargain with them, trade information for information. They had to want dirt on the clubs. Turning in a group that the feds wanted their hands on had to work in the local cops’ favor.
On the drive over, I worked on my story, trying to come up with a decent one that would get me in. I couldn’t go as a journalist. The feds would never breathe one word to me the moment that secret was out.
Plus, I would only have one shot at this. When I walked out of the station today, they would be researching my name and deducing that I had been after information all along.
Which meant I needed to get what I could with the first visit.
I pulled into the parking lot and parked my car, giving myself one last look in the rearview mirror. I had taken care with my looks today, choosing a short jacket-skirt combo that brought out my more severe side.
Heck, I even had on makeup.
As I stepped out of the car, I decided on my story. I was going to be a college student lo
oking for an internship. I still looked young, even though I was approaching twenty-five.
Depending on who the police chief was, he would either ignore me or leer at me.
Either way, I would be in for a brief period of time.
I breezed into the police station, looking confident as I approached the desk. Appearing to be confident went a long way in this business. “I would like to speak to the chief of police,” I told the desk clerk, hating the fact that it was a woman and not a man. A man was so much easier to charm.
She frowned at me. “And you are?”
I let out a girlish giggle. “Oh! I am so sorry. I am Jill and I am looking for an internship. I want to be in law enforcement.”
She gave me a once-over, a smirk appearing on her lips. “You want to be a cop?”
“Yes,” I said brightly. “I’ve got to do an interview with a high-ranking officer and ask for an internship. I figured the chief was the perfect person.”
She didn’t look like she believed me, but reached for her phone, nevertheless. I kept my smile on my face as she relayed the line of bull crap I had just fed her, finally placing the phone back on its cradle. “Go on back.”
“Thanks so much!” I answered, walking through the door she buzzed me through. A woman waited on the other side; a gun strapped to her hip. “Jill?”
“I’m Jill,” I said, sticking out my hand. Maybe they had sent the assistant to the chief.
“Chief Owens,” she stated, giving my hand a firm shake. “You can call me Alisha.”
Well, hell. The chief was a woman. I couldn’t turn back now. “Thanks for meeting with me. I’m sure you are super busy.”
“No problem,” Alisha answered, dropping my hand. “Come on back.”
I followed her back, chewing on my bottom lip. I could tell that Alisha was no pushover, which made this all the more difficult.
I was about to put on the performance of a lifetime.
Alisha led me to a sterile office, settling herself behind a standard-issue desk. “Can I get you something? Coffee, water?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, settling into the chair across from her. My palms were sweaty, so I clasped them together tightly.
She braced her forearms on the desk. “Leslie said you were looking for an internship, that you want to be an officer.”
“I want to be in law enforcement,” I said in a rush. “Though I’m not sure exactly what position yet. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
Alisha leaned back in her chair. “Sure.”
I made a great show of opening my notebook, flipping through my pages of notes I had taken on the biker club until I found an empty page. “What is the crime rate here in Castillo?”
“It’s pretty low,” she replied. “We keep a close eye on the streets.”
I wrote some gibberish down as if I was taking notes. “Do you think you are a fair chief?”
Alisha chuckled. “I like to think so. It’s not easy being chief of police sometimes. You have to forget the past relationships you have had and focus on the justice that needs to be done.”
I spied a picture frame on the table next to me, seeing that it was of the woman before me and a man, both smiling at the camera. His arm was around her waist, but it wasn’t the look of happiness that drew me in and made me look closer.
It was the fact that he was wearing a vest suspiciously like the one I had seen yesterday on Keith.
A Rough Jesters’ vest.
What the hell?
“Jill?”
I turned my attention back to the chief of police, seeing the wedding band on her finger. Was she married to a biker?
Oh, this I had to find out! “I’m sorry,” I said, managing an apologetic smile. “I got lost in my thoughts. What sort of issues do you have in Castillo then? I know the cartel is pretty active, and with the town so close to the border, I just have to ask.”
Alisha seemed surprised by my question. “Again, we keep a close eye on the crime. The cartel is always a concern for us. Can I ask which college you are thinking about, Jill?”
She was starting to seem suspicious. “University of Texas, of course,” I said with a little laugh. “Hook ’em horns.”
She nodded. “Well, I do wish you well in your endeavors.”
“What about the Rough Jesters biker club?” I blurted out, unable to help it. “I see that your picture there has one of their members in it. Is the police force able to control their illegal activity or do you turn a blind eye to it?”
Her eyes narrowed as she pushed away from the desk, drawing herself to full height. “I think this interview is over.”
I stood as well, knowing the gig was up. “Wouldn’t you rather that I find out from you than from someone else?”
Her jaw tightened. “I said this interview is over. I don’t know who you are, but you sure as hell aren’t looking for an internship. I’ve said my piece, and I think you should take the hint.”
I smirked. “Are you threatening me?”
“Get out.”
I did as she asked, walking out to my car with a grin on my face. I wasn’t scared of the chief. Heck, I admired the fact that she was willing to protect what she loved and cherished most.
But by making that comment, Alisha Owens had just given me my first lead without even knowing it. She had all but told me that she and that Rough Jester in the picture were married.
Climbing in the car, I shut the door and pulled out my notebook once more. Quickly, I wrote down the chief’s name, drawing a circle around her nameless husband. That would be what I researched. I had links, websites, that would give me what I needed to hear.
I also wrote down Keith’s name, trying not to think of his handsome profile as I did so. Before I knew what I had done, a heart appeared around his name.
Really? I scribbled it out, angry that I would have even thought about doing so. Now I would have to rewrite the entire page.
Sighing, I threw the notebook in the passenger seat and looked around the empty parking lot. I would go find some food and change out of these ridiculous clothes first, then return to the police station for a little bit of spying. If my assumptions were true, then I would see Alisha’s husband, or another biker come to visit with the chief of police.
Then I would have more ammo to start to thread the story together, a story that meant the police station was covering for the biker club.
A club known to have illegal ties to the cartel.
I cranked the engine, a grin on my face. I was onto something big; I just knew it.
I just had to prove it.
Chapter 6
Wires
I sat back in the chair, stretching my legs out before me. There was more than just the accounts before me on my mind and I didn’t like having the distraction.
It was all her fault.
Actually, I had thought about her since the moment she had driven away, noting that the car she was driving was a rental.
No big deal for a hacker like me. A quick snap with my cell phone and I knew all her personal business.
Jill Anders, almost twenty-five, and a bonafide writer for a website that reported everything from current news to celebrity gossip.
A quick search of her name on the website told me that they didn’t give her the good articles, but rather the ones buried deep, and what I had read, well, she did have talent.
And a load of conspiracies that were liked by those that did find her articles.
Well, hell. That posed a huge issue for the club.
But it wasn’t her articles that had me concerned.
The door opened and I sat up quickly, clearing my throat as Sabrina walked through. “Here,” she said, thrusting the wrapped sub to me. “I’m tired of the junk they serve at lunch.”
I took the sub, giving her a nod. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said, stretching her back before falling into the chair next to me. “What are you looking at?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I found out who our spy is.”
She made a sound, scooting closer. “Is she cute?”
I looked over at Sabrina, arching a brow. “Is that all you can say? Not she’s going to ruin the club or the fact that she has more photos of the members than anyone else?”