“Need someone to beat the shit out of?”

He whirled at the sound of Spence’s voice. “Maybe. You volunteering?”

Spence slid into one of the wide leather chairs, crossing his ankles together. “I might if you keep acting like Jessie’s old man instead of her friend.”

“Somebody needs to have some sense. She’s just a kid.”

“She’s twenty-three. She’s capable. Have you gone a few rounds with her in the boxing ring?”

“No.”

Spence worked his jaw back and forth. “That kid, as you call her, throws one hell of a punch. As well as a kick. She’s a damn good shot with a gun, and pretty handy with a blade, too. I’d say she can hold her own just fine. Hell, she came to us with that knowledge. She’s street-smart and savvy. She’s wise beyond her years and a good judge of character.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. If you’d pull your head out of your ass and quit tiptoeing around her, maybe you’d notice.”

Oh, he noticed. All the wrong things. Like her curves. Her breasts. Her long legs and sexy voice. Her mouth. Her laugh and her quick wit.

She made his dick hard. And he’d known her since she was a kid.

Yeah, he noticed her all right. He’d tried to avoid her since her eighteenth birthday when she turned those gorgeous green eyes on him in a way that made his balls quiver.

She was smart—too damn smart for her own good. Jessie was one hellaciously sexy package that he couldn’t touch. She made him crazy.

He wasn’t going to survive this assignment.

“I don’t think it’s safe for her. You know what these tough biker gang initiations can be like, Spence. Do you want that for Jessie?”

Spence shrugged. “Not my call. She’s an adult now, and she’s been training for a long time. This is her chance and she wants it.”

“Are you willing to watch her have sex?”

Spence swallowed, looking as uncomfortable as Diaz felt. “Hell, I don’t know. But we all have to let her grow up and stop thinking of her as our kid sister. She’s not related to any of us. She’s a woman and she can make her own choices, even if that includes sex as part of an assignment. You know it goes down that way sometimes. She’s always wanted to be a Wild Rider. And that’s part of the deal.”

No shit. The thought of watching her f**k another man made his blood boil. He knew nothing about her private life, but with her sexy, cropped-short platinum blond hair, full lips, bright green eyes, and killer body, he imagined she’d had as much practice with f**king as she’d had with weapons and hand-to-hand combat. And that he didn’t want to think about.

“This sucks,” he said, sinking into the chair across from Spence.

“What sucks?”

He looked up at the sound of Jessie’s voice, his pulse racing when she stepped into the room. She wore leather pants, boots, and a skintight top that revealed just a hint of her smooth stomach. The glittering jewel of the piercing at her navel—emerald to match her eyes—tantalized him and made him itch to lick around the little gem on his way down to the treasure below.

Jessie looked at both Spence and Diaz. “You two were talking about me, weren’t you? Still debating whether you think I can handle this assignment?”

“I wasn’t the one doing the debating,” Spence said.

She turned her attention on Diaz. “For someone who has completely ignored me since I got to Wild Riders, you sure picked one hell of a time to start paying attention.” She walked into the room and grabbed the packet from his hands. After dumping the papers out on the table between his and Spence’s chair, she spread them out and picked up one piece at a time, studying the documents carefully.

“This is Crush Daniels,” she said, handing one pic to Diaz and one to Spence. “You might want to know what he looks like.”

Diaz took the picture she held over her shoulder. Crush looked to be in his early thirties, with short black hair, a goatee, and intense gray eyes. The picture was a close-up, no doubt taken with a telephoto lens. He sat on his bike—nice bike, too—his expression intense as he studied something off in the distance.

“Christopher ‘Crush’ Daniels, thirty-three years old. Six feet tall, weighing in at approximately two hundred and twenty-five pounds. Well muscled, works out regularly,” Jessie reported, reading from the intel.

“What does he do for a living?” Spence asked.

“He owns a garage in his hometown of Little Rock. Correction. Co-owns it with his older brother, Donald. I guess that’s how he has time to take all these road trips on his bike. His brother must mind the store while he’s out riding. Says here that his brother isn’t a rider.”

“Lucky for Crush,” Diaz muttered.

“Not exactly a rich guy, but certainly not poor, either,” Jessie reported. “Has enough money to do what he wants, when he wants.”

“Single?” Diaz asked.

“Yes. Never married. Gets around. Lots of different women.”

“And no doubt wanting to add you as one of them.”

Jessie craned her neck to look at Diaz, then rolled her eyes. “Not.”

“Naïve.”

“Pervert.” She turned away and resumed reading. “High school education, then two years of community college. Got his associate’s degree in business before opening up the garage with his brother. They’ve been running it for ten years now and it’s pretty popular. I guess their parents left them money.”

“Where are the parents?”

“Both dead. Natural causes.”

“So, inheritance money to maybe fund some survivalist activities,” Spence added.

Diaz nodded and scanned the sheet Jessie handed him. “Possibly. Says he likes to take a lot of trips into the Ozarks. Several times a year, in fact.”

“It could mean he likes to hunt. Or fish. Or maybe he goes camping,” Jessie said.

“And it could mean he likes to hang out with his fellow survivalists,” Diaz countered. “Keep your mind open to the possibilities, Jess. Don’t give the bad guy an out.”

She shifted to look up at him, her eyes so trusting it pained him. “So, guilty until proven innocent?”

“Something like that.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, my mind doesn’t work that way. We’ll have to prove him guilty.”

“You’re not a lawyer. It’s not your job to find him innocent. He’s our suspect. We need to prove him dirty.”

“I don’t agree.”

“And trying to protect some guy just because he was nice to you once could get you killed.”

“I’m not trying to protect him. I’m keeping an open mind, that’s all.”

“Close it. It’s safer.”

She arched a brow. “I think you’re just jealous.”

Spence snorted. Diaz shot a glare in his direction, and Spence resumed careful study of the papers, but the smirk on his face lingered.

“Honey, for me to be jealous, I’d have to care. And since I’m not the one with my hand in your panties at the moment, I have nothing to care about. But I am team leader on this assignment. That means it’s my responsibility to make sure no one on my team acts like a fool and f**ks up this case.”

Her smile died. She looked down, then back up again, her voice lowered. “I know what I’m doing, Diaz.”

His face tightened with tension as his gaze penetrated hers. He really hated laying down the law to her, but it was better to do it now rather than later. She needed to know this wasn’t fun and games. This was dead serious business.

“You’d better, or you’ll be back here faster than a bullet travels, explaining to Grange why you screwed up your first—and last—assignment.”

TWO

DAWN FILTERED ACROSS THE WILD RIDERS COMPOUND, CLOUDLESS and blazing hot already. It was going to be a blistering day for a ride. There wasn’t a leaf blowing in the windless morning, nothing rustling the trees sheltering the garage area behind the massive house where all the cars and bikes were stored. Jessie looked out the window, watching Grange and Diaz step out of the garage, stop for a brief conversation, then head toward the house.

Jessie hadn’t slept at all last night, her mind occupied with the case and her annoyance with Diaz.

Damn, he got on her last nerve. In more ways than the obvious, too. He had absolutely no sense of humor, couldn’t take teasing at all, and was dead serious about this case.

Not that she wasn’t. She really was. But could Diaz lighten up at all? Spence could. Diaz? Apparently not. Did he think for one second that she wasn’t going to take this assignment seriously? She’d been waiting years for this chance. Ever since she turned eighteen, she’d wanted the opportunity to work for the Wild Riders. Before that, actually, but Grange said no way until she was legal age. And then he’d forced her to attend the local college, telling her she needed some education along with training. Still, he’d never assigned her to a case, instead making her train at headquarters, day in and day out, working with the guys on weapons, ops, intel, computers, body conditioning and endurance, martial arts, and, of course, the bikes.

She loved the bikes, had always loved them the most. She’d been riding since she got her license at sixteen, and she was damn good at it.

Actually, she was good at everything she did. Even the guys said so. How come Diaz gave her no credit? He treated her like a brainless dimwit, a blond bimbo with big boobs. Just because a girl was pretty and had a great body didn’t mean she was stupid.

That was going to stop today. She’d prove to him she could handle this case.

Her bags were packed. She was dressed and ready to go. She grabbed everything she’d need for this trip and went downstairs to meet Diaz and Spencer.

She found Diaz, Spencer, and Grange in the kitchen. Trying to act nonchalant even though her heart was pounding, she brushed past Diaz to grab a cup from the cupboard and slid it underneath the coffeepot, filling it halfway. She’d already been up for two hours and had drunk three cups. She was wired.

“Morning,” Grange said. “You ready for this?”

She nodded while she sipped. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

“If at any time you feel like you can’t handle it—any of it—you’re welcome to drop this case. There’ll be others.”

She leaned against the counter, weary from having to say the same thing over and over again. Their protectiveness was wearing her patience thin. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ready to ride?” Diaz asked.

“Whenever you are.” She was still touchy over his comments last night, but buried her feelings. Diaz was lead on this case. She didn’t want to appear childish, especially in front of Grange. They were in work mode now. She had to put her personal issues aside and work with him.

“Let’s go.”

She grabbed her bag and followed Spence, Diaz, and Grange outside and into the garage. But when she went for her bike, it wasn’t in its usual spot.

“Uh, where’s my bike?”

Grange smiled. So did Spence.

“Diaz traded it in.”

She whirled around to face Diaz. “You what?”

Diaz wore no expression on his face. “Your 883 was too small for a road trip. We’d be stopping every hundred miles for gas.”

She almost broke down in tears. “Do you know how hard I worked to save money to buy that bike?” It wasn’t brand-new, but it was hers. She’d picked it out herself. She loved that bike.

“I know. But you have to be realistic. This is for the job.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “It’s over in Stall Four.”

She blinked, then frowned. “What’s in Stall Four?”

“Your new bike.”

Still not understanding, all she could do was c**k her head to the side and stare at Diaz. He finally had to grasp her by the shoulders and spin her around.

“Look, Jess.”

She did. But she didn’t believe what she saw. Her jaw gaped open. There, in Stall Four, was a bright, beautiful, brand-spankin’-new Harley 1200 Sportster, a bigger and more powerful bike than the one she’d had before.

“That’s mine?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s blue.” A beautiful pacific blue paint job. “And all that chrome.”

“Yeah. Figured you’d like that.”

She walked around the bike, gaping at all the features. The quick-release detachable windshield, the pillow-look touring seat—her butt was already saying “ahhh” at the sight of it. Air cleaner, pipes, cables, grips, handlebars, pegs—everything was upgraded from standard, all chromed out, gleaming and gorgeous.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, unable to keep the awe out of her voice.

Diaz came up next to her and her gaze shot up to his. He quickly turned away to look at the bike, but in that brief second she’d seen something in his eyes. Something hot.

“When did you do this?” she asked.

“Last night.”

“How?”

“I have friends in all the right places. And you need a bigger bike if you’re going to work cases. It would be inconvenient for us to pull over every couple of hours so you could fill the 883’s gas tank.”

That’s not why he’d done this. She wanted to hug him. Kiss him. And so much more.

“Thank you, Diaz,” she said, stepping between him and the bike, forcing him to look at her.

He shrugged, shoved his hands in the pocket of his pants. “No big deal. You ready to try it out?”