Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
TALIA CLOSED HER laptop with a sigh. Her neck ached, and as she rolled her head from left to right, her stomach let out a loud, inelegant rumble.
A glance at her watch reminded her she’d planned to leave her office four hours ago, and, as usual, she’d lost herself in her cases and worked straight through dinner.
Long past dinner.
None of her colleagues would be surprised to hear she was once again the lone person in the office well after closing time.
“There’s a chance you need a life,” she muttered as she began to pack up her things. At least her favorite local restaurant would be open for another hour, so she could order some delivery and have it arrive around the same time she’d return home.
Perfection.
She pulled her phone out to open her favorite delivery app only to freeze mid-swipe as a noise that sounded suspiciously like the main door opening caught her attention. Her office wasn’t too close to the entrance, but the door scraped the floor—something they’d been meaning to call a repairman to fix—making a distinctive screech whenever someone came in the office. During the day’s hustle and bustle, they rarely noticed it, but at night alone, the sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard.
Talia frowned, setting the phone on her desk. “Hello?” she called out. “Margo?” Maybe her boss had forgotten something and returned to retrieve it. This wouldn’t be the first time.
When she didn’t get a response, the hairs on the back of Talia’s neck rose, and a prickle of unease rippled across her skin. It was the kind of itch that said something was off. Call it women’s intuition or a gut feeling, but she knew on a cellular level that whoever came into the office wasn’t there to bring her a gift.
Instead of drawing more attention to her location, she swiped her phone to open the keypad. The local police station was less than a mile away. Could they get to her before—
“I’m just here to talk.”
She jolted so hard she dropped the phone. It landed on her carpeted floor with a soft thump she could barely hear over her hammering heart.
Her gaze flew to the door where a man with olive skin, dark, gelled-back hair, and a well-fitting suit stood with his hands extended in a pose probably designed to put her at ease.
It didn’t.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Five minutes. To talk. Nothing more than talk.” He had the barest hint of an accent, almost as though he’d worked to Americanize his speech. “May I sit?” he asked, pointing to the empty chair opposite her desk.
“No.” Talia stared him down with as much menace as she could inject into her gaze despite how her insides quivered like a child scared of the boogie man. No matter what happened, this man would not see her fear.
His lips quirked in the barest of smirks as he stepped into her office. He had a tan file folder tucked under his arm.
“Who are you?”
He placed the closed file on the desk and slid it in front of her with one finger, though he did respect her wishes and remained standing. “Please take a look through that.”
Talia narrowed her eyes. Following orders wasn’t her specialty. No one would ever accuse her of being a pushover, and she wasn’t about to start now. “Who. Are. You?”
“Someone who wants to help a client of yours make a smart decision.”
Talia stilled.
Part of her wanted to shove the file across the desk, hell, onto the floor, and tell this guy to kick rocks. But now he had her curious, and she’d spend every night for the next three weeks staring at her ceiling, wondering if she’d made the wrong decision if she didn’t investigate the file.
The asshole still hadn’t told her who he was.
They could stay in this stand-still stare-off for the rest of the night, or she could open the damn file and move this charade along. With a heavy sigh, she flipped the folder open to find a high-resolution photo that had her heart stopping dead in her chest.
“What the fuck is this?” she whispered as she flipped to another photo. If she’d been hoping the first was a prank, she was sadly mistaken to find the second photo containing the same damning evidence as the first.
A clear picture of Pulse in a black jacket with white letters on the back.
DEA.
In one photo, he wore dark glasses covering his eyes while holding a walkie-talkie in front of his mouth in a clear position of authority as he spoke to other agents.
A million questions ran through her head, but she felt too sick to open her mouth.
Is he an undercover agent assigned to the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club?
What is his angle?
What did this have to do with his arrest?
Who was this damn man standing before her?
Mind racing, she flipped to the next document, which wasn’t a photo. It was a termination of employment record. She scanned the file as fast as possible and learned Pulse had been a DEA agent until he walked away around five years ago.
Thank God.
What was happening here?
She flipped to another page where the words blurred before her eyes. Instead of reading, her analytical brain ran in a million directions, trying to parse the purpose behind this little ambush.
And then the lightbulb flicked on.
She lifted her gaze. “You’re a fed.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I heard you were intelligent.”
She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms as her fear melted away and annoyance took its place. Compliments wouldn’t win this guy any favors. She wanted nothing to do with whatever mess this man brought to her office. “So, what, you’re here to tell me he’s deep undercover with the MC, and the arrest served a purpose, and I fucked you over by getting him released so fast? Is that what this is? You want me to suck at my job next time so you can pull him back into the fold?”
The thought that Pulse could be deceiving his MC family made her want to vomit.
“No.” The agent slid into the seat opposite her despite her refusal.
She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. Whether or not he sat wasn’t the issue.
“He really resigned five years ago. Max Vargas spent four years undercover with the Del Rios Cartel. The takedown went to shit, somewhat, and he walked away from the DEA without so much as a goodbye. He walked away from his entire life.”
Her eyes widened. Holy sit, the Del Rios Cartel. That was big business. The destruction of that cartel had been the top headline on every news outlet for weeks. Ridding the world of that one cartel drastically altered the drug trade in the United States. Fentanyl deaths dropped by almost a third within three months. If Pulse was responsible for those arrests, he’d done an amazing thing for the country.
So, how did he end up in an MC?
Talia set her hands on the desk and pushed the folder back toward her visitor. “Okay, so he burned out after years of undercover work with no gratitude from the country he served, and he left. None of that explains why you are here now.”
“We want his help.”
She narrowed her eyes. “The Handlers don’t deal drugs, nor do they do business with those who do. What could he possibly help you with?”
Shrugging, the agent said, “Maybe not, but they still know plenty of players in the game. And they’re still one percenters. Don’t try to pretend there aren’t mountains of illegal activities behind that clubhouse’s walls. Their enemies have gone missing or ended up mysteriously dead. That alone is enough to pull Pulse in.” He said the nickname as though it tasted rotten on his tongue. “The federal government has had it with these motorcycle gangs—”
“Clubs,” she muttered.
“ Clubs .” That time, he didn’t bother to keep the mockery from his tone. “We’re taking out as many as possible, and we want Pulse’s help.”
They wanted his help to take out his own club. This was worse than she thought.
“Ah, now I know who was talking to him after his arrest. The prostitute never named him, did she? You orchestrated that entire thing to get him alone so you could… what? Present him an offer? How much did you think it would take for him to sell out his club?”
The smile that spread across the agent’s face had a chill running down her spine.
“It’s not that kind of offer. Either he helps us, or he ends up in jail for what he did to that poor hooker, and his club finds out about his past. And if we can’t get him on this assault, we’ll get him on another one. You know how those bikers are. Hot tempers and all. There are so many ways they break the law.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a federal agent, and you blackmailed a civilian with false imprisonment. How do you know I’m not recording this?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, you’re intelligent.” He stood and walked toward the door. “Convince him to work with us.” He spun back to face her when he reached the doorway. “It’s in your best interest.”
“A threat?” she asked, tilting her head. “I’ll have you know I don’t respond well to those.”
“No threats. Just facts.”
“I won’t do it.”
For the first time, a flicker of irritation crossed his face along with something else. Something darker and more sinister. It had her fighting to keep from squirming in her chair.
“I’m sure we can convince you,” he said, and with that bomb, he slipped from her office. A few moments later, the familiar screech alerted her he’d ventured out in the night.
Talia sat in her office for a long time, staring at her empty doorway and replaying the shit show she’d just taken part in.
The DEA had orchestrated Pulse’s arrest so they could have a discreet chat with him. Chat being a euphemism for blackmail. They asked him to spy on his club, or they’d jail him and reveal his past to Curly, which could end with him six feet under. Did they know her secrets? Is that what the agent meant when he said he could convince her to comply? Of course, they did. They were the federal government. Why wouldn’t they know her father had been Curly’s defense attorney back in the day? One who got rich as hell on that case while working behind the scenes to screw over the client he’d been hired to defend.
Talia slumped forward, letting her forehead thump against the desk. Would there ever come a time when she felt she’d made reparations for that debt, or would she spend the rest of her life doing self-appointed penance for her father’s sins?
“Go home,” she whispered against her desk. Nothing would be determined tonight. She was too tired and emotionally charged to make any rational and professional decisions about how to handle this situation.
She hauled her body upright and out of her chair with the heaviest of sighs. Then, she spent the next five minutes straightening her desk and gathering the rest of her belongings. Her heels echoed in the quiet hallway as she strode toward the exit she’d be sure to lock the next time she found herself alone in the office at night.
The drive home would take her about thirty minutes at this time of night. She lived further inland, past the suburbs but not quite in rural land. There weren’t gated communities, and the houses were spread out and older than those closer to town. Peace, quiet, and space were important to her. She’d rather have a longer commute and a large piece of property than live in a crowded area close to her office. Podcasts and audiobooks did wonders for making a drive fly by.
But not tonight. Tonight, as she cruised down the highway, she kept the car quiet. Her brain was whirring loud enough. Any additional noise would overwhelm her senses.
She flicked on her turn signal as she glanced in the rearview mirror. The car behind her was also taking the upcoming exit for the single-lane road leading her the rest of the way home.
Given the late hour, the miles flew by with ease. She couldn’t see any cars in front of her, and the only one behind was the vehicle that had exited after her.
“Dude, back off,” she muttered as she glanced in the rearview mirror again. The driver had crept up on her and was tailing close behind.
Too close.
She’d be rear-ended if a deer ran out and she needed to slam on her brakes.
“Jackass.” She huffed as she signaled right and drifted toward the shoulder lane so the car could pass. “What the hell…” They stayed right on her bumper, also shifting into the shoulder lane.
The same ill-at-ease gut feeling she’d had earlier in the evening flared with a vengeance.
They were following her on purpose.
“Shit.” Was it the agent? Some thug he’d sent after her to convince her as he’d threatened?
She wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
She jammed down on the gas pedal and shot forward, moving back to the center of the lane.
The car sped and stayed right on her ass. From what she could tell, the dark, plain vehicle seemed about the size of a sedan. Its headlights prevented her from getting a good view of the license plate. She couldn’t make out the state, and there was no way she could determine any of the numbers.
An engine rumbled louder. She spared another glance in the mirror. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He was even closer, practically kissing her taillights.
Talia zoomed past the turn she’d usually take to get home. No way in hell would she bring this asshole right to her house, even though they probably already knew where she lived.
Sweat coated her palms, making the steering wheel slick. She clenched the wheel tighter to keep her hands from sliding. Her knuckles ached from the force of her grip. Another glance behind her showed the car inching even closer. Heart in her throat, she pressed harder on the gas.
The speedometer snuck toward ninety.
Trees whipped by so fast they blurred.
They were in a fifty-five-mile-an-hour zone. Hell, she’d gladly take a whopper of a ticket if it meant a cop could end this.
“Come on,” she whispered. A few more miles and they’d hit a small town. She’d pull into the first open business she could find. Maybe a well-lit gas station or convenience store. Anything that contained another human being she could use as a witness.
A screech of metal on metal assaulted her ears at the same time her car lurched forward. Talia shrieked and stared in the mirror, mouth agape. He’d hit her.
“Oh my God.” A loud sob flew from deep in her gut. She blinked to clear her vision as tears flooded her eyes. She pressed hard with her foot until the gas pedal hit the floor. “Go faster!” she shouted at the car as though it would do a damn thing.
When the car bumped her again, she flew forward with a shout. The seat belt stopped her from smacking the steering wheel as it locked in place with a painful snap across her chest.
The next hit came so fast and violently that her hands slipped off the steering wheel. The seat belt cracked across her chest with another agonizing jolt. Her neck snapped back then forward, rattling her brain, and her hair fell into her field of vision.
She screamed as the loud screech of crushing metal reverberated into the night. She felt like a ragdoll being tossed around by a careless child.
Something hit her cheek with a biting sting. She tried to grab it, but the momentum of the crashing car kept her from reaching for her face.
The last thing Talia saw before the world went black was the steering wheel rushing toward her face, followed by a massive cloud of white before impact.
At least my airbags work.