Rock point collection, p.57
Rock Point Collection, page 57
“Talk to me about the circumstances. How did you discover the gun missing?”
He leans his ass on the closest bike and folds his bulky arms over his chest. “A bunch of clubs stay at the same motel every year. We catch up, usually hanging around the parking lot or the pool, drinking, partying. I headed for bed around eleven. Did a check of my bike, and saw it was fuckin’ tampered with. Called the cops.”
“Do you usually check your bike before you go to bed?” I realize I sound incredulous, but it seems a little strange to me. It’s clear I embarrass him with the question, which is not something I would’ve associated with Ouray.
“Every fucking night.” This comes from one of the bikers as he passes by. “Can’t sleep if he don’t.”
“No one fucking asked you, Yuma.”
“Always happy to help law enforcement, Chief, you know that.” With a big shit-eating grin on his face, the vaguely familiar looking man walks off.
“Do I know him?” I ask, looking after the guy.
“He’s Nosh and Momma’s son.”
I manage to get a timeline from him for the Friday night, dragged out a few names of some of the other clubs, but he wasn’t playing when I asked if he had any idea who might’ve stolen his gun.
He shrugs. “Coulda been anyone. Parties are loud, everyone’s got their doors open, people going in and out of rooms. No way to tell.”
Dylan’s phone rings and he takes the call, walking off toward the Expedition, leaving me alone with Ouray.
“Look, I’ve got no idea who’s behind this, but it ain’t me or my brothers.”
He looks at me with what appears to be a sincere look on his face. Intense blue eyes, looking straight into my own. Damn. It would’ve been nice and tidy to have him be involved, but I’m not really feeling it.
Might’ve cured the unhealthy preoccupation I have with this guy.
FOUR
Luna
“How many clubs join for this annual ride?”
James Aiken, the FBI bigwig in Denver, is on speakerphone in the small boardroom.
“Five altogether,” I answer. “Mesa Riders, Shiprock, and Amontinados all meet up at the Arrow’s Edge compound. The Moab Reds join them in Ridgeway. The route is basically the same every year, just as I’ve described in my report. The same clubs will be back here this coming weekend for the Four Corners Rally.”
“And all those groups are in Durango now?”
This time it’s Damian who takes the question. “According to Strongbow, just the Amontinados and Moab Reds are. The other two outfits are supposed to rejoin them on Friday.”
“How sure are you Arrow’s Edge, or at least this Mark Strongbow, is not involved?”
“I can’t vouch for every individual,” Damian offers. “But in the last decade they seem to have kept their noses clean, they’ve established several legal businesses in town. I’m solid on Strongbow, he’s a straight shooter. Luna checked with the Morrison PD yesterday and they confirm the theft report. The officer she spoke to also mentioned that in all the years they’ve had maybe three other encounters with his club. Two fights and one DUI. He couldn’t say the same for some of the other clubs.”
“I assume you’ve done criminal backgrounds on the other outfits?”
Damian nods at Jasper, who starts outlining the laundry list of crimes accredited to some of these clubs, up to and including murder. Two of them are currently under investigation in open cases.
Aiken is quiet for a moment, seeming to process the information when his voice comes back on. “I’m thinking chances are good Durango is next. I suggest putting a bug in the ear of local dispensaries. Tell them to increase security.”
“Already done,” Damian responds. “We’ve been in close contact with Durango PD. They’ve called in all the manpower for the upcoming weekend. Not just to monitor the rally, but for extra patrols out there.”
“Good. Tough when there are so many goddamn suspects.”
“Close-lipped bunch too,” Jasper agrees.
“Except maybe that Strongbow guy. Say…how willing do you figure he’d be to help us out?”
“What are you thinking?” Damian wants to know.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but it’s giving me hives sitting on my ass waiting for something to happen. What if we could get behind the eight ball on this?”
“How do you figure?” This from me. I don’t know why my senses are suddenly on sharp. Call it intuition.
“Would Strongbow agree if we had one of our guys cover as a club member? You’ve got Barnes there, right? Scuff him up a bit and stick him on a bike. He could pass.”
Dylan sits up straight, a fat grin on his face. Every boy’s dream.
“Possibly.” Damian looks around the table. “Only problem is, we’ve got days left. Inserting a guy into a club and having everyone buy into it takes a fuck of a lot longer than that. They’re generally not the most trusting bunch.” His eyes land on me and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “However, no one would question a new pretty face on the back of one of the bikes.”
-
“Are you nuts?”
I stomp after Damian into his office the moment the conference call ends.
“It’s perfect,” he says, sitting down behind his desk, raising an arrogant eyebrow. “We’ll talk to Ouray, get you hooked up with one of his guys, and—”
“Have you looked at me? How the hell am I supposed to pull off a biker babe?”
Seriously, I’m as bland as they come, and from what I’ve seen of those women hanging off the back of a bike, they’re anything but bland.
“Selling yourself short, Roosberg. I bet with a bit of makeup and the right clothes, you’d make a knockout biker babe.” Disgruntled, I’m about to launch into a long list of arguments again, when Damian adds, “Besides, we’d need someone with your intuition and skills, and those aren’t easy to find.”
Trust him to take the wind out of my sails with professional flattery. As a woman in what still is predominantly a man’s world—a fairly diminutive woman at that—being seen as valuable is an ongoing struggle. Not so much by my team, these guys treat me as equal, but there are many—also in the ranks of the Bureau—who continue to believe women have no place in this line of work.
Damian is playing me. He knows it, and I know it. I would never refuse an order, especially one that’s dressed up as a challenge.
“Fine,” is my less than gracious answer.
“Let’s see if Mr. Strongbow is willing to meet with us here. Best for us to keep a low professional profile at the compound from here on in if we want this to be believable.”
Ouray
That’s a first.
I have to admit it’s mostly out of curiosity that I agreed to meet with Gomez at the FBI office. Can’t say I’ve ever been invited before, nor have I been interested to be, but discovering my gun looks to have been used in a chain of violent robberies has left me with a bad taste in my mouth. The whole sequence of events leaves me irked. Not like guns are too hard to find, but it seems fucking suspicious that my weapon gets swiped and immediately is used in a string of crimes which seems to have followed my club on a path through Colorado. Gets my blood pressure up.
And I’m not going to deny the prospect of going toe to toe with that blonde fireball has the same damn effect.
I know where the field office is, I’ve just never actually been up here. Perched on the edge of a cliff, the solitary building at the end of Rock Point Drive has views of a large chunk of Durango. I park my bike and walk to the edge of the parking lot, overlooking downtown. Fuck, this would’ve been a nice place for the Arrow’s Edge clubhouse, like some impenetrable fortress, although a bit too visible for my tastes.
I’m not sure what’s on the main level, but the sign on the wall indicates the offices are upstairs, so that’s where I go. The wall on one side of the second floor landing has floor to ceiling lockers, and the door is directly opposite. Expecting some kind of reception area, I push the door open and walk straight into what appears to be a large shared office space. The first person I see is Luna, her blue eyes startle when they shoot up.
“Most people knock.”
Jesus, the woman is prickly, but for some reason it makes me grin, which seems to tick her off even more.
“Didn’t realize you doubled as receptionist.” I return what I know is a jab, intended to fire her up even more. With success.
“Kiss my ass, Strongbow.” She’s spitting now, rising out of her chair.
Deep chuckles draw my attention to the two others inhabiting the space. I lift my chin in their general direction. I like Jasper Greene, have had some interaction with him but the other guy—Barnes, I think—I don’t really know.
“Thanks for coming,” Gomez greets me, sticking his head around a doorway before he turns to the others. “Boardroom?”
“You nuts?” I bark out, when Gomez lays out his reasons for asking me here. “You’re sending a woman undercover into an MC? Do you know how fuckin’ risky that is?” I plant my hands on the table, ignoring the woman in question, who is turning purple in the face.
“Let me remind you again,” Gomez says sharply. “Roosberg is a highly qualified agent.”
“That may be so, but in my world; she eyes like a tasty piece of innocent candy. She’ll get chewed up and spit out.”
“Only if she’ll let them.” He leans over the table, mimicking my stance. “Besides, we’ll plant her on the back of the bike of one of your most trusted guys. Someone who evokes a lot of respect, both inside and outside of your club, and gives her credibility. One of your officers.”
“I was thinking Kaga? Maybe Yuma?” she contributes and I shoot her a hot glare.
“Kaga’s old lady might take issue with that, and over my dead body you’ll get on the back of Yuma’s bike,” I growl, the thought of that goddamn male slut anywhere near this sprite has me see blood. His claim to fame is banging a record amount of pussy at every fucking rally we attend, and he’s none too picky either. Christ, it’s a miracle his cock is still attached.
“Why?” she challenges me, and I get in her face.
“Because even just sittin’ on the back of his fuckin’ bike will leave you with a severe case of crotch rot.” Her big blue eyes blink a few times before she shrugs.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. You ride on the back of anyone’s bike, it’ll be mine.” I realize my mistake the moment it leaves my mouth, and I see the smug grin on Gomez’s face. Should’ve left well enough alone, but I had to fucking hammer it home. Truth is, it probably is the best option. A few of my guys have witnessed the fireworks between her and me, and it probably wouldn’t be hard to convince them something’s going on.
Jesus. Even just thinking about that tight little body snug behind me on my bike has my dick rise to the occasion.
“Perfect,” the asshole says. “That’s settled then.”
“Wait—” she pipes up, but I ignore her protests.
“Thing is though, in order to sell it, we’ll have to convince my guys first. We can fake it for the outside world, but all it takes is one of my guys getting drunk, getting loose-lipped, and your cover is blown. Can’t do anything about most of them knowing she’s an agent, but we can make it not matter.”
“Excuse me—”
“So what are you suggesting?” Damian asks.
“I’m suggesting I’m picking my date up for a club barbecue tonight, taking her on the back of my bike, so there can be no mistaking in what capacity she’s there.”
“Over my dead body,” Luna shouts.
“I’ll be able to introduce her as mine to some of the guys from the visiting clubs. Will make her coming to the rally a lot more credible,” I address Gomez, who turns to his fuming agent and slowly raises one eyebrow. I try hard not to smirk when I see the effort it takes for her to rein her shit back in.
“Fine,” she bites off through clenched teeth.
“Excellent.”
Special Agent in Charge Damian Gomez is fucking looking like the cat that got the cream, way too satisfied.
“Need your phone number and address.”
She glares at me. “I don’t share my address with anyone.”
“I’m not anyone,” I shoot back. “I’m your new man. You want this believable, don’t ya?” She doesn’t take her angry eyes off me, and I can tell she’s pissed I’m making sense.
“Luna…” her boss gives her a low warning. “Write it down for him.”
Ripping a page from her notebook, with vicious scratches of her pen, she writes down her phone number and address. I’m pretty surprised to find she’s not even five minutes from the clubhouse. Small fucking world.
“Be ready at seven,” I warn her, tucking the paper in my pocket. “I’m doing the meat so I can’t be late.”
With a handshake for Gomez and a chin lift for the other guys, I head for the door, when I hear her voice behind me.
“But I don’t have anything to wear.”
Luna
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous and it’s pissing me off.
I should be pumped about the undercover assignment—those kinds of opportunities are rare for female agents—but instead of plotting moves, I’m contemplating fucking outfits. Nothing in my closet at home screams biker chick. In fact, all I have in there are suits for work, cargo pants and T-shirts—also for work—and an unhealthy amount of athletic wear. I own precisely one pair of jeans, and those are of the mommy variety and don’t exactly scream biker babe.
With only an hour and a half left before I have to be home because he’ll be knocking on my door—no time to go fucking shopping—I know there’s only option open to me. One person who might be able to help on short notice, because she has a gasp worthy collection of fitted and flimsy.
“Bella, I need help,” I come right out and admit when she answers her phone.
Bella is my teammate Jasper’s better half, and a clothes horse. She’s also short, like me, perhaps a bit more curvy, but she likes stuff super tight so it might fit me just right.
Thirty torturous minutes later, I’m pulling myself into a pair of stretchy designer jeans with holes. It’s a concept I still don’t understand, paying exorbitant amounts of money for jeans that look like they’re ready for the trash can. I’m told it’s fashionable. All right then. They look like they were painted on my legs, they fit so snug.
“Your ass looks outstanding in these!” Bella, of course, was all over my dilemma and has been using me like some overgrown animated Barbie doll to dress.
“I don’t need an outstanding ass,” I grumble. “I just have to look believable.”
“Then you do need ass, and tits,” she informs me, and I look down at my scant B cups. Not even a handful, maybe just a palm. I shake my head, knocking loose the image of Ouray’s large calloused hands. “Don’t worry, this tank has a built-in push-up shelf.”
I have no fucking idea what a ‘built-in push-up shelf’ is, but I’ll take her word for it. She hands me the teal-colored bit of material I don’t think is going to do much to turn my tiny bumps into the required ‘tits’ she talks of, but I would be wrong. When she turns me to face the mirror, I suddenly have a fucking fruit basket under my chin.
My, “Holy shit, where’d those come from?” is immediately followed by, “I can’t go out like this!”
Bella just chuckles behind me, fitting me into a soft, three-quarter sleeved, powder blue cardigan with sparkly glass buttons. “The jeans are rough and tumble, the tank is pure sex, but adding the sweater brings out the sweet. It makes for an irresistible contrast. You look delicious.”
“Jesus, fuck, Bella, what have you done with Roosberg?” Jasper walks into the bedroom. I immediately blush red, feeling a little too exposed, and have a ridiculous urge to cover myself up with the bedspread.
“Doesn’t she look amazing?” Bella coos.
“Squirt, we want her believable, not have every guy within fifty yards swallow his goddamn tongue.”
The off-handed compliment feels good. Too good. It’s messing with my head. I don’t like to stand out, but the prospect of turning heads is also secretly exhilarating. Turning one head anyway.
“Do I need high heels?” I ask Bella, feeling a little bolder and wanting a little extra height.
“Can you walk on them?”
“I can try,” I offer, because I haven’t really.
“Then no,” Bella firmly shakes her head. “You’ll totally ruin the sexy vibe if you stumble around. It might be cute with Keds or Chucks.” At the blank look on my face, she throws up her hands and dives back into her bottomless closet, coming out with a pair of white tennis shoes.
“I have a pair of flip-flops at home,” I suggest, but this time Jasper has an opinion.
“Not on the back of a bike. Also, those aren’t great if you need to move fast.”
He’s got a point.
After a hug from Bella, wishing me good luck, and a brotherly word of caution from Jasper, I’m on my way home, checking out my enhanced boobage at every stop. Who knew?
By the time there’s a knock at my door, I’ve been to the bathroom three times already and have had to resist pulling a plain T-shirt on for a little extra coverage. Too late now anyway.
I can’t say I don’t feel a pang of satisfaction when I pull the door open and the smug grin Ouray is sporting drops right off his face.
“Fuck me,” he almost groans, looking me up and down before pulling me out the door. “I’m gonna regret this.”
FIVE
Ouray
