Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC)

by Colleen Masters

  “You don’t seem like the type to fly off the handle and start shooting at random,” Mitchell says. “I trust you to be around these people without going berserk. So, what do you say, Collins? Are you still in, or do I need to find someone else for this operation?”

  I glare up at the MC members, staring daggers at each and every one of them. Even the mystery man in the ranks of Dante’s Nine. If I can have some small part in bringing down just one gang...well, I can’t think of anything else that would be more rewarding.

  “I’m in,” I say resolutely, “When can I start?”

  “Immediately,” Mitchell grins. “Why don’t you go check out your new place and get to work contacting the girls at CrowdedNest?”

  “Sounds great,” I nod, turning to go.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Agent,” Mitchell says. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

  Chapter Four

  I stand in the middle of the barren one-bedroom apartment I’ve been assigned to, just off the Las Vegas strip. I’ve been locked in a staring contest with my brand new roommate for the last three minutes. And I’m ashamed to admit that he’s winning.

  “You don’t scare me, buddy,” I mutter, fixing my blue eyes on my testy new bunk buddy. “I’ve faced down worse than the likes of you in my time.”

  An old gray cat stares back at me with utter indifference. Apparently he was a stray kitten, once upon a time. Until, that is, one of the agents who used this place on assignment let the bugger in for a saucer of milk. No one’s been able to coax the cat out of the place since. Plenty of agents have come and gone from this apartment in the meantime, but the cat has always stayed put. I’ve been told that he’s simply called The Mayor. And for the time being, I’m expected to take care of him.

  It could be worse, I suppose. That agent could have adopted a baby alligator, instead.

  I blink my dry eyes, surrendering to The Mayor’s prowess. He flicks his puffy tail and struts away into the other room. Guess we know who runs things around here. Sinking down onto the twin bed in the corner, I look around at my new digs. The apartment is spare in every sense. About 500 square feet with nothing but the most basic utilities: a bed, a fridge, a stove, and a shower. I kick myself for neglecting to bring along my French press and cushy comforter. But again, no one ever said that working for the FBI was going to be a glamorous affair. I arrange my photos on the plain dresser, plunk my tin of coffee down in the kitchen, and give my pillow a good, tight squeeze. Home sweet home, indeed.

  I decide that I might as well get right to work. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge—either a welcome gift or something another agent left behind, I assume—I pull out my laptop and settle down on the threadbare couch across the living room. I open up my browser and punch in CrowdedNest.com. At once, the site in question pops up on my screen.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here...” I murmur.

  Kassie Bennett came up with the CrowdedNest concept herself, I learn in the “About” section of the site. It’s a crowd-funding platform that allows friends and families of senior citizens to contribute to their retirement nest eggs. Apparently, some family tragedy of Kassie’s inspired her create the site, so that no other families leveled by the recent financial crisis would have to suffer like hers did. Noble, sure. But she’s still an MC old lady, and therefore crooked as hell in my book.

  The site is well-designed and efficient, a product of some very capable developers, indeed. Even Milo would be impressed by the easy navigation and minimalist, chic aesthetic. But I’m more concerned with what lurks beneath the careful layout, whatever that might be.

  I pull up a new message window and punch in the site’s contact email address. Time to get myself—my new self—a job. The FBI crafted a brand new identity for me to work under on this case. My alias is Keira Campbell—a coder and programmer from the East Coast with development and creative experience at all kinds of firms in New York City. I’ve got a phony resume, complete with plenty of phony references, and even a set of phony documents and identification. The Bureau is nothing if not thorough, I suppose.

  Taking a long sip of beer, I start typing Keira’s first-ever correspondence.

  Dear Ms. Bennett and Ms. Rodgers,

  My name is Keira Campbell, and I’m writing in regard to the current job opening at CrowdedNest.com. I would like very much to be considered for the full-stack senior developer position at your company. I have a degree in computer science and experience with web application coding (ASP.NET, Ruby on Rails, JavaScript, jQuery, SQL), dev-ops, analytics, copy writing, and web design.

  I recently relocated to the Las Vegas area from New York City, and am seeking local employment with an innovative tech startup. I’m very intrigued by your company’s story, and would love to work with female entrepreneurs such as yourselves. Please let me know if we can set up an interview, my schedule is very flexible.

  Sincerely,

  Keira Campbell.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say to The Mayor, who blinks back at me disinterestedly. I attach a link to my GitHub profile and, with a deep breath, I click “send”. Nothing to do now but wait.

  I pull myself up off the couch and pace my modest living room, sipping on my beer and trying to keep my nerves at bay. If I’d known that this assignment was going to be undercover, I’m not sure if I would’ve had the guts to take it. Especially given my attitude toward criminals like the MC guys I’m going after. I wonder who, among those I saw pictured at the office today, are guilty of murder? Sexual assault? Armed robbery? Here’s hoping I’ll never have to be near any of them. I could never trust someone who willingly chose to be part of an outlaw biker gang, whatever their bat-shit rationalization.

  The sun is setting quickly over the strip beyond my window. You’d think that living in a bustling city would make you feel welcome and secure—surrounded by people and potential friends. But I’ve always been lonelier in cities than anywhere else in the world. All those people out there, with their exciting lives and passionate loves, only remind me of how alone I am.

  Just as I’m about to resign myself to another evening of sitcom reruns and pizza delivery, my laptop pings from across the room. Apparently, I’ve got mail. It’s barely been half an hour since I sent out my email to CrowdedNest, but as I glance at my inbox, I see that I’ve already gotten a response from them. Maybe it’s a form letter or something, letting me know that the position has already been filled?

  I perch in front of my laptop, chewing on my fingernail as I anxiously open the new message.

  Hi Keira,

  Thank you so much for your email. The CrowdedNest team was very happy to receive it! You reached out at the perfect time, too. We were hoping to interview candidates in the next couple of days. You seem very well-suited for the job, and we’d love to meet you. I know it’s short notice, but are you available tomorrow for a casual interview at our Las Vegas office? Let us know and we’ll send along the details. Looking forward to hearing from you.

  Cheers,

  Kassie Bennett

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—” I squeal. “It’s happening. It’s really happening.”

  Even The Mayor perks his ears up at my excitement. I send back a quick email confirming my interest and availability for tomorrow, and receive a time and location in no time. Everything is happening so fast—and it looks like this whole thing just got real. And even though I’m terrified, not knowing what tomorrow might hold, I’m ready to face this head-on. I have to proceed fearlessly. I don’t want Mitchell thinking he brought on the wrong person for this case, or for Bruno to think I can’t handle this myself.

  I close my computer with a snap as I spot an incoming Gchat message from Milo. The last thing I need tonight is a lecture about what a mistake I’m making. No way. Tonight, it’s all about comfort before what’s sure to be a crazy big day.

  “What do you say, Mayor?” I ask my furry roommate. “How does a pepperoni pie and a Friends marathon sound to you?”<
br />
  I take his unflinching stare as permission to enjoy my last night of relative peace however I damn well please.

  Chapter Five

  “You really didn’t need to drive me over here,” I say to Mitchell as I unbuckle my seat belt. “This isn’t my first day of school.”

  “But it is your first day as an undercover agent,” my boss replies from the driver seat of his sedan. “I wanted to make sure your nerves weren’t getting the best of you.”

  “I’m fine,” I shrug, glancing out the window. It’s a complete and utter lie, of course. I’m totally freaking out. But Mitchell doesn’t need to know that.

  “You look great,” he tells me. “Really pulling off the whole hipster chick thing.”

  I glance down at my dark-wash skinny jeans, basic charcoal tank, slightly oversized cardigan, and lace-up boots. He’s got me on the hipster thing, I guess. Especially with my unruly curls and thick-rimmed glasses—a touch I stole right out of the Milo Beckett playbook. I figured this was my best bet to pass for a techie type.

  “Tell me the truth, Mitchell,” I say. “How much of the reason why you chose me for this job is the way I look?”

  “Truthfully? A lot of the reason,” he shrugs.

  “Jesus,” I wince. “A little sugarcoating wouldn’t have killed you.”

  “You want sugarcoating, go work for Willy Wonka,” he snaps. “Young, beautiful women get hired for these jobs in a heartbeat, especially when other young women are the ones hiring.”

  “Is that a real statistic, or something you made up to justify bringing a pretty girl into your office?” I shoot back.

  “Not important,” he says with a wink. “Look, I’m not trying to diminish your skills as a cyber intelligence agent. You’ve done awesome work in San Bernardino. But it doesn’t hurt that you look damn good, too. And I think you know it, Collins. Now can we quit arguing the finer points of institutionalized sexism and get on with the show?”

  “That could be the title of the FBI training manual,” I mutter, darting out the passenger door before Mitchell can continue my talking-to.

  I plant my feet on the Vegas sidewalk, craning my neck to see the tops of the buildings all around me. I’ve arrived at the address Kassie Bennett provided, but...this can’t be right. I’m looking up at a luxury high rise, with an affable-looking doorman and a golden, gleaming lobby. Not exactly the place I’d expect to find the offices of a tech startup. What’s the deal?

  “Excuse me,” I say to the doorman, as I ease inside the glamorous building, “I’ve probably got the wrong address, but—”

  “Who are you here to see, dear?” the man asks, all helpful earnestness.

  “Kassie Bennett,” I tell him, “I have an interview with CrowdedNest—”

  “Then you are, indeed, in the right place!” the doorman smiles, grabbing a gold-plated phone from behind the desk. He punches in a number and looks up at me, “What did you say your name was?”

  I very nearly respond with “Quinn Collins”, catching myself just in time. This whole alias thing is going to take some getting used to.

  “Keira Campbell,” I tell the man, covering as best I can.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Bennett. This is Franklin,” the doorman says into the phone. “I have a Keira Campbell here to see you and Ms. Rodgers?” he pauses a moment, listening for her response, then says, “Wonderful. Thank you,” and hangs up the phone. “You can go right ahead,” Franklin says to me, waving toward the elevator bank.

  “Which floor?” I ask.

  “Just go all the way to the top,” he smiles.

  I do what he says, stepping into the vintage-looking elevator and reminding myself to breathe as it carries me up into the sky. You can do this, Collins, just stay calm, I silently urge myself, You’re a trained, capable, cool-headed agent. Everything’s going to be OK. If only my racing heart and frantic mind would believe that. At least my gut’s telling me that I’m going to make it through this. And that’s all that matters in the end, right?

  The elevator doors part with a smooth swish, and I step out onto a small, marbled landing. I’m flanked on either side by two identical, stately doors—the first gilded with a golden letter “A”, the second with an equally glitzy letter “B”. I raise an eyebrow at my elegant and totally unexpected surroundings.

  “What is this, some kind of game show?” I mumble, looking back and forth between the doors. I’ve sure as hell never seen an office like this before. But then again, you never can tell with these startup types. Milo’s creative agency had beanbags instead of chairs and walls made entirely of white board. So I guess anything goes.

  I don’t have to wait on the landing for long before the door marked “B” swings open. I have to snap my jaw in place to keep it from falling open as two of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen up close appear in the doorway.

  “You must be Keira,” smiles the taller of the two—a statuesque blonde with tan skin and flowing blonde locks. “I’m Kassie. So glad you could make it today.”

  “Hi, I’m Kelly,” chimes in the second woman, who’s even more petite than I am. Her jet-black hair falls in loose, silky curls, and there’s a distinct air of mischief about her.

  “Nice to meet you both,” I manage, floored by the women that stand before me. Kassie and Kelly’s photos weren’t on display at the FBI field office, so I concocted some ridiculous idea of what they might look like in my head. I expected stereotypical TV biker wives—bleached blonde, too much makeup, tacky tattoos, fake tits. But these ladies are utterly gorgeous, just about my age, and undeniably cool. When they ask me to come inside, I feel like I’ve just been invited to sit at the popular girls’ table in the high school cafeteria.

  The sight that greets me as I step through the door only leaves me more gobsmacked. We’ve entered one of the most beautiful, elegant apartments I’ve ever seen. This penthouse suite is the picture of economy and minimalist design. Not a single object seems superfluous or even slightly out of place. But it’s definitely an apartment—albeit a gorgeous one—not an office.

  “This...is your office?” I breathe, gaping through the wall of windows on the far side of the room. An incredible view of the strip sprawls through the clear glass, glimmering in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Home office, in a way,” Kassie says, walking toward the sleek kitchen. “My old man and I live just across the hall. He bought up both these penthouses before we met. Kelly was staying here, for a minute, but since we haven’t got a new tenant, we’ve been running CrowdedNest from here.”

  “But the commute must kill you,” I kid.

  “I like her already,” Kelly says to Kassie. “A sense of humor is important when you work on a three-person team.”

  Kassie carries a tray in from the kitchen bearing a french press, a plate of baked goods, and a pitcher of cucumber water. I can’t believe these are the women I’m investigating in relation to outlaw bikers. They seem totally cultured and composed...and yet Kassie just mentioned her “old man”. How secretive are they, really, about their MC involvement? I wonder if they even realize how dangerous these organizations can be.

  “Take a seat, Keira, and help yourself,” Kassie says, settling down at a long wooden table beside Kelly. I sit across from this stunning pair of women, trying to refocus on the task at hand. I’m here to land this job so I can start gathering some real intelligence. Time to show them what I’ve got. Whatever that is...

  “You couldn’t have reached out to us at a better time,” Kelly says. “We’ve had no luck finding qualified candidates in the area, and we’d really prefer to have someone working locally.”

  “Sure,” I nod, “for such a small team, that makes total sense. Remote work is all well and good, but some analog contact can make all the difference.”

  “Exactly. We want to really get to know whoever it is we bring on,” Kassie says, leaning her elbows on the long table. “Kelly and I have been good friends for years, and that friendship has informed the way w
e work in a really positive way. It would be nice to hire someone we get along with on a personal, as well as a professional, level.”

  I swallow a nervous laugh. If only these two knew how much I was hiding from them. If they’re looking for honest friendship, I am the last person on earth they should hire. And yet...

  “I’ve always found that I work better in a friendly environment of my peers,” I reply. “I do my best work when I’m part of a trusting team—where everyone’s allowed to work on their own terms, in their own way, you know?”

  “That’s exactly how we like to do things around here,” Kassie says, exchanging a pleased look with Kelly. “But why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself, Keira.”

  We go on talking for at least half an hour, and I’m surprised by how easy it is, posing as someone else. I rattle off points from my phony biography, and even throw in a couple of embellished details borrowed from my own life. I guess it helps that Keira’s expertise and experience are actually my own in disguise. I’m totally qualified for a job at CrowdedNest, what with my computer science background. And despite my reluctance to be anywhere near MC types, I rather like these women. They seem smart, ballsy, and unapologetic. Hell, in another life, I bet we could have been friends for real. It’s almost a shame that I’m only here to steal away with their private information and possibly arrest the men in their lives...

  “Let’s just cut to the chase,” Kelly says, with a wicked gleam in her eye, “you seem like a great fit for our company, and we’d really like to give you the job. I know it’s unconventional to offer someone a position at an initial meeting, but...what do you think?”

  “I...got the job?” I ask, genuinely surprised and pleased.

  “It’s yours if you want it,” Kassie says happily.