“Don’t be picky about the charges,” Mason had instructed. “No one’s ever been able to hit those bastards with RICO, or anything club-level. You’ll have to get them individually.”
And so he was dealing with Aidan Teague and Kevin Estes and their prior marijuana busts and assault charges. With an un-enforceable case of statutory rape against Felix Lécuyer. A record faxed over from a precinct in London outlining Kingston Walsh’s various minor offenses. Useless and time consuming, all of it.
There was a soft rap at his door, and Officer Bell stuck her head in. “Sir, there’s an Agent Grey here to see you,” she said, face stiffening into a careful expression. “He’s with the FBI.”
Oh, great. Now the feds were involved.
“Send him in. Thanks, Becca.”
She nodded and slid back. The door opened wide and in stepped a young man who didn’t look much like an agent of any sort.
Closely buzzed dark hair, dark eyes, a belligerent, muscled-up air about him with his blazer over jeans and white-soled sneakers, he pushed his obnoxious Oakley shades up onto his forehead and extended a hand for a fast shake across the desk. “Harlan Grey,” he said, dropping into a visitor chair without preamble when Vince released his hand.
“Vince Fielding.” Vince tugged at his uniform cuffs. “You’ll forgive me for skipping the pleasantries, but I’ve got a lot on my plate, Agent Grey. Why are you in Knoxville?”
Quick, darting sideways smile, sly glance like so many punk kids. Grey linked his hands over his stomach, propped an ankle on the opposite knee and got comfy. “I was going to dazzle you with my case, but we can do the short version, if that’s what you want. I lost contact with an informant of mine yesterday. He’s failed to check in through any of our usual mediums. During our last conversation, he expressed some fear. Now he’s missing.” He lifted his brows. “Word has it you’re digging up dirt on the Lean Dogs. So was I. I think we ought to compare notes.”
“Who was your informant?”
Another grin. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“It wasn’t one of the Dogs, was it?” Vince pressed, stubbornly. He had this sudden worry that his guy was pulling double duty, reporting to the feds as well.
“Nah. Just your run of the mill wannabe cop.” Grey’s brows went up. “One that Mayor Stephens won’t want to hear I’ve lost touch with. I want to know for sure he’s been compromised before I report back to my superior, and before I let the family know.”
Vince sat back, realization dawning. “Mason Junior?” he guessed.
Grey shook his head. “Close, though.” Then he turned the conversation around. “What about you? You got a set of eyes out there? That’s the only way you can get to these MC boys. Trust me: there’s no way in from the outside.”
There was a knock at the office door again.
“Well, you can talk to him yourself, see if he knows where your CI went.” To the door, he called, “Come in.”
The man who stepped into the office wore the usual blank, semi-panicked expression he always wore during these meetings, his bloodshot eyes widened by shock. He wasn’t wearing his cut, but a plain gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up.
“Agent Grey,” Vince said, “meet Jace Bagwell.”
They didn’t get to Georgia, they didn’t even get outside of the city before Mercy was turning off, the bike grumbling to a halt.
“The courthouse,” Ava said, glancing up at the brick government building against the dawning pearl-blue sky.
Mercy took his helmet off and smoothed his hand along the loose tendrils of his hair. Then he reached into his cut pocket. “There’s something I think we ought to do before we leave town.” His hand came out of his pocket, and cradled in the big palm was a ring, a simple gold band, without adornment. “My grandmother’s,” he explained, half-twisting so he could see her face behind him. “Yours, if you’ll have it.”
She stopped breathing. “We…we don’t have a license.”
He smiled softly. “Ratchet’s got a friend inside who owes him a favor. There’s a license and a judge waiting on us. Leah, too, I called her while you were packing.”
She rested her chin on his shoulder to keep it from shaking, so her nose rested against his rough cheek, so her pounding heart pressed against his shoulder blade. “Mercy,” she said, because that’s all she could say, as the tears filled her eyes.
“Come marry me, baby,” he whispered. “Before one of us does something stupid again.”
She smiled and wiped at her eyes. “Okay.”
An hour later, she rode out of Knoxville on the back of a bike as Ava Lécuyer.
Thirty-Nine
Fourteen Years Ago
