Page 3 of Queen of Diamonds
2
Rand Stevens stoodat the bar, contemplating his life and how he’d come to be the pretend owner of a biker bar. For a man who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who didn’t drink, and who thought motorcycles were as dangerous as swimming in shark-infested waters, Aces & Eights was so far out of his element that it was laughable.
It was quiet, but it was still early. He glanced at his watch. Soon the bikers would start arriving, and a few hours after that the place would be packed, the music would be too loud, and the beer would be flowing.
The Gentry brothers actually owned Aces & Eights and had worked undercover from the bar for several years, but Nate Gentry was now special agent in charge of the Miami field office, Court Gentry was their new special agent in charge of intelligence, and their baby brother, Alex, was supervising undercover operations. Unlike Rand, the brothers had fit right in at Aces & Eights.
The low rumbles of motorcycles sounded. “And the games begin,” he muttered.
“You say something, dude?”
Rand glanced at his partner, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Just thinking out loud. And I’m not yourdude, dude.” Josh Sheridan, his fellow FBI special agent, loved every minute of their undercover assignment. The kid was like a happy puppy nipping at his heels. Annoying but amusing.
Josh laughed. “Stop being so grumpy, old man.”
Rand often felt grumpy and eons older than his twenty-nine years. The job did that, jaded you and aged you. Josh would learn that soon enough, and because Rand remembered how eager and enthusiastic he’d once been, he felt a pang that he’d lost his joy. And the truth of it was, he couldn’t blame that loss on this undercover assignment or even the FBI. But, as he always did when he thought of his daughter, he slammed the lid down on that particular box.
“I’m not grumpy,” he grumped.
Josh snorted. “Dude, you so are.”
Dudewas Josh’s new favorite word, one he’d picked up from the Gentrys, and Rand wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive the brothers for that. He eyed his fellow agent. Josh had also taken to dressing like the bikers with unholy glee. Decked out in a skintight black Harley-Davidson logoed T-shirt, torn-at-the-knees jeans, heavy motorcycle boots, and chains hanging out of his pockets, he was indiscernible from every other man in the bar, except he smelled better than most.
Proper dress had been ingrained in Rand from childhood. His pressed jeans and ironed T-shirt—that was not skintight—were what the weekend bikers wore. The Harley-riding doctors, lawyers, and CEOs. But whatever. The bikers had taken to Josh as one of the new owners of Aces & Eights from day one, but they didn’t know what to make of Rand.
Strangely, that was working to their advantage. The bikers tended to behave when he was around, even watching their language. He wasn’t sure what that said about him. Did they think he was a badass like the Gentrys? Rand snorted. Doubtful. However, they were starting to trust Josh enough that they weren’t guarding their conversation around him. That left Rand to manage the bar and the customers, while Josh busied himself with ferreting out their secrets.
Rumors were surfacing that the Hot Shots, one of the regular clubs that frequented Aces & Eights, were dealing in guns. “You pick up on any more talk about those weapons?” he asked Josh.
“Nothing more than what I’ve heard so far, but the Hot Shots are here tonight. They’re loosening up around me, letting things slip.”
“We can bring Nate up to speed in our meeting tomorrow, see how he wants us to handle this. Just be careful around them.”
“Dude, I’m Superspy. They don’t suspect a thing.”
Rand shook his head, grinning at the kid.
The door opened and a couple walked in, catching Rand’s attention. After stepping inside, they came to a stop, taking in their surroundings. They weren’t bikers; that was obvious. Nor were they the kind of people who frequented Aces & Eights. In fact, Rand recognized the man, having seen his picture on the sports segment of his local news. Aiden Calloway, a University of Miami linebacker recently drafted by the Miami Dolphins. What the devil was he doing here?
Rand’s gaze shifted to the woman, and his heart tripped over itself. She was beautiful with her long black hair and smoky brown eyes. Bedroom eyes, he thought. She was a few inches taller than the average woman, curved in all the right places, and when her gaze landed on him and held, his breath hitched.
Josh whistled. “Nice.”
Rand glanced at his fellow agent to see appreciation in his eyes as he looked at the woman. For the first time the kid didn’t amuse him. “She’s obviously taken.” That had come out harsher than he’d intended, considering the puzzled look Josh gave him.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t admire a beautiful woman,” Josh said, then wandered away.
No, it didn’t, and whoever she was, she was the first woman to catch Rand’s interest since Olivia. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out Zoe’s necklace, the one he’d never had a chance to give her. He stared at the dainty heart with a sapphire gem—her birthday stone—for a moment, then dropped it back into his pocket and turned his back on the woman with the beautiful brown eyes.
His grief was too deep, his heart too dead to do more than manage a day-to-day existence. There was nothing left of him to give any woman. That he’d even noticed the one who’d walked through the door might be an anomaly, but it didn’t change anything.
He caught sight of a biker with a badass reputation looming over Spider and sighed as he headed that way. “Snake, if you don’t stop picking on Spider, you’re gonna be out the door.” Christ, these bikers and their stupid names.
Spider grinned like an idiot. “Aw, he’s just playing, boss man. Ain’t ya, Snake?”
“Sure, dude.”
Snake drifted away, and Rand put his hand on Spider’s shoulder. The little man loved all the bikers and just couldn’t comprehend that his affection wasn’t returned. Mostly it was, but not from the president of the Hot Shots. And Snake was as mean as they came.
