Hard Charger: Jake & Sophia: A Hot Contemporary Romance

by Fobes, Tracy

  He stilled, the pain sending him a message that he simply couldn’t ignore any longer.

  He loved her. Deeply.

  He slumped back down into his seat. Why the hell hadn’t she told him?

  “Let’s go to the clubhouse,” Alex said, his voice kind. “We can talk there.”

  Jake shot a glance at Sophia’s jacket. He noticed the Guardians’ insignia on it for the second time, and a fresh jolt went through him. “My God, Sophia...are you a member of the Guardians, too? Can women even be members?”

  “Didn’t think you were a Neanderthal, Jake.” She snapped her visor down. “Today, though, you’re changing my mind.” With that, she started her Hayabusa and took off down the road.

  Jake convulsively gripped his bike’s hand rests. All at once he remembered the facts he’d heard about a Hayabusa: world’s fastest production bike anyone could buy, over 1.300 cc engine capacity, 170-plus horsepower, a crotch-rocket extraordinaire, one like no other. He turned to glare at Alex. “How could you let her ride a bike like that?”

  “Who can stop my sister from doing anything?” Alex countered, and then he too roared down the road.

  Luke shrugged. “We’d better get going, bro, or we’re gonna miss the party.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that,” Jake replied, and then he and Luke were trailing after Alex and Sophia, their route taking them past Rockport Grove to a scrubby area on the outskirts of town.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Guardians’ clubhouse sat somewhere on the outskirts of town, along a county route where a combination of poplars and ocean pines formed a dense forest. Only one or two houses broke up that forest, and the clubhouse appeared to be an old, deserted general store set back several feet from the main road. Although the front of the place looked dilapidated, lights from inside the foyer declared that the general store did, indeed have a pulse.

  A cracked-pavement parking lot fronted the building, and a few motorcycles sat in a haphazard line up against the building. All of them were Harleys, with the exception of Sophia’s Hayabusa, which stuck out like a gazelle among a herd of cows. The woods around the general store and parking lot were dark and shadowy, and seemed to press in on the store, nearly hiding the black SUV parked on the side of the building. As he and Luke pulled up and parked their bikes near Alex’s and Sophia’s, he saw a couple of steel drums with what appeared to be holes in them.

  Luke stopped his bike and dismounted.

  Jake dismounted too and nodded toward the drums. “Are those bullet holes?”

  “There’s a shooting range out back,” Luke explained. “We use the steel drums for target practice. Sometimes we put things on top of them, and sometimes we tape someone’s face onto them.”

  “Target practice? As in guns?”

  “Bows and arrows, too.”

  Uneasiness slid through him at the thought of the Guardians practicing with live weapons. “Ah. I should have guessed. Is this a new location or has the clubhouse always been here?”

  “The Guardians have called this home for almost forty years now. There’s lots of history here.”

  “And more than a few ghosts, I’ll bet.” Including my father’s, he silently added. He pressed his lips into a tight line as he studied the general store. He noticed a few cameras mounted near the roof, all of them pointed toward him; and nodded slowly. “Cameras. What do you have in there? The crown jewels?”

  “Come on in and see,” Luke urged.

  Jake hesitated. All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure he wanted to enter this place—one that his father had once considered more of a home than their house in Rockport Grove. He felt anxious over what he might find inside. Even worse, he was afraid he might like it in there, and become like his dad. Still, Sophia was somewhere inside, and so was Alex. He squared his shoulders and followed Luke into the clubhouse.

  They walked into a foyer with a few run-down shelves. A large oak door stood closed before them. Painted black, it looked strong enough to keep out a gang of ravenous zombies, and when Luke knocked on it, the dull sound his knuckles made suggested the door was at least few inches thick. A moment later, the door opened and they walked inside.

  He noticed a large, conference-room sized table first, with several executive chairs arranged around it. His Uncle Martin sat at the table, along with Alex, Sophia, and a man he recognized as Detective Fielding. He didn’t know the fifth man—a gray-haired individual who had the mien and bearing of an army sergeant. A case of beer sat on the table, and everyone except Sophia was drinking one.

  Sophia had a glass of wine instead. He didn’t see the wine bottle.

  Martin stood up. “Jake. Thanks for coming.”

  Jake felt taken aback. The clubhouse could easily have passed as a posh man cave. He didn’t know what to make of the whole scene. He’d been expecting marked-up walls, a ripped linoleum floor, food and trash scattered around, dart boards, pool tables, pictures of Penthouse pets, even lockers full of guns. In reality, the place was spotless. Oak panels covered the lower half of the walls, and the top half displayed various photographs, plaques, and other awards. Sturdy-looking oak shelves, a mahogany bar and bar stools sat in groupings atop a floor that appeared to be pine hardwood covered by an oriental rug. The wicker wastebasket in the corner had nothing in it.

  “Damn. Is this where the Chowder Society meets?” Jake quipped, and glanced around. In a corner of the room behind him, he noticed an array of monitors. The monitors provided a view of the clubhouse and its battered front from a variety of angles. Another array displayed views of the county route from further down the road. “Impressive. But you don’t need this kind of security to protect a couple of plaques on the wall.”

  Martin nodded. “We’re not guarding things. We’re guarding people. When we have meetings like these, we want to make sure it’s private.”

  “What kind of meeting is this, exactly?” he asked.

  “Allow me to introduce you to everyone,” Martin offered. “You already know Luke, Alex and Sophia.”

  Jake caught Sophia’s gaze and stared at her, hard. He was pissed she’d been hiding so much from him. Apparently seeing the anger in his gaze, she lifted her chin slightly.

  “This is Detective Fielding,” Martin continued. “He’s the one who’s been investigating Ray Morris’s death.”

  Jake held his hand out to the detective. They shook hands. “We’ve already met,” Jake said.

  “Not under the best circumstances,” the detective replied, referring to the night when Ray had died.

  Martin turned to the gray-haired man. “You don’t know Steve Nicholls.” As Jake held out his hand to shake the man’s hand, Martin added, “He’s Sophia’s contact at the FBI.”

  When Jake heard FBI, his eyes widened. They shook hands. Although Jake managed to give the other man a decent handshake, inside, he felt another shockwave go through him. He turned to Sophia. “You work for the FBI?”

  Lower lip caught between her teeth, Sophia looked away.

  “It’s highly classified information, but yes, she’s my informant,” Nicholls calmly told him.

  “Steve Nicholls.” Jake repeated his name as another connection occurred to him. “You’re the boyfriend.”

  Steve grinned. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell my wife.”

  Martin chuckled.

  Jake, however, was far from any kind of humor at all. All of these weeks, he thought. All of these weeks she’d been letting believe she had a boyfriend named Steve, and now he finds out that her ‘boyfriend’ is an FBI agent who is apparently also her handler. His anger grew. He put his hands on his hips. “So what is this? What are you trying to do? And why do you want me?”

  “All good questions,” Martin said soothingly. “But first—have a seat. Grab a beer.”

  Jake glowered at his uncle for a moment or so, and then angrily plucked a beer off the table. He popped the cap on it and sat down heavily in a chair.

  “All right—I’m sitting. I have a beer. Now
tell me what’s going on.”

  Martin sat down opposite of Jake. “For the last four years or so, a few of us in the Rebel Guardians have been working with the FBI to bring down Simon Koschei. Even before Hurricane Sandy, the Russian mafia had been moving into Rockport Grove, and once the storm hit the eastern seaboard, the criminal activity intensified. We want to take back our town.”

  “I’d like to emphasize that this is classified information,” Nicholls cut in. “Outside of a few agents over at the FBI, only the people in this room are aware of this effort.”

  “Why are you telling me, then?” Jake asked.

  “Because we’re trying to recruit you,” Martin quickly replied.

  Jake gave a sharp nod of understanding. “Continue.”

  “At first, only Ray Morris and I were working with the FBI,” Martin said. “But as Koschei expanded his grip on the town, we recruited Sophia, for two reasons. Or, maybe I should say, she recruited us.”

  “Koschei was a hit man before he became the boss,” Alex revealed with narrowed eyes. “He killed my father. Sof and I would like to see him go down.”

  Jake tightened his grip on his beer bottle. “You said your father died in an accident.”

  “It wasn’t accidental,” Alex replied.

  “Jesus.” Jake took a compulsive swig of beer.

  “That’s not all. Tell, him Sof,” Alex urged.

  Sophia frowned. “When I got hooked on prescription drugs, my dealer belonged to Koschei’s network. Through the dealer, Koschei made sure I had a never-ending supply of meds—as long as I had the money. You could say that Koschei’s drug-dealing nearly cost me my life. I owe him one.”

  “So you’re both working undercover,” Jake said slowly.

  Alex shook his head. “I’d like to work undercover and nail Koschei’s ass to the wall. It isn’t so easy to be accepted into his organization, though. He needs a reason to trust his soldiers, and he doesn’t have one to trust me.”

  “But he trusts Sophia,” Nicholls clarified. “She’s working as a procurer in Koschei’s network, and she feeds us information.”

  “Information?”

  “About Koschei and his deals,” Nicholls clarified.

  “Great.” Fear curled through Jake’s gut at the thought of the significant danger Sophia put herself into every day. “How long before Koschei figures out she’s an informant?”

  Martin frowned. “He’s not going to figure it out. Right now, her cover is solid—Koschei thinks she’s a junkie who’s relying on him for her next fix.”

  “But if he does find out?” Jake pressed.

  “If we get the slightest whiff that he’s onto her, we’ll extract her.”

  “What’s her exit strategy?” Jake asked.

  “If we exit her before Koschei and his organization goes down, we’ll put her in the witness protection program,” Nicholls replied. “But the preferred strategy is to take Koschei and his organization out—to put them all in a supermax—and to simply erase any evidence pointing to the fact that she was an informant. Then she can stay here in Rockport Grove and just go about her life.”

  Jake understood what the FBI agent was saying. It would have been a great plan if it hadn’t involved the woman he now realized he loved. “And Luke?” he asked, shooting a glance over to his other friend.

  “Luke’s working with Koschei now,” Martin said. “He’s become an informant like Sophia.”

  Jake exchanged a look with Luke and saw the cold need for vengeance in the other man’s eyes. Luke’s involvement was no surprise. He nodded toward Fielding. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Two of the upper-level brass on the force are helping to grease Koschei’s wheels, so he has a smooth ride,” the detective solemnly revealed. “I’m still trying to get workable evidence on them.”

  “Don’t you work for the local police?”

  “Yeah, I do. But I’m undercover for the FBI too, now.”

  Jake took a swig of beer and set the bottle back down on the table with an irritated thump. He divided his attention equally between Nicholls and Fielding. “Obviously a lot of people are working on this. With all of these informants, I can’t believe the FBI is still trying to get evidence on either the police or Koschei. Koschei and his gang are into everything--corruption, racketeering, drug dealing—and they’re not particularly subtle about it. How hard can it be?”

  “We’ve got bullshit on them so far,” Nicholls groused. “The Russian is more slippery than a damned eel. And the local police? They know how to cover their tracks.”

  Jake clenched his beer bottle. “How many people have to die before you guys do something? What the hell exactly do you need?”

  “I know you’re frustrated,” Nicholls replied, “but we need more than just ‘bullshit.’ What’s the point of putting them away, if they get out in a few months? We need something big. Something that’s gonna put Koschei and his goons away for good.”

  “And we’re still waiting for that ‘something big.’” Martin added.

  “I just wonder how many people are going to suffer while you wait.” Unable to sit any longer, Jake pushed himself back from the table, stood up, and began to stalk back and forth across the Oriental rug. “You must know about my mother owing Koschei money. And about how two of Koschei’s thugs beat the crap out of me. So I don’t have time to wait. And now I hear that Sophia’s procuring drugs and informing on the Russian mafia...Christ.”

  His uncle frowned. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. We could use your help.”

  “So what do you want from me? What can I do?”

  “We want you to do what Sophia and Luke are doing: agree to Koschei’s terms and become one of his inside guys. We suspect Koschei’s going to approach you and ask you to work for him in lieu of paying your mother’s loan.”

  Jake’s gut tightened. “What’s he going to ask me to do?”

  “We’re not sure,” Nicholls admitted. “A courier, maybe.”

  “And how’s that going to help you?”

  “You’ll just report back what you hear. That’s it. And once we get something big enough from one of you, we’ll take him out for good.”

  He frowned. “How long will I be doing this?”

  “Until we get him. We’re close, Jake. Real close.”

  Jake felt cold. His shoulders were tight. He recognized the sensations as the same ones he used to experience right before he’d flown his Apache into enemy territory. Some part of him cried out in dismay at the idea of putting himself in that kind of situation again. And yet, a much stronger protective instinct insisted that he throw himself into it, find that big deal the Feds were looking for, and then make sure both he and Sophia got out alive. “Okay. I’m in.”

  The room erupted with a combination of relieved sighs, thank you’s and slaps on the back. Jake felt himself being drawn into the fold. He exchanged a long glance with Sophia and saw the gratitude in her eyes, along with a soft, sexy warmth that heated his blood. He grabbed another beer and plopped back down into a chair. “So does this mean I have to join the Guardians?”

  Alex, Luke and Sophia laughed.

  Martin, though, remained serious. “Even the club isn’t free of Koschei’s influence. He has an agreement with the Guardians—a few of our members shake down several businesses on his behalf for protection money. They’re not informants...they’re just weak. And since Koschei sees the club as an extension of his own organization, if you join, you’ll be considered more trustworthy. He’ll approach you more quickly”

  Jake shook his head. “I’m not surprised to hear that the club’s corrupt. Didn’t it lead to my father’s death?”

  A sudden hush came over the table. Martin frowned. He glanced at Nicholls.

  Nicholls hesitated, glanced at Jake, and then nodded.

  Martin grasped a manila folder on the table and slid it toward Jake.

  Mystified, Jake opened the folder. It contained a crisp white letter. He picked up
the letter and began reading:

  The United States Federal Bureau of Investigation posthumously recognizes the selfless dedication of private citizen Kurt E. Gallent, who gave his time and service to assist the FBI in uncovering criminal activity. Mr. Gallent has been selected to be a recipient of the Louis E. Peters Memorial Award, as a result of his extraordinary contributions to specific cases in support of the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force. This award, the FBI’s highest public service award, is awarded jointly by the FBI and the Society of Former Special agents to recognize individuals who assist the FBI without thought of personal gain...

  As the words began to penetrate his brain, dizziness crept over him.

  His father...selfless dedication...uncovering criminal activity...

  He put a hand up to his forehead and rubbed it. A sudden ache had gathered behind his temples. Memories began to swirl through his mind: his father’s late nights at the club, his obvious anxiety, his short temper. Later, his body turning up on the shoreline, half-eaten by crabs and other sea creatures. And how he, Jake, had hated his father for all he represented, and all he’d failed to do...how many times had he pissed on the sand where his father had washed up dead?

  He slammed his hand down on the table and stared at his uncle. His heart was pounding. His stomach felt sick with sudden understanding. “Why wasn’t I told before this?”

  His eyes dark with compassion, Martin turned toward Nicholls.

  “Twenty years ago,” Nicholls said gently, “your father helped us uncover links between the teamsters, the unions representing local dock workers and the mafia. Thanks to him, we were able to unravel a corruption ring that involved charges against more than fifty-eight port authority personnel.”

  Jake stilled. He could barely draw a breath. “My dad...”

  “Is a hero,” Nicholls finished for him. “He also prevented the misuse of almost $200,000 in state funds.”

  “My God.”

  “He was a brave man. A selfless one,” Nicholls continued. “He agreed to help us only on the condition that we could ensure your mom’s and your safety. We promised him we would. And when we weren’t able to get all of the major players on anything but technicalities, we had to keep his involvement a secret.”