The ride back from the Raiders clubhouse held an entirely different sense of anxiousness than I had felt earlier in the night. Part of my job was always preparing for the unexpected—to have a plan B and C to execute in case plan A failed. But after all the research and all the profiling, Bishop Malloy had been the epitome of unexpected, and that fact unnerved me completely.

As I held tight to Gavin’s well-defined abs, I pictured Bishop’s toned muscles flexing as he took a shot at the pool table. Although he was quite a sight to behold, it wasn’t Bishop’s physical attributes that had my mind reeling. It was discovering that he had a deeply caring side. As sergeant at arms in the Raiders, he was called upon to deliver punishment from the club, I knew. While his body was built for being an executioner, his eyes had held such kindness and compassion as we spoke. And that was not at all what I had been expecting or prepared for.

Seeing him holding his nephew had momentarily thrown me off my game. Anyone would find a hardened biker cooing over a baby a little disconcerting. Couple that with the fact that most women find a man with a baby the equivalent of emotional kryptonite, and it was no wonder I had been unnerved. Recognizing Bishop’s paternal side was probably the first time I allowed myself to really see him as a person—one whose love for his family and friends was the reasoning he used to justify some of the illegal and immoral things he did.

Somehow I had managed to get my game face back on. He had taken the bait when I played him like a fool by overtly coming on to him, but he seemed conflicted by an inner turmoil. I had expected him to be the type of man who didn’t give two shits about whether a woman was already involved with someone else—that he would see nothing wrong with taking me from Marley. After all, Bishop was an officer in the club, and to the Raiders, Gavin was no one. I’d read sickening articles where some MCs ordered prospects to let them “break in” their wives and girlfriends. If they didn’t comply, then they were thrown out. In the back of my mind, I had built up an image of Bishop being that despicable.

But Bishop had surprised me by backing off as many times as he did. I had to spend only five minutes with him to realize he could never be as horrible as I had envisioned him. In the end, he would be tougher to break than I thought because he possessed a moral compass I hadn’t originally anticipated.

It was that very moral compass that unnerved me. For the first time in my career, I had encountered a tiny amount of dread in the pit of my stomach about continuing the case. Usually, after I spent a few hours undercover, I was champing at the bit to get back in the field to bring the bad guy down. In my mind, tonight had somewhat blurred the lines, and I knew that I needed to get ahold of myself pronto. I had to remember that while Bishop had somehow evaded jail time with just probation, he was still a criminal, and criminals had to be punished.

Gavin eased the bike off the main road into the almost-deserted Waffle House parking lot. Through the window, we could see where Peterson sat at a booth—his shirt and tie slightly disheveled after the long day. Since we hadn’t been wired, Peterson had set up this late-night debriefing to ensure that nothing, not even the smallest detail, went unanalyzed.

After I slid off the back of the bike and took off my helmet, I turned around to find Gavin staring expectantly at me. “What?” I demanded.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the clubhouse.”

“Excuse me for not realizing I needed to converse with you. For fuck’s sake, I’ve been on a motorcycle going sixty down a country road. If I’d opened my mouth, I would have caught a bunch of bugs in my teeth.”

When I started for the building, Gavin didn’t follow me. Whirling around, I growled, “You’re seriously starting to piss me off, McTavish!”

“I just want to hear you say it before we go in.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked, “And what is it exactly that I’m supposed to say? If it’s ‘thank you’ for earlier, then by all means thank you for letting me get my shit together and for not ratting me out to Peterson.”

Gavin closed the gap between us. “Nope. That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” I eyed him suspiciously. “Did they slip something into your drink at the roadhouse to make you act so fucking weird?”

The corners of Gavin’s lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile. “Admit it. You liked Bishop.”

My heartbeat drummed so loudly in my chest that I was sure Gavin must have heard it. How the hell had he been able to sense my dilemma? Playing it cool, I questioned, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but I’m trying to process why in the hell you would say such a thing out of nowhere.”

“The reason you were so quiet on the way over here is that your mind was racing. I can always tell when you’re overanalyzing something.”

With an eye roll, I said, “You’re so full of shit.”

“After all that thinking, you realized that at the end of the day, you found Bishop Malloy completely different from how you had perceived him. And though you were on a job, you still found that you enjoyed yourself there tonight.”

I slowly shook my head in disbelief. While my anxiety sent a cold rush pricking down my spine, I masked any inner turmoil I felt with a totally impassive expression on the outside. Although Gavin and I both knew each other inside and out, I still couldn’t believe he had been able to guess what I was feeling so easily. I sure as hell hoped I wasn’t becoming transparent, because the last thing I needed was for Peterson to ride my ass about it.

“Once again, you’re full of shit,” I said.

Holding up his hands defensively, Gavin said, “Look, it’s all right to like him, Sam. He’s a helluva likable guy with a good sense of humor. I’ve seen that for myself since I’ve been spending time with him.”

“But it’s different for you.”

Gavin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I sighed and kicked one of the loose pieces of gravel with my boot. “If I like him, there’s a different set of issues than there is for you.”

“Because he’s straight, and you’re coming on to him to get the job done?”

“Yep. That pretty much sums it up.”

Gavin grinned at me. “I just said you liked the guy, Vargas, not that you were ready to have his babies.”

I couldn’t help laughing at Gavin’s summation. “The situation’s escalated pretty quickly if I’m ready to have his babies.”

“You know what I meant.” He nudged his shoulder against mine. “So quit worrying, ’kay?”

“The thing is, I let myself get too comfortable with him while we were talking.”

Gavin’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”

Groaning, I covered my eyes with my hands. “We were playing this stupid get-to-know-you game, and when trying to connect with him about being the youngest of the family, I let it slip that my siblings didn’t think I could do what I wanted when I grew up. When I realized what I’d done, I covered my ass by saying I wanted to be a cop.”

When I dared to look at Gavin, he was once again grinning at me. “Jesus, Sam, you’re entirely too hard on yourself. For a minute, I thought you had given him your badge number or some bullshit. That was barely a slipup.”

“You’re too forgiving when it comes to me.”

“Fine. You want the truth?”

Now it was my turn to groan as he did the familiar bit with me from A Few Good Men. “Yeah, I can handle the truth.”

“My first undercover case, I let it slip where I really lived—almost blew the whole damn thing.”

I widened my eyes in disbelief. “You never told me that.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to look bad in front of my new partner,” he said with a wink.

“Thanks for telling me now.”

“You’re welcome. Now we better get inside before Peterson wonders what the hell we’re doing out here.”

As Gavin started for the door, I blurted, “He’s not a monster.”

Glancing back at me over his shoulder, Gavin looked confused. “Who, Peterson?”

I shook my head. “No. Bishop.”

“I’m glad you figured that one out.”

“But I’m not. You know it just makes the case harder if he’s really a decent guy,” I argued.

“That’s true. But at the end of the day, what we’re doing doesn’t mean sending Bishop to prison and throwing away the key. There are a lot of parameters in this case. He and his brothers play their cards right, and they won’t be locked up forever.”

While I nodded, I didn’t tell Gavin what I was really feeling. The truth was in that moment, I had a hard time imagining seeing Bishop punished. In my mind, I hoped there was some way he could cop a deal and plead out of any charges. If they were truly giving their guns to the cartel, then the bureau would be much more interested in taking the cartel down if the Raiders would help.

“Stop overthinking, Vargas. I’m starving for some fucking waffles,” Gavin said, bringing me out of my internal tirade.

I laughed and let him lead me into the restaurant. At the sight of us, Peterson waved us over. The place was fairly empty, with only a few sleepy-eyed truckers as the other patrons.

When we reached the booth, Peterson’s gaze roamed over my heavy makeup and skintight attire. “We really have to stop meeting like this, Vargas.”

I snorted as I slid into the seat across from him. “I have a feeling a burlap sack wouldn’t stop you from ogling me, you old pervert.”

Peterson threw his head back and laughed. “I’m never able to get one over on you.”

“And you never will,” I said as I picked up the grease-encrusted menu.

After the waitress got our order, Peterson asked, “So, how did your first MC party go?”

Although my mind still spun from trying to process all I had seen and heard, I gave an apathetic shrug of my shoulder. “Meh, it was okay, I guess.”

Peterson’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows shot up. “Just ‘okay’?”

“Actually, it was pretty tame. Apparently, all the exhibitionist sex and nudity happens at the rallies, not the parties,” I replied.

“Did you find that out from some of the old ladies?” Peterson asked.

“Actually, Bishop was the one who let me in on that little secret.”

“Ah, you had a little chat with the target. What’s your take on him?”

At the insinuation of getting to know Bishop, I jerked my gaze up from the menu to stare at him. When I saw he wasn’t suspicious, I replied, “Yeah. I did. I found him to be quite the fount of information about certain things.” I didn’t dare look at Gavin. Instead, I glanced back at the menu.

“You find out anything else besides the party-versus-rally info?” Peterson questioned.

“Not anything good that we can use in the case, but I did really well when it came to rattling him. We had a long time alone together while Gavin helped a prospect get a keg in the warehouse.”

At the mention of the warehouse, Peterson forgot all about me. Instead, he turned his bright eyes to Gavin. “I had no idea you would get inside there so quickly. See anything useful?”

Gavin shook his head. “Nope. It was a total bust on physical evidence. No suspicious crates or boxes, no empty spaces where a shipment might’ve been or was about to be. If the Raiders are still running guns, I don’t see how it’s possible they’re doing it out of that warehouse. Maybe they’ve got something going off the property.”

When Peterson gave a frustrated grunt, Gavin held up his hand. “I said I didn’t get any good physical evidence, but the word of mouth from the prospect, Joe, was pretty good.”

“So the old adage that a frustrated prospect is your first point of club knowledge rang true?” Peterson asked with a grin.

“Yeah, it certainly helped.” He leaned forward in the booth and lowered his voice. “Apparently, there’s a big powwow coming up between the Southeast chapters of the Raiders. Louisiana all the way to the Carolinas are meeting at the chapter headquarters in Virginia.”

“When?”

“The end of the month. The prospect was a little vague on the actual date.”

“We need you at that meeting. Think you can work on Bishop in the next few weeks for an invitation?”

Gavin nodded. “From what Joe was saying, the other guy that’s also prospecting really isn’t working out. He fucks up one more time, and he’s out. Joe was bitching about the fact that if this dude gets kicked out before the meeting in Virginia, he’ll be running his ass off for everyone as the lone prospect. They’ll need someone reliable to go along. I’m thinking it might be me.”

“Good. You keep working that angle.” Peterson then looked at me. “You’ll be along for this one, too, Vargas.”

“I figured as much.”

“We need you front and center with Bishop. If we can have him rattled, we’re likely to get more information about what’s going on at the meeting.”

“So more revealing clothes and whorish behavior?” I questioned humorlessly.

“Not entirely.”

Intrigued, I asked, “What exactly do you need me to do?”

Before he answered me, Peterson downed the rest of his coffee and then waved the waitress over. Once we were alone again, he said, “Ideally, you need to be his shadow. More than anything, we need you on the back of that bike. As a hang-around, Gavin won’t be allowed in the inner circle for any briefings before or after the meeting. If we have you there, you can pick up everything—from each time they stop to take a piss to before they meet up with the other Raiders.”

“Jesus, Peterson, from the way you talk you want me standing beside them in the urinals.”

“I would totally be down for that,” Peterson replied with a wink.

“I’ll try my best, but you can forget me being anywhere near germ-infested urinals.”

Gavin glanced between us. “While that sounds great in theory, just how do we get Sam on the back of Bishop’s bike? I mean, do I suddenly have a malfunction with the bitch seat on mine?”

I shook my head. “As a hang-around, you won’t be taking your bike.”

“Huh?” Gavin asked.

Leaning forward in my seat, I replied, “Prospects and hang-arounds don’t get to ride their bikes on a run. Because they haven’t earned full privileges yet, they end up driving a truck or car, which inevitably makes them stand out even more.” At both Gavin’s and Peterson’s surprised looks, I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you guys didn’t read up on that part?”

“I’m sure I read it—I just forgot it,” Gavin mumbled.

“Do you mean to tell me the mighty McTavish actually forgot something?” I teased. He responded by maturely throwing a wadded-up napkin at me.

“So if Gavin is driving or riding with Joe, we just need a way to get you onto that bike,” Peterson said.

“No need to worry about it. I’ll get on that bike.”

“How?” Gavin asked.

“I don’t know exactly at the moment, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think this fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants attitude is good. We need a plan.”

“The plan is simple. I use my assets and our newfound friendship. It needs to happen in the moment. Anything too rehearsed will look suspicious.”

“I guess you’re right.”

I grinned. “Oh, I know I’m right.” I turned to Peterson. “Now, how about the bureau footing the bill for some waffles? Being a femme fatale has made me work up quite an appetite.”

Peterson chuckled before turning to Gavin. “When it comes to Vargas, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

“Damn straight,” I muttered.