Fingertips red from the force of their pressure on the table, she stared at Falconer as if she were willing him to take back his claim. “No, Felicia wouldn’t do that.”
Went to show how little she knew about her own sister. There were things he could tell her about Felicia Cates that would turn the fire in Rory’s hair to ash. “She was busted for selling meth a month ago.”
Rory’s head snapped toward him, sending her hair whipping like flames in a draft. “No. Not with Hannah—”
“The baby’s what got her the break,” Ace pointed out. “She agreed to wear a wire so she wouldn’t have to spend time in jail.”
Pushing aside the plate of blueberry muffins and the bowl of fresh-cut pineapple, Rory practically crawled across the table and banged her fist in front of him. Her gaze scorched his, and its heat struck all the way to his gut. “I don’t believe it. She’s changed.”
“She was under a lot of pressure—” But even Falconer’s cool words couldn’t douse the anger blazing in her eyes.
“Felicia wouldn’t do anything to put Hannah in danger,” Rory insisted.
“Well, she did.” Ace resisted the urge to look away from her scalding accusation. “And what you’re walking into is a finely tuned drug operation. Mike Fletcher runs the local distribution, but we’re after the guy who feeds him what he sells. There’s a regular alphabet soup of agencies wanting a piece of this.” As Rory slunk back into her chair, he turned to Falconer, focusing on the goal, not on the burn rising too quickly up his neck. “If she starts asking questions, she’ll mess up the groundwork I’ve set.”
“She has a legitimate reason to ask questions,” Falconer countered. “Questions you couldn’t ask without raising suspicions.”
“She’ll blow my cover.”
Her eyes darkened to a molten gold as hot as embers. “As what? A long-haired, Italian pirate?”
The leather jacket, chaps over jeans, engineer boots and bandana were part of what it took to fit in. If he knew nothing else, he knew how to fit in. He would not let her put a match to his emotions. He was better than that. “Fitting in is an art. One you can’t learn in books.”
“I don’t have to fit in. I’m her sister.”
“It’s not going to work.” She was going to fight him every step of the way, and he wouldn’t stand a chance to make his way deeper into the organization.
“She knows how to find information.” The hard set of Falconer’s face told Ace he’d already made up his mind. “I’ve used her skills in the past.”
Fighting this would get him a reassignment—or worse, dismissal. He needed the top-notch salary Falconer was willing to pay for his mastery at fitting in with the biker crowd. Ace swore silently, never letting the mask of control crack. He knew how to play the role. He’d done it all of his life. “This isn’t a book job, Falconer. These people aren’t the ROMEO club.”
“Romeo club?” Rory asked.
“Retired Old Men who Eat Out,” Falconer said. “A bunch of retired guys who formed a motorcycle club and meet at restaurants.”
“The Sons of Steel don’t mess with paper and computers. They’re like old-time gunslingers. They live by the law of the meanest.”
“There are triggers everywhere,” Falconer said. “Rory knows how to follow their tracks.”
“That’s Kingsley’s expertise.”
Falconer didn’t give. “I need Kingsley here. Rory will be on-site.”
“She wouldn’t know a handlebar from a fender—”
“—motorcycles.about.com,” Rory said.
Ace ground his back teeth. “Or an amphetamine from an aspirin—”
“—usdoj.gov.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s going to come in real handy when Mike and Curtis Fletcher come sniffing up your skirt.” He planted one finger on the table in front of her. “What web site are you going to look up to fight two guys who take what they want without caring who it hurts? They’re going to be all over you. Are you ready for that?”
She didn’t even have the decency to flinch. She just sat there staring at him like a wick feeding on lamp oil.
“That’s where you come in,” Falconer said. “Your job’s to see that that doesn’t happen. Anybody who tries to lay a hand on her has to go through you.”
“I’d be fighting the whole gang every day.”
“Make sure you win them all.”
A baby-sitter. Falconer was asking him to become a friggin’ baby-sitter. Ace didn’t have time for that. Not when he was so close to shutting down this whole operation. “She’s a damned librarian. She doesn’t know the first thing about working in the field.”
Rory picked up the laptop at her side and booted it up. Long fingers dancing on the keys, she worked as if no one else was in the room.
Falconer peeled back the paper cup on a muffin. “She has a keen sense of observation.”
Lip peeled from teeth in scorn. “Real keen. Her sister’s been eyeball-deep in manure for months. She only noticed when Felicia disappeared. And if you want my opinion, Felicia disappeared on purpose. She couldn’t take the heat and jumped out of the frying pan.”
Rory glared at him. “No doubt because you’d turned up the pressure for her to wear that wire and made her jump right into the fire.”
“She doesn’t know who I am.”
“But you were still ready to sacrifice her for your case. Who, other than me, worried when she disappeared?”
“I’m not ATF. I’m not FBI. I’m my own man.” Ace swore. She’d done it after all. She’d made him lose his cool. “She’s been gone only two days.” And he had noticed.
“I don’t care if it’s two hours, two days or two weeks. She wouldn’t have left Hannah behind.” The cold withdrawal in her voice took him aback. What had he said? “I don’t care about your case. I just want to find Felicia.”
“If we find Felicia,” Falconer said, “we can solve the case.”
“And that calls for field work.” Ace’s hands curled into fists. “You know it’s going to go bad.”
“Bad?” Rory said. “What’s he talking about?”
Nobody was going to believe that someone like him had the hots for someone like her. And if Ace didn’t stake a claim to her, she was going to be fair game. “Sooner or later somebody’s going to get suspicious.”
“Not if you keep your cool,” Falconer said. He turned to Rory. Her turn for the skewer. “If you find yourself getting up in the morning afraid, then pull out. That’s no reflection on you. Either
