JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) (3 page)

Which is the biggest problem at the moment. Being an off-the-books operative, I can’t just walk into places and start demanding answers. This stuff has to be as under the radar as possible.

At the moment, with the leak and all the intel that’s been provided to the enemy, we probably have half the state watching us to see what move we make next.

That also means that as deep as Roman is right now, they know that he’s not to be trusted. So far it looks like they’re just stringing him along and humoring him, something we’re counting on because it keeps them distracted enough for me, Miah, and Jared to start working other angles.

We’re walking a dangerous path right now, trying to find the narc, infiltrate the extremist ranks, and ensure that the family who hates us isn’t about to launch another attack.

“I don’t like the way this shit is playing out, Jace, not with Ma, Ellie, and little Al being so close to it. Make Wyatt see reason here, bro.”

I agree with Jared that Wyatt and Pop need to take the family and go someplace safe, especially with the baby now in the mix, but my brother and father are as hardheaded as hell and refuse to leave our home while terrorists threaten our very way of life.

Not that I blame them. If it were me and someone threatened Trace, I’d dig down and go at them with all I got while my family stayed safe behind the walls of my home.

Thinking that way just solidifies the plans I need to make in regard to Trace and getting her home where she should have been all along, instead of under her father’s thumb all these years.

“I don’t like any of this, either, and especially not with Tracy in town now, but we can’t run away from this, and we sure as hell can’t let them win, either. Wyatt is right, we stay and work this investigation as if it’s a routine op. Miah’s keeping the family shit on lockdown and Roman’s got his end covered. It’s up to us to find the rest and shut this crapfest down.”

“While keeping the rest of them safe.”

“Yeah, and our own women, too.”

“Jace—”

“Don’t give me that shit, Jared. We know each other too well, remember? You keep an eye on Paulie and make sure she doesn’t get herself in trouble with that crackpot Ronny, and I’ll grab Trace and find a way to start milking Senator Mayfield.”

“Christ, fine, just don’t come crying to me this time when she rips your heart out and crushes it beneath her designer heels,” he says. “You’d deserve it and I’d hate to have to point that out to you.”

“Screw you.”

“Love you too, little bro. Now go home and get some sleep while you can, I hear Trace and Ronny are having lunch tomorrow, and you may want to be awake to stalk her some more,” he teases.

“Thanks, Pot, I’ll consider your advice when you stop watching Paulie.”

I ring off still laughing when he starts cursing and hurling insults at my head.

That’s the thing about knowing someone as well as I know Jared, I can anticipate his every reaction. He loves Pualie, God help the poor woman, and is as incapable of admitting it to himself as he is of letting her go.

Me, now I’m a simple guy. Once I admit my mistakes, I fix them, whether anyone else agrees or not, and I will fix this stuff with Trace.

I just hope I won’t have to kidnap her and tie her to the bed in my room. Having your Ma puttering around downstairs just takes all the romance out of the situation, and right now I need to dig deep to find the shits so I can start wooing my girl.

Trace

I hardly slept a wink last night knowing that Jace was still sitting outside watching my house like the well-trained maniac he is. The reasons are simple and include lust, more lust, and the fact that I felt guilty for lying to him the way I did.

We may not be on good terms right now, but one thing we never did was lie to each other. For some messed up reason, the thought of lying to him makes me feel like hell.

Oh, and did I mention lust?

Well it’s worse now that I kissed those lips again and had his taste in my mouth all damn night.

So now I’m tired, crabby, and forcing myself to smile at Veronica and Paulette while discussing plans for an upcoming wedding that most definitely will not be taking place—ever.

I thought I could go through with it just to placate Daddy while trying to build an investigation against him, but I know now that I can’t ever go through with it after that kiss and nearly having sex with Jace. It would feel like a betrayal and a direct insult to him and what we shared before.

I despise the guy, and yet he still has the power to turn me on like no other man ever has. The asshole. The sexy, lying…sexy asshole.

“Tracy, really, peach as an accent color? How terribly eighties of you, darling,” Ronny drawls, making me clench my teeth in irritation.

Like I care about her opinion or the fact that poor Mom is still living in the eighties and loves peach. The only freaking reason I’m here at all is to give Jace and his family the impression that I’m still in with this crowd. Plus, I really like Paulie and missed the hell out of her.

She’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and while we talk on the phone once a month, I’m glad to be here with her today, even if it kills me the way she hangs on Ronny’s every word and seems to worship the snake.

“What can I say, Ron, Mom adores peach and she’d be devastated if I didn’t agree. At least your dresses will be handcrafted by one of the leading fashion houses in the country,” I say, gritting my teeth when her bottle blond head dips and she huffs out a mournful sigh.

Poor Paulie just smiles apologetically and starts cooing over the shoe catalogue to distract the asshole while I try not to lose every molar to my annoyance.

Have I mentioned yet that one of the reasons I agreed to take this case in the first place was because of a rumor I heard about dear Ronny and her plans to have her cousin’s remains tested?

I know a lot more than Jace or his brothers believe, thanks to my clout in the Bureau, and I know that those remains are not Bolton Conrad’s.

With the Lanes tied up in an investigation of those remains, the
current
mission would be sidetracked, and I’d lose the advantage I now have. Which is pretty simple; with this new lead, I can quicken Daddy’s demise, or incarceration, as it may be, and free not only myself from his clutches, but my mom as well.

That’s the only reason I didn’t just skip out and call it all quits. I want my mom free of this all so that she can finally have some semblance of a life. That’s been my motivation from the start, and one of the key factors in this investigation; I won’t leave my mother behind and watch while my father keeps her under his iron thumb.

As Ronny and Paulie keep prattling on about shoes and the benefits of matching colors versus the newest trend of accent shoes, I take a minute to scan the sitting room and get a look at the entry points and the security.

I am not some super ninja agent who can break a security alarm and slide into places undetected, but I am
somewhat
trained, and it’s engrained in me to take it all in in case I need to make a quick exit.

Plus, I just like scoping everything out and wondering how the other Lanes afford all this luxury when I know damn good and well that their money dried up a good three years ago and none of them have worked a day in their lives.

Parasites.

“So Tracy, darling, how is that handsome devil Timothy?”

I snap out of my musings and meet Ronny’s cold blue eyes with a calm I do not feel. Like I don’t know that her smug look is due to her having had an affair with Timothy last year when she came to DC with her aunt Cleo.

I don’t care all that much; I just hate having to sit here and smile back when I want to slap her for being such a bitch and liar. Jesus, I pity poor Paulie for having to endure this nasty piece of work all these years.

“He’s still screwing his way through the society misses,” I answer, smiling sweetly at her gasp and Paulie’s uncomfortable tittering. “As long as he keeps that dick away from me and pads my bank account, we should do just fine, though.”

I don’t let on that I know, but I can see that she knows that I know and it’s a great feeling seeing Ronny this uncomfortable.

Ronny looks like she’s about to turn green and stands with a swallow and a scowl.

“I need to make a quick call, girls, I’ll be right back.”

Well damn, if I knew all it would take to clear the room of evil was a reference to my stupid fiancé, I would have made a comment earlier. Now I won’t have to breathe brimstone
all
afternoon.

Paulie and I are left alone as Ronny practically runs from the room in a huff, leaving us able to
speak freely
for the first time. This is rare whenever that
other
woman is around, because Paulie isn’t the type to dominate a conversation, unless she’s secure with the person or people around her. And Ronny, well, she’s the same vain, narcissistic ass she always was.

“So,” I say, turning back to Paulie with a smile. “How are things with you lately?”

Paulie is the same unassuming girl I remember from four years ago with her unstyled long brown hair and her deep brown eyes. She’s easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and yet she hides herself behind her shy smiles and the books that are always her companions when she’s not running around after Ronny.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?”

I ask this because I’m really interested and not because I want to use her to get to Ronny, which I am going to do anyway.

I love this girl, and I care about what’s going on in her life.

“Yeah, um, I’ve been talking to Aunt Cleo most days when Ronny disappears for hours on end, and, well, she said that she’d help me get into a good school if I wanted to go.”

This is said with so much hope and yet an air of resignation. Paulie is a classic example of the poor little rich girl who hasn’t been allowed a choice in anything but the clothes she wears and the men she can see.

Like me, she’s her parents’ puppet. Unlike me, her parents haven’t even allowed her to get an education. She’s a commodity, something to trade and sell whenever the need arises, which it soon will if rumor is to be believed and the Hayes clan is skinflint.

Not all rich kids are privileged like most people assume. I thank God I never had to grow up as a Hayes female. Talk about going back to the Dark Ages.

“That’s great, Paulie. Maybe you could pursue that arts degree you always spoke about,” I say gently, battling tears when she smiles sadly and shakes her head.

“Mama and Daddy would never allow it and you know it. It’s a waste of time for a gently reared female to pursue such frivolous activities,” she says, parroting the very same speech I heard Mr. Hayes give years ago.

No, it’s a waste of such astounding talent to let Paulie’s art go untutored. I don’t say this, though, because it just hurts her more having me compliment her when she doesn’t believe she can do it. Or doesn’t think it’s a dream worth having when her parents are such tyrants. What I wouldn’t give right now to shake my friend awake and open her eyes to all the possibilities that abound, if only she’d leave her clan and attempt to reach for the dreams they won’t allow her.

“Paulie.”

“Ronny thinks they’re right, you know. She said it’s a disgrace for a girl from a good family to sully herself with such white-collar things. She says I’d be much better off learning how to talk to men and getting a makeover so my hair isn’t so frizzy.”

“Goddammit, Paulie, you’re perfect just the way you are! Don’t let that wretch make you feel like anything less, and for goodness’ sake, stop letting your parents ruin what
could be
for you,” I beg, feeling unaccountably panicked at the thought of one day soon leaving this bright, beautiful young woman at the mercy of the sharks swimming around her.

“She’s right, though,” she says, stiffening her spine and meeting my eyes with a defiant tilt of her chin, as if daring me to bad-mouth her precious Ronny.

Paulie, honey, soon—one day not too far from now—you will finally realize that your precious Ronny is not worth the blind faith and loyalty you give her so freely
, I think, shaking with a mixture of anguish and anger.

Why do the undeserving always instill such loyalty in their victims, and why is it always schmucks like me who never get a break when they love others?

Just once I want someone I love to take a look at me and see that their love is safe with me, that I’m more worthy of it than the filthy idiots they seem to follow so blindly.

And yet what can I really expect from Paulie when I fled this town years ago and left her at the mercy of Ronny the Rattlesnake.

“She isn’t right, Paulie. None of them are. Don’t let your parents sell you the way they sold your sister, Ginny. And for goodness’ sake, don’t let Ronny make you believe that you’re not beautiful, because you are. You really are.”

“Don’t let them sell me? Fine advice coming from you, Trace,” she says scathingly, giving me a look and tone I’ve never seen or heard from her before. “Is this the real Tracy talking or the one who’s letting her own parents marry her off to the biggest sleaze in DC?”

The words hit me like a physical slap, and I rear back in surprise. The shy, timid, soft Paulie is gone, and in her place sits a woman I have never met but one I would root for any day of the week. This is the Paulie I’ve always wanted to see, and yet it’s so inconvenient to have her call me out right now.

Pesky!

“Paulie, I—”

“Well, thank God I made that call or we’d all be up the creek without a salon appointment this afternoon!”

Stupid Ronny.

She strolls in with a fake smile a mile wide and a look that sets my alarm bells ringing on high alert. I barely stop my eyes from narrowing in suspicion and I bite my tongue to keep from blasting her for interrupting something I feel the need to investigate.

My spine is tingling in that weird way that tells me something is definitely not right. With Ronny
or
Paulie, and I swallow the nerves that rise along with the feeling.

I’m a profiler by trade, thanks to the government blackmailing me into a very sticky situation, but I’ve had these gut feelings for years. After I realized they’re my instincts calling out and not anxiety attacks like my shrink told me, I’ve learned to rely on them.

Right now I’m feeling equal parts confused and edgy about both of the women sitting and staring at me, and all I can do is raise my tea glass and give them both a small smile that feels forced.

“Well thank God for you, Ronny dear. Now let’s stop being so wishy-washy and pack away the wedding things! I need a good facial and some real gossip now that I’m back with my girls.”

I watch the two of them exchange a look before turning back to me with another smile that makes my blood chill.

“Why of course, Tracy, darling. By all means, let’s do what we do best and dish the dirt on the poor mortals in our spheres. Have you heard what happened to Harriet…”

I allow Ronny to launch into a full-scale attack on some poor girl whose only crime is liking cream puffs a bit too much and spend my time watching Paulie from the corner of my eye.

Paulie Hayes, the Paulie I see sitting before me, is not the same Paulie I left behind when I fled to DC and the comfort of my father’s authority.

No, this chick is either involved in whatever is going on with Ronny, or she’s got her own agenda.

She is doing everything just exactly right to appear normal, but her body language is stiff and off, whether as a result of my company or something going down between her and Ronny, I can’t rightly say, but something is definitely not right here and I need to figure out what it is before I call Digg and give him a first report.

“And did you hear about poor Aunt Cleo! She took a tumble off the bed and broke her hip this morning. How terribly sad.”

Ronny’s tittering confession pulls me back to the conversation and I watch Paulie stiffen slightly before her expression morphs to one of concern, just like the old Paulie.

“Is Cleo okay? Oh dear, Ronny, you should have told me earlier! Where is she? Is she alright? Oh my goodness, I need to get to her and make sure she has her blankets and special pillows that don’t hurt her and—”

“God almighty, Paulette, sit your ass down and just breathe already. She’s fine. She just hurt herself a little and needs some surgery is all. Now don’t go fretting and wanting to run to the rescue like the little mouse you are. Cleo will survive without your hovering. I need you to come with to the salon and keep us company.”