Drive

by Sidney Bristol

  Right. She was getting her ass out of here.

  She crossed the distance between them, her knees wobbling a little, and took the helmet. She buckled it on.

  “I want to hear from you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Miss me already?” she popped off before she could think better of it.

  “I need to know if you have the drive or not.” He took her keys from her hand, rolling the small, pink pepper spray bottle between his fingers.

  “I told you, I won’t have time to look for it.”

  “Make time. Keep this close. You know how to use it?”

  “Yup.” She snatched the keys back before he could give her a lesson she wouldn’t hear, not with lust pounding in her veins.

  She took the bike, pushing his hands out of the way and swung her leg over it so she fit into the seat. Her legs were weak, rubbery, as if she’d skated fifty dashes or done a dozen drills. How long had it been since she’d orgasmed under anyone else’s power except her own? A long, long time.

  “Madison.” Aiden grabbed her arm. “I need to know you’re safe.”

  “What? Can’t trust me?” She shoved her key in the ignition and turned. The Rebel chugged to life, the vibrations shaking up her body and through her core. Her sensitized body shuddered and she sucked in a deep breath.

  The security light illuminated his face now and the deep frown lines bracketing his mouth. Clearly he didn’t like her answer.

  “I’ll call you when I call you.” Madison pulled her arm from his grasp and squeezed the accelerator. The bike rolled forward, picking up speed.

  She needed space from Aiden DeHart, and to figure out just how badly she’d screwed up.

  Chapter Seven

  Aiden watched the red splash of color that was Madison’s taillights disappear around a turn.

  What the hell had just happened?

  He shook his head and pressed the dial button on his phone. It rang once.

  “Yeah, boss?” a man drawled on the other end.

  “Emery, is it on?”

  “I told you it was. I’ve got her right here, heading east. Did you download that app I sent you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, open it and track her yourself.”

  “Let me guess, I’m interrupting your game?”

  “Nah, I’m working on Tori’s laptop.”

  “About Tori—next time, keep me in the loop when shit’s going down.”

  “She said she was about to see you. Thought it might be better if she told you.”

  “You’re talking to Tori an awful lot lately.”

  Silence.

  Yeah, that was what Aiden thought.

  “We need to meet. Everyone. Later,” he said, giving Emery a pass.

  “Julian’s already headed here.”

  “Hey, any idea how’s he doing?”

  Emery sighed. “That is a complicated question.”

  Meaning, Aiden would have to catch up with Emery when he wasn’t potentially being overheard. People—even their own crew—underestimated the tech.

  “Okay.” Aiden cleared his throat. “I’m going to check out the GPS and go there. We’ve got trouble.”

  “No shit.”

  Aiden hung up the phone and locked the garage gate once more. He hopped the low fence to the side street. A beat-up, older model sedan was stashed behind a Dumpster. He removed a key from a magnetic box under the fender and climbed in. They always kept a couple cars parked around the block in case they needed to blend in. Like now.

  The app worked just like Emery promised. Once he selected the number assigned to the tracking device it showed a real-time map of Madison’s location. He dropped his phone into a dash mount and started the car, driving it on a slightly different course than the one Madison had taken.

  He needed to know, to be sure she was telling him the truth—and that Dustin had only him on the job. It wouldn’t be the first time Aiden had seen someone hire several different people for a gig and only pay the one who produced results. He also wanted to assure himself that the Eleventh wouldn’t harass her. He’d told her they wouldn’t, and a couple months ago he could have said that without a drop of doubt, but that was before they’d stolen the Eleventh’s drug shipment. Money and drugs changed people, and Madison wouldn’t pay for his actions.

  The streets were nearly empty, and if any of the cars he passed were hiding thugs, he couldn’t tell. It left him plenty of time to recall the way Madison’s breath had hitched, the way she’d shuddered against him. He hadn’t realized what was happening until she clawed at his shoulders. He could still feel the press of her nails in his skin.

  She’d orgasmed in his arms. And he wanted her to do it again, which was a dangerous thing.

  A woman like Madison didn’t need a man like him.

  It was all the more reason to find the drive and make a plan for how to use it against Michael Evers. Dustin they could take down as a by-product of the mission.

  He followed Madison all the way out to the marina. It wasn’t one of the nicer ones; there wasn’t security or even cameras from the looks of it. He turned his lights off and eased past some hedges.

  Anyone could be waiting for her. And in fact, someone was.

  He held his breath and watched.

  Madison was already off her bike. A man in slacks and a polo stood in the halo of light from the one and only security light. He had cop written all over him.

  Detective Smith?

  Aiden hadn’t had time to look up the detective himself, but he understood the bigger picture now. Matt Smith was young. A golden boy of the force, no doubt. Aiden suspected Matt wanted more than a closed case from Madison.

  She edged away, toward a dock, her body language stiff. The detective followed, trailing her all the way out to a thirty-foot sailboat. Aiden forced his grip on the steering wheel to relax. Madison didn’t belong to him. And yet, when she jumped aboard her boat and disappeared below deck, leaving the good detective hanging, Aiden smiled.

  Lights flickered on in the lower deck and he saw her pass by one of the portholes.

  His gut told him she wasn’t working for Dustin. Sure, it would be easy for Dustin to stash her out here, but what would be the point? What would he gain? Especially with the cops circling her like this.

  Aiden’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He peered at the screen. Julian’s name flashed several times.

  “What?” Aiden asked. He watched the boat for more movement.

  “Where are you?”

  “Working.”

  “Yeah, well, when are you getting to The Shop?”

  The Shop was their secondary garage, where their dealings weren’t always legal, but with the blessings of the FBI it didn’t matter, if they got the job done.

  “Soon.”

  “Okay. Pick up a pizza. I’m starving.”

  “Order your own damn pizza.” Aiden hung up before Julian could pull some nonsense about that one time, in Sangin. . . . Aiden hated that story.

  He wanted to stay put, to watch over Madison and ensure she’d sleep peacefully through the night, but they needed to make a plan. One that would keep Madison safe beyond tonight. Besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if Detective Matt Smith called in a courtesy patrol, just for her. He’d have to have the marina under constant watch to keep her safe, which meant Aiden needed Emery paying special attention to this place. There was nothing safe or secure about her boat residence. So why hadn’t Dustin tried to grab her from here?

  Tomorrow he’d have to send Emery out to her boat and sweep it for bugs or other surveillance equipment. For now, he did a quick sweep of the immediate area on foot, careful to avoid the detective dragging his feet about leaving, then drove the rest of the marina, but all was quiet.

  It took him nearly a half hour to traverse Miami to The Shop. He was the last to arrive. Their full crew was assembled in the open garage, sitting on chairs or the workbenches, even a stack of tires, minus CJ and Kathy who were conspicuously absent. T
hey had a nine-person crew, including their FBI handlers who had proven themselves to the team, and they came from all walks of life, and most of them had strayed off the straight and narrow to land them on this crew, but not all.

  Roni and Tori’s only crime was being born to a former KGB agent. Their contract employment with the FBI ensured they were protected, and the FBI got to pick their brains.

  John “Wayne” was a resourceful bastard from the backwater swamps of Louisiana. He was a decorated war hero, former cop, and the best sniper Aiden had ever seen.

  Gabriel was a friend of Julian’s from after their time in the service. Aiden wasn’t privy to the man’s past, but he’d bet a set of tires Gabriel had a history of working for the FBI.

  Emery was a by-the-book FBI agent now, but he could fight something dirty. There was a lot under the cool exterior even Aiden didn’t know, and he was probably the person on the crew who knew Emery best.

  And then there was Julian—and Aiden. The friends that tied it all together. They’d met in the service, been tossed into a unit that didn’t exist on the record, and executed dozens of missions before hanging up their boots for the quiet life. Or so they’d thought.

  They were a mixed bag, but they were his family. The people he could count on. The ones who had his back.

  “’Bout time you showed up,” Julian yelled between bites, stuffing his face with pizza.

  “I would like to know how the Eleventh found out.” He pitched his voice so it cut above the chatter.

  Dustin Ross had hired Aiden to discourage the Eleventh Street Gang from competing against Dustin’s foot soldiers hawking product on the streets. Aiden’s plan for not only satisfying the job, but also sending a message to the young drivers, was to boost the cars carrying the goods, scrap them, and destroy the drugs. It had gone off without a hitch. Or at least they’d thought.

  If Aiden weren’t so tired, it might have been comical to watch the way everyone found somewhere else to look besides at him.

  Emery cleared his throat and wiped his face with a napkin. He hadn’t shaved recently and his usual pearl snap shirt had a couple buttons unsnapped. Emery might be their Walking Brain, but the man was built like a tank. In a pinch, he’d make good backup in the field, but there was no arguing his best work was behind a computer screen. “I don’t know how they figured out it was us, but I can tell you how they found what’s left of the cars.”

  “I told you we should have chopped and sold them.” Julian glared at him. They didn’t often outright disagree on what their crew would do, but every so often they butted heads. Aiden didn’t like to. They shared equal ownership in this business, and neither of them was the type to back down easily.

  “How did they do it, Emery?” Aiden ignored Julian and kept his gaze on the Walking Brain.

  “Shit.” John tossed his trash into a bin and rolled his eyes.

  “They changed the pressure gauges out on the NOS tanks you dumped. We theorize the Eleventh used that make and model because they had no serial numbers, but the pressure gauges did. Really tiny numbers, too. Cops pulled them out of the ocean and looked up the owners for illegal dumping.”

  “What the fuck?” Julian roared. Their team did a neat flip on cars when they had to.

  Aiden held up his hand. “I want to know how they connected it to us.”

  “I don’t think they have proof,” John said. “Maybe someone said they saw one of us hanging around their cars, but they were all snockered when we boosted them.”

  “I don’t care. I want to know how they connected us. Canales and his crew boxed us in after we left tonight.”

  “How’d she take that?” Roni snickered and flicked something at her sister.

  With the exception of Julian who had been on a mission, everyone knew Madison’s history. After Aiden’s meet with Dustin, they’d had a planning meeting for how to approach her. At the time, she’d been a name and a face. A mark. Nothing more than a job. But after a few hours in her company, he didn’t want to lay bare her story for everyone.

  Aiden helped himself to a slice of pizza.

  “Good. Except she knows Canales.”

  “I told you she was a bad apple,” Tori said, shaking her head.

  “She doesn’t know him under good terms. Seems he dated one of her roller derby friends and beat her up pretty badly. Can we find out more on a girl who calls herself Alison Plunderland?”

  “Alison—what?” Julian stared.

  “You missed a lot while you were—where was it again?” There was no holding the irritation back anymore.

  “I was on a job.” Julian glared at him from across the workbench that was serving as their table.

  “Doing what exactly? While we were working on this? This being the job we were all brought in for.”

  The vein on the left side of Julian’s head began to throb, growing more prominent. Aiden knew the terms of Julian’s job meant he was at the beck and call of his superiors, who aimed him at something and turned him loose. Aiden hated what they were doing to Julian, how each job seemed to be pushing him toward a cliff. It wasn’t worth it.

  “The agreement was we did this shit together. Your FBI friends need to remember I don’t work for them, and I can walk away,” Aiden said. He stared back at Julian, feeling all the toxic rage rolling off him. Someday very soon Julian was going to do something so over the line the Feds wouldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.

  Unlike Julian, who was at the mercy of the FBI, Aiden was a contracted employee with a specific mission. The FBI couldn’t jerk him around like they did Julian.

  Once, a long time ago, Aiden had signed on for revenge, but he’d learned from watching the way revenge ate at Julian that it was a toxic thing. Now, Aiden just wanted to see the job done. It was his responsibility because he’d said he’d do it, but when that was done, his time with the FBI was also over.

  The room grew very still. Aiden had never spoken those words out loud. The Hoovers liked to believe Aiden worked for them, but the truth was, if it boiled down to paperwork, he was a contracted employee with the ability to terminate his contract whenever he wanted. Except then he lost their protection, and he’d done so many below-the-board jobs for them he probably needed their shielding.

  “The fuck you would,” Julian growled.

  It was tempting to put all of this behind him. Just—walk away. But the few times he’d been ready to pack a bag and fill his gas tank, the images of his sister and her husband on their wedding day, so happy and in love, were the brakes that kept him parked. He’d made peace with their memory, but the weight of responsibility still sat firmly in his lap.

  “We need you on this case.” Aiden stabbed the table with his finger.

  “What’s going on?” CJ’s voice boomed in the garage.

  Aiden turned toward the couple. “Nice of you to join us.”

  “Nice of you to have dinner already prepared.” Kathy flashed him a smile and reached in front of him to help herself to a slice. She’d changed from the jeans and Classic Rides shirt into slacks and a T-shirt. Kathy could be anyone’s mother dressed as she was.

  “We were just discussing the Eleventh and segueing into Madison,” Aiden replied.

  “There’s literally nothing on her.” Kathy turned toward Emery. Between the two of them, there wasn’t a technical toy they couldn’t dismantle, hack, or build. Not to mention their digital sleuthing skills could uncover just about anything. “Did you find anything?”

  “She’s got a few social media accounts, but they were all created after she left Ross. All she does is talk about roller derby. She had an e-mail when she was married. I got into it, but there’s only junk mail. Not an e-mail from her mom, an e-card, nothing. I think he kept her pretty well cut off from everything,” Emery said.

  “The girl is like, Miss Roller Derby USA or something. Those hips of hers are dangerous. I watched some YouTube clips. She’s a mean one on the track.” Kathy glanced at Aiden. “You should go watch her. Hell, I’d
go watch her and I don’t care for sports.”

  Madison’s hips. Aiden didn’t want to hear anyone else talking about those.

  “Did you find anything else?” Aiden dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box. It was hard to feign disinterest when he wanted to know more about the woman who’d come apart in his arms.

  “Not a lot. I pulled her financials.” CJ set a manila folder on the workbench. “She’s got a savings account, but it’s all coming from her paycheck, which is legit. Looks like she’s trying to put herself through school at the community college. She’s got two years under her belt, and if I had to guess, she’s studying accounting. There’s nothing suspicious about where her money is coming from, and it’s not like she’s spending more than she makes.”

  “What about the cops? There’s a Detective Matt Smith looking into her.” Aiden glanced at John. “You know him?”

  “What? You think all cops know each other?” John snorted. “I never worked Miami.”

  “Cops would stonewall me if I asked them for help.” CJ shook his head. The local police had become particularly unhelpful once the Hoovers asked them to back off.

  “Okay, then someone needs to get close to Matt Smith.” Aiden glanced at the twins, who stared back at him with identical Who me? expressions. “Come on. He’s a guy. It’ll be like winning at go-karts to get information out of him.”

  Roni rolled her eyes. “All right. Fine. We’ll work on him, but no promises.”

  Tori just glared. The girls kept a low profile. Flirting with a cop was asking a lot of them, but with so many cars on the track, they had to have everyone in the pit.

  “What else do we know about this chick?” Julian asked, finally showing some interest.

  CJ glanced at his folder once more. “She works at Everglades Air, a private airstrip outside of the city, which is owned by her high school best friend’s parents, she lives in a sailboat and the slip is paid out until the end of next year, her car was stolen and burned out, she owns a motorcycle and has no speeding or parking tickets, though there is a dropped charge against her for assault.”