Recognizing the sound, Jace’s heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. Motorcycles. At least two big hogs. He ran to the railroad tracks. Two big bikes roared on the street on the opposite side of the tracks, the sound growing dimmer as they headed south. But that street was a dead end. Soon, they’d turn around.
He wanted to believe they were out for a leisurely drive. Knew better. Jace cursed, whipping his gaze around. “How the hell did they find me this fast?”
Something flickered in Rafe’s gaze. “If you were followed, then they tracked you a different way. Who has access to this bike?”
“Anyone. Everyone, when I park it in the open.”
“I’d bet my sweet abuela’s secret family recipe for comida criolla they put a GPS tracker on your bike.”
Jace swore. He didn’t like the idea of Rafe being a new target. “Yeah, I figured as much, which is why I want you to take Kara and leave. I’ll find the tracker.”
“Change clothing with me. It’ll buy you time. Kara said we resemble each other a little. We’re about the same size.”
He didn’t like it, but Rafe had a point. Jace sat on the ground to tug off his biker boots while Rafe toed off his shoes. They stripped and exchanged clothing. Rafe’s white cotton button-down shirt and linen trousers felt odd after months of going casual.
The clothing was a little loose on him, but it worked. He eyed Rafe in his T-shirt, black leather jacket, worn jeans and biker boots.
“Now I know where your salary goes, bruh. Nice threads,” Jace said.
Rafe tucked his weapon into the back of the jeans. He climbed onto the bike, saluted Kara.
“Stay safe,” he told Jace, and then he was off, the big bike roaring and the sound finally fading away.
Jace watched him leave. Getting to Georgia and finding Dylan was imperative now. They had to get to the kid.
Before Marcus launched his op to blow his target sky high.
Chapter 13
The car Rafe loaned him was immaculate, and rode like a dream, with a V-8 engine that purred at the speed limit and accelerated like a bullet when he needed speed. The seats were soft leather that provided plenty of comfort for long driving. The air-conditioning worked, and he could Bluetooth his iPhone to the speaker system and play soothing classical music.
Why then, did he feel so uneasy as they drove north through the sleepy back roads of Georgia?
Wasn’t that he merely missed his bike and hoped the hell Rafe had been able to evade his pursuers. It was Kara, riding shotgun next to him, the delicate scent of her perfumed skin tasing him like an electrical shock. Kara, who had snuggled against him on the motorcycle and wrapped her slim arms around his waist, hanging on for dear life. Kara, who now hugged the door as if ready to open it and jump out of this car.
They’d driven all day, stopping briefly for rest stops. Jace glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Two hours until her cousin was due to call. He could understand her tension, but not the anger radiating from her like a heat signature.
“What’s eating you?” he asked.
Kara turned her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“The hell you are. You’ve barely spoken since we left Rafe.” Jace blew out a breath. “You insisted on being on this ride, Kara. Now, you’re acting like I forced you to come along.”
“What’s going on with you, Jace?” she blurted. “Stop lying to me and tell me what is really going on. I know there’s more to all this than my jewelry getting stolen. That guy you know—Rafe—you spoke to him like he was law enforcement and you work for him.”
His shoulders sagged. He avoided a pothole, slowed down as they came into a tiny town where the speed limit was more conducive to a brisk stroll. A post office, mini market and gas station and two churches flanked them as he drove down the main street.
At a red light, he turned and regarded her. “Let’s stop and get a bite. You have a couple of hours until he calls and you look famished.”
Kara shook her head. “I’m not hungry and I can’t eat until you promise to level with me. I can’t do this anymore, Jace. I’m too upset over Dylan and I need you to stop acting like everything is a secret.”
Her mouth compressed. “Because if Dylan is in real trouble, not just wanted by the local cops and these gangbangers you call friends, I want to know every single detail. I won’t risk losing him, just as your friend Rafe told you to run if anyone starts shooting because he won’t risk losing you as well.”
She turned to look out her window. “And I...don’t want to lose you, either, Jace.”
Whoa. This went in a different direction than he’d anticipated. Jace’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to me, Kara. I can handle myself. As for your cousin, I’ll do everything I can to save him.”
Without waiting for an answer, he used his phone’s GPS to look for a quick meal and found a diner up the road. He’d prefer a more anonymous chain restaurant, but this rural area offered few options.
Jace pulled into the parking lot of the Good Times Diner. Lots of pickup trucks, some older sedans. Definitely a locals’ hangout. He rolled up his shirtsleeves. Maybe no one would recognize him. He held the door open for Kara, taking a deep breath as all convo stopped and they stared at her.
Kara was stare-worthy, oh, yeah. Put her in rags and she’d still stand out like pure snow on blacktop. But he wished he’d gone further, maybe found a fast-food stand. Too late now. At least no sheriff’s deputies sitting at the counter, jawing about the weather and such, and criminal bikers on the run from law enforcement.
When they were seated at a booth near the kitchen, him facing the door to survey who came inside, Jace tried to concentrate on the grease-splattered menu. Too many questions, and he had answers he couldn’t give her.
Kara was already involved and he needed to cut her out of this equation.
“Jace?” Her voice was quiet, troubled. “Please talk to me and stop staring at the menu as if it holds all the answers in the world.”
“I wish it did. Maybe life would be less complicated.” He set aside the menu as a waiter scurried to their side.
He ordered a thick juicy hamburger with cheese, fries on the side. Kara settled for a salad. She was too thin and she needed protein.
When their drinks arrived, he was ready to tell her a partial truth without blowing his cover. With the noise from the kitchen, and most of the locals gathered near the counter, they had a modicum of privacy.
“Kara, I work in the garage the Devil’s Patrol own. Yeah, I’m a member. But I’m not like the others.” He sipped the sweet tea. One thing about this section of the South. Sweet tea was guaranteed and it was mighty fine.
He sipped more tea and then continued, “Neither is your cousin. I did a little digging and found out Dylan is in deep debt to Lance, the club president. Lance bought him the Ducati, the bike he owns, and as payback, Lance has forced him to steal. Smash-and-grab burglaries. Dylan didn’t want to participate, but Lance threatened to break his fingers.”
