Chapter One

Three weeks later

From his position beneath the battered hulk of a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, Jace had an unobstructed view of the strip joint he had under surveillance. Living Dolls was one of several clubs owned by the Arroyo-Ramirez brothers, a pair of lowlifes if ever there was. The investigation was triggered by a paid police informant’s claim the brothers were soliciting prostitution.

Little did they know that tidbit would open a giant can of worms.

Like most criminals, the brothers didn’t limit themselves to only one vice. Prostitution, drugs and extortion, you name it and they’d probably committed it. For years the Ramirez brothers had succeeded in skirting the law. Armed with a highly paid team of lawyers, they’d weaseled their way through and around the legal system with ease. Lieutenant Walker, his commanding officer, had described the brothers as volatile, and Jace quickly learned that was an understatement.

Volatile was LT’s polite way of saying the brothers were fuck-nut crazy.

As far as criminals went the brothers weren’t exactly Mensa candidates. It hadn’t taken a great deal of manpower to uncover their crimes even though they did an adequate job of covering their tracks. No, the bigger issue was finding sufficient evidence against them. The brothers were well connected in the city, and they counted on the citizens being intimidated enough to remain silent.

The club was located on the heart of Oak Brook, a lower-class city with the boundaries of Cleveland, Ohio. The area consisted of thirty thousand people, none of whom ever saw anything. Someone could be shot in the middle of a crowded street but the likelihood of receiving a solid lead was slim to none. Jace had worked his fair share of complex investigations but he’d never experienced one where the citizens worked against him.

So far, he and his partner, Mateo Ortiz, had amassed a laundry list of charges against the brothers and half of their employees. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending upon how Jace felt that day, the more they dug the more crimes they’d uncovered.

The real kicker came less than twenty-four hours ago when the brothers were linked to a criminal organization known as the Diez Hombres or Ten Men. According to the Feds, the Hombres had no centralized command structure like in the movies. Less than twenty-four hours before they were scheduled to raid the club, a key player in Diez Hombres, a man named Manuel Serrano-Jimenez, arrived at the club and all hell broke loose. In less time than it took to watch The Godfather, the F.B.I. assumed command of the investigation.

Their first act was to put the case on indefinite hold.

As it turned out, Jimenez was under close scrutiny by the Feds. Tasked with building a capital murder case against Jimenez and several members of his inner circle, they weren’t happy to find the local cops pissing in their pool. They voiced concerns that the local cops would compromise their case.

Jace snorted. Compromise? They had someone on the inside of Jimenez’s crew but when it came to the Ramirez brothers and the club, they didn’t have squat. If it weren’t for the O.B. team, the Feds would’ve walked into Living Dolls armed only with their dicks. For weeks the club was under constant surveillance, and everyone who came and went from the place was scrutinized. They’d amassed thousands of photographs and every square foot of the building was wired for audio. If someone so much as farted it was recorded for all posterity.

No, this had nothing to do with their investigation. All the posturing came down to one thing—the Feds never played well with others.

Special Agent-in-Charge Tom Stafford was a media whore. When an arrest was made in any high profile case, it was Stafford who received the glory and delivered succinct sound bites to the press.

Stafford was the Fed’s version of a dog and pony show. The agent looked at each case as a way to advance his career, a means to an end and nothing more. He was young, ambitious and from Jace’s perspective, impulsive. After spending five minutes in the man’s presence, he was not impressed.

And from what he could tell, Stafford felt the same way about him.

Making quick work of gathering his scattered tools, Jace hauled himself out from under the car. Keeping an eye on the club was about as exciting as watching a chick flick. The only good thing about this case was having ample time to work on restoring his car while still getting a paycheck at the same time. Tinkering on the Barracuda was the perfect excuse to hang out with no one being the wiser.

The distinctive thump-thump of a subwoofer brought his attention back to the club. A gray BMW X6 with blackout windows pulled into a reserved parking space near the side doors. Moments later the music was cut off, and a Latino man exited the car. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes, and Jace caught a glimpse of the shoulder holster beneath his tailored jacket. After a discreet scan of the parking lot, he headed in Jace’s direction.

Mateo Ortiz was a Cleveland police detective with a few more years experience working undercover than Jace. As part of Esteban’s security team, the detective had unfettered access to every corner of the man’s life. It was through Ortiz that Jace was hired on part-time at the club as bouncer slash maintenance engineer slash whatever was needed done guy.

The detective was dressed in a black suit that cost more than Jace probably made in a month. He was curious about the man’s background as it was obvious Ortiz was used to the finer things in life. Everything about him, from the car, which he’d bought with cash, to his clothes, screamed wealth. If Jace didn’t know the man was a straight arrow, he’d suspect the guy was on the take. What cop could afford Italian suits at a couple grand apiece?

“You’re never going to get that piece of shit running, amigo.” Ortiz was smiling.

“Care to put a wager on it?”

“¿Parezco a un tonto?” Ortiz braced his hands on the top of the sagging fence then jumped over it with lazy grace.

“I’d be the last person to call you a fool.” Jace grimaced when he noticed the greasy smears on his shirt. Next to his partner, he looked like a bum. Then again, Ortiz probably thought the term dress down meant removing his tie.

Ortiz’s easy smile turned hard. “We’ve got big problems.”

“More than the Feds?”

“Si.”

Both men stared into the open engine compartment. Any onlooker would think they were discussing the car though Jace doubted Mateo knew a spark plug from a gas cap.

“Floater turned up in Griggs County last night.” Ortiz moved to the side of the car, putting his back to the club. “You mentioned an altercation between Esteban and his driver last week?”

Jace swore under his breath.

“Turns out his driver, Manny, was a Fed.”

Jace absorbed the information like a blow to his gut. Last Friday when he was coming back from grabbing a bite at the apartment, he saw Esteban pistol-whip his driver. Two members of his security team had picked up the dazed man and hurried him into the back seat of a dark sedan. The next day, Ramirez showed up with a new driver, and Manny hadn’t been back since.

“They had an agent working undercover with one of our perps and they didn’t think we might need to know this?” Fury laced his words. If they’d known about Manny then maybe Jace could’ve done something to prevent this. What, he didn’t know.

Mateo leaned forward, his fists braced on the car. “You know how those bastards operate. They think we’re local-yokels who can’t find our dicks with both hands.”

Jace snorted. Truer words had never been spoken.

“Bet LT blew a nut.”

“Walker chewed the pretty-boy Fed a new one.” His grin turned feral. “They don’t want us playing in their sandbox here, but we’re the only option. You know the case they’re building against Jimenez?” Ortiz withdrew a small photo from an inside jacket pocket.

“Another Fed named Grace MacNeill has been missing for eight months. Last seen in upstate New York where she worked in the Jimenez household as a nanny. When she missed a routine check-in they sent agents to her apartment, and the entire place had been wiped clean. Didn’t even find a hairpin, amigo.”

A young, blonde woman stared up at him from the photograph. With her heart-shaped face and blonde hair, she looked a hell of lot like his youngest sister. His gut clenched. She had a familiar look in her eye, one he’d seen in his own ten years ago. Excited and eager to make a mark in the world, the photo was probably taken on her first day with the F.B.I. He would know, as he had one just like it, taken when he was hired by the Haven Police Department.

“She looks like my little sister.” He grunted.

“MacNeill has four older brothers with some impressive credentials. A Texas Ranger, Navy SEAL, F.B.I and one is with the C.I.A. Black ops.”

Their gazes met.

“From what I hear, they’re pissing off the wrong people while they search for her.”

“Sounds like I’d enjoy having a beer with them.” His gaze dropped to the photo once more. He couldn’t help but think of his youngest sister. Jace was very close to his family and he couldn’t even imagine what the MacNeills were going through. Eight months not knowing where she was had to be hell on earth. If she were his sister he’d be losing his mind.

“LT thinks the Feds don’t have anything concrete on her disappearance. One day she was there and the next, gone like she never existed.”

“After all this time…” His words trailed off.

Ortiz nodded. “I think so too. It’s too dangerous to keep her alive for this long.”

With two federal agents, one dead and the other missing and presumed dead, it was no wonder the Feds came in with a heavy hand. Two of their own had gone down, and all of their asses were on the line.

“This case is rapidly turning into a cluster-fuck,” he muttered.

“That’s an understatement.” Ortiz glanced at his watch. “I gotta get moving. When are you in the club again?”

Jace pocketed the photo. “Tonight, then I’m off until next Thursday thanks to the Feds.”

“Lucky you.” He grinned. “Headed home then?”

“Yeah, probably. LT seems to think I need some time off.”

“No kidding, you’ve been working three weeks straight. Go home, relax, find a woman to take your mind off this mess.” His partner continued speaking as he backed away. “Me, I like to find a nice heavyset woman who loves to cook. She can take care of two hungers at once.”

Jace waved him off as the image of Sissy naked, clad only in an apron came to mind. He pushed it away. Now was not the time to think about food, sex or Sissy. He was still on the clock for another fifteen hours or so.

After securing his tools in the trunk of the car, Jace headed upstairs to his apartment. As far as cheap rentals went, this place wasn’t bad. It was relatively clean and the bedroom and living room windows overlooked the club, making surveillance a breeze.

Securing the door behind him, Jace laid the photo on the kitchen counter. The resemblance to his sister was more than a little disturbing. Like Grace, Gemma was also a blue-eyed blonde with a sweet smile. Both women were apple pie and vanilla ice cream though MacNeill had to be tougher than she looked to be an agent.

From what he’d read on Jimenez, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone simply because they were a woman. He was the kind of guy who’d pull the wings off flies just for fun. Jace had come face to face with him last night, and the look in the other man’s eyes was chilling, even to him.

From the evidence he and Ortiz had gathered, the brothers were small potatoes when compared to Jimenez and the Diez Hombres. So what was Manny, a federal agent, doing on Esteban’s security team?

His gaze flitted to the white resin backsplash behind the sink. His secure laptop with hundreds of pages of notes was hidden behind the thin plastic. His gut was telling him that they’d yet to uncover it or they’d missed something. With ten years of police work under his belt, he listened to his instincts. On more than one occasion they’d saved his hide.

Which doesn’t explain why you ignored your gut and took this damned case to begin with.

He snorted. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d taken the case to put some distance between himself and Sissy. The ninety miles separating them had given him time to think. After so many years of shameless flirting, both of them had known it was only a matter of time before nature took its course. And when they did, well…Sissy had lied about rocking his world.

She’d knocked it off its damned axis.

Unbidden, memories of their one night together washed over him. The sounds she’d made when he sucked her nipples, her laughter, the scent of her skin and the greedy way they kissed…

And when she whispered “I love you” when you left her bed.

Photo in hand, he lit one of the burners on the gas stove. So here he was, three weeks later and still tied up in knots because of three little words. They were good friends, and neither of them could deny their mutual fondness for each other. But love? Never had he imagined her emotions extended that deep.

Holding the photo to the open flame, the paper began to smoke then caught fire. The edge curled inward and Grace MacNeill’s face faded to black. He’d stared down a crack-head holding a gun pointed at his heart but when a five-foot-something waitress whispered three words, he’d run like a coward.

What was up with that?

Dropping the smoking remains of the photo into the sink, he braced his hands on the counter. His immediate family was out of luck when it came to love. Pops had fathered five children with four different women without ever finding his happy ending. It wasn’t until Sophie, Gemma’s mother, had come along that his father had given any thought to settling down. But his marriage plans were derailed when Sophie had been killed by a drunk driver. To this day, twenty years later, Pops still mourned her.

Nine years ago, Jace’s twin, Jeff aka Cowboy, was involved with a piranha named Charlene Whittier. Char wiped out his bank account and humiliated him in front of the entire town. After her dramatic exit from his life, Jeff was a changed man. His laid-back brother now went through women like Halloween candy. He refused to allow any woman close enough to walk away with anything more than a handful of memories.

Even Josie and Gem had their own encounters with the curse leaving only Jace and Ryan unscathed.

Jace dated as much as his job would allow, and he stuck to one hard and fast rule. Never bed a woman more than twice. As far as he was concerned, two sexual encounters could still be considered causal while three headed into uncharted territory for him. His siblings called him a man-whore and they weren’t far from the truth. His relationships, if they could be called that, were short-lived but at least his heart was intact.

Sissy was the only women who’d been his friend before becoming his lover.

Cursing under his breath, he stalked to the postage-stamp-sized bathroom, tearing off his shirt as he went. Which was why he’d ignored his gut and taken this case. Usually it was the other way around, and that was where he’d made his mistake. Many years of shared memories stood behind them, and he truly liked and respected her. They’d weathered good and bad times together. They had history.

No matter how hard he tried to put her into a box like the women before her, he couldn’t. Sissy wasn’t someone he’d picked up for sex and some laughs. Not only was she a close friend to him, she was also tight with his family. Many nights she’d sat beside him at the dinner table with friends and family surrounding them. He’d taught her how to drive a car, and she’d introduced him to peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches.

It had taken only one night of amazing sex and three little words to change everything.