“Yes, ma’am.”
“That punkass?” Aidan made a face and blew an obnoxious cloud of smoke straight at Agent Grey. “I hope he fell off the damn planet.”
Grey – homecoming king turned top of his training class – gave him a stern look, though they were probably about the same age. “That’s a violent sentiment.”
“Not really. I mean, I didn’t say I wanted to push him off, just that I wanted him to fall. See the difference?”
Scowl in response.
Aidan bit back a grin and leaned his shoulders against the closed roll-top door behind him. “What does the FBI want with Robbie anyway?”
“Ronnie.”
“Did he kill somebody?”
“Ooh, you know what,” Tango said beside him, “I bet he’s one of those handsome serial killers. Like Ted Bundy.”
Aidan nodded.
Grey looked like he wanted to punch both of them. “I just want to talk to him is all.”
“Afraid we’re corrupting him?” Aidan asked.
Tight, humorless smile. “I’m sure you save the corrupting for Catholic schoolgirls.” He produced a card. “I have some questions for him and your sister. If you see either of them, call me.”
Aidan grinned. “Sure. But he steers clear of here. Maybe you oughta check with his family, see if they’ve seen him.”
Grey’s face blanked over.
“You know – Mayor Stephens. I’d check with him.”
That hit a nerve. This douchebag had expected them to still be clueless. Little Ronnie, their secret weapon. Sleeping with the worms beside a broken septic tank.
“Yeah,” Grey said, his sharp frown returning. “I’ll do that.” He lingered until Aidan took the card and pocketed it, then he struck off across the parking lot toward his black SUV with one of those weight-lifter walks, shoulders jacked and ass cheeks clenched together.
“Tool,” Aidan said. He glanced over at Tango. “How long you figure we got before it all blows up?”
Tango was staring toward the street, the ever-expanding line of protesters, with their signs and posters. Someone had a bullhorn, and had taken up a chant of “Lean Dogs get out.” How inspired. “How many bikes came in today to get worked on?”
“None.”
Tango nodded. “It’s already blown up.”
“Aidan!” Ghost’s voice reached them as Grey was backing out of his parking space in front of the bike shop. The president had a walk of his own going, his impatient and threatening, loose-limbed with the easy confidence of a man who’d been beating the shit out of guys his whole life, and knew he could do it whenever he wanted.
Ghost drew up beside them and braced a hand on the wall. “Where’s your little friend?”
“With RJ.”
He nodded. “And Rottie’s still out?”
“No word yet,” Tango said. “He’s still looking for Collier.”
“That was the fed that stopped to see Mags this morning?”
Aidan nodded. “Grey. Has to be Ronnie’s handler.”
“Yeah.” Ghost’s eyes tracked the Tahoe as it left the lot, forced to lay on the horn to urge protesters out of the way. “We’ve got to get rid of him.”
