CHAPTER FOUR


The drive took thirty minutes, but it felt like two hours.


'Being concise. Patience. And remaining calm in the head. You need those
three qualities if you're going to achieve your desired outcome.'


Rafe snorted when she thought of Jace's words.


She was known for her impatience. And the only times when she was concise and
calm-headed was when she had her gun aimed at some moron's head.


Rafe flicked her fifth cigarette out the window and rolled it back up. She
leaned forward and jabbed at the radio. When the starting notes to Renegade
filtered through the dusty speakers, she leaned back and breathed a sigh of
thankfulness.


It lasted until the end of the song and then Rafe reached for another
cigarette.


As she inhaled and felt the smoke's caress, Rafe ran her head through the
night's events. She frowned as she remembered how often Jace's name was
spoken.


Rooney called them 'bastards.'


Knot said that he'd 'shit' on them.


Hedge said the rift had gone on too long.


Rafe cursed, flipped her cigarette after the others, and reached for her
phone. She hit call back and heard the ringtone that put the lime in the coconut
when Coolay answered with a mouthful, "effo uff?"


"Swallow." Rafe ordered and leaned back with one hand on her steering wheel.
As she heard him swallow, she continued, "So…Boss used to run the Panthers,
right?"


Coolay grunted.


"And isn't he like some god with them, right? Something like he never turned
his back on them or something? Am I right with this?"


Coolay grunted again, but this time she heard his voice clear it with a
cough. A second passed and then she heard his annoying voice pipe in, "Yeah,
yeah. They were a rebel gang, right? Yeah, Jace was their leader when he was
fourteen and he started working undercover for Chance when he was sixteen."


"How old was he when he found me?"


"He was eighteen." Coolay's response was swift and automatic.


Rafe frowned and asked, "How do you know that?"


"I read his bio last night."


"Again?"


"Again." He sounded like he had confessed a guilty habit.


"Holy—Cools, stop reading other people's bios. Seriously."


"I've only read yours three times. I don't even have it memorized."


"That's bullshit."


There was silence for a beat. And then, "Yeah, you're right. I can't help it.
I'm so bored sometimes, Rafers. You guys always go out in the field and I'm
stuck with the computer. Like, right now—Carl is in Pembeena. He's taking down
some prostitution guy. I should be there, but noo—you guys won't let me."


Rafe sighed, "It's because you shoot like a girl. You hold your gun like it's
a hairbrush. It's makes the rest of us nervous."


"It's a bad habit. I can break that."


"Yeah. And I'll stop smoking." Rafe cursed. "Tell me about Boss' history. I'm
in his home town. I need to know what I'm walking into."


"Oh hell, Rafe. You shouldn't be there. None of us should be there."


"Why not?" But Rafe had a pretty good idea why not. Oil and water were not
meant to mix.


"Because…just because, okay? Boss said it wasn't for us to go there and I
trust him. He says it for a reason." Coolay grumbled. Rafe heard his fingers
rattle on his computer keyboard.


She asked the million-dollar question, "Where did he find me?" Rafe held her
breath. She grew up in a run down home. That's all she'd known and then Jace got
her out. She never asked and he never offered. The subject had been dropped
between the two.


She was asking now.


The tapping stopped.


Rafe narrowed her eyes, but Coolay didn't respond. It wasn't what Rafe was
listening for. She just wanted his reaction and he'd just confirmed it. Coolay
knew and Coolay didn't want to tell. And the only way Coolay knew was if it was
in her bio.


"Nevermind, Cools. I won't put you in that position." She murmured. Her eyes
squinted against an oncoming speed limit sign that read 55. It had started to
drizzle and the rain made the neon green paint blinding.


Rafe checked her speedometer. She was topping 75, but her foot never moved
for the brake.


"Listen, uh…I won't say anything if you don't."


Rafe blinked, startled at the sudden offer.


Coolay never bargained. He never had reason to bargain. So what was he
bargaining for?


"What are you talking about?" Rafe asked quietly, intently.


Coolay coughed and then sputtered, "Uh…well…it's like this…I might have
mentioned to Carl where you were."


"You did what?"


"And, and," Coolay rushed, "but it's cool. He's in Pembeena, remember? He's
pretty busy and he's out of communication with the guys. So, it's not like he
can tattle on you or anything, you know?"


Rafe swiftly cursed, "You mean that he won't tell Boss that I'm in his home
town."


"Well…yeah." Duh.


"You know what—fuck you, Coolay. I'm out. I'm not on the team anymore, so you
don't need to worry about me."


"Oh—come on, Rafe! You're part of the team. You're family! We're all family."
Coolay burst out, "It's not like—if you go in there, you're dead. Boss couldn't
show his face for years because of that. They want him dead, the minute they
figure out who you are—you're dead."


Rafe snorted, "The Panthers didn't want Jace dead. Sal Galverson's psycho son
wanted him dead, but he's gone now. Jace put a bullet to the father and he
killed the son too. Both those drug freaks are dead. They don't run the area
anymore and from what I've been hearing—our Boss is still the worshiped god
around here."


Except Red Valley.


Rafe kept that to herself.


"Okay, tell me—exactly—Jace's history. I have to know, Coolay, because I'm
here and I'm not leaving. So break it down for me."


Rafe heard an aggravated sign on the other end, but right as she
grinned—Coolay huffed, "Fine. Fine, okay?! But here's my two cents—you should
not be there. There's a reason why Boss warned us out of there."


"Cools."


"Okay. So…Boss took over the Panthers, right? That's when Sal Galverson moved
into the area. He's a druglord. The Panthers started working for him so…Jace got
real tight with him. Fast forward, two years later and Boss changes his mind. He
don't want to work for Galverson so he approached Chance Evans—"


"The fucking DEA coward, right?" Rafe interrupted. Her knuckles tightened
over the steering wheel.


'I hate that cocksucker.'


"Yeah. He's a civie, but he became Jace's handler. Boss works from inside,
Evans is his connection to the DEA. And then…stuff happens and Boss gun downs
Sal Galverson. Now Marcus Mallon, his son, takes over and everyone thinks that
Boss is a traitor."


"The Panthers thought that he was a traitor."


"Yeah, until Boss gets involved with his current squeeze—"


Rafe growled. 'Pretty princess Maya.'


Coolay said, politely, "—who I think is lovely—and so Boss and Maya go back
to Pedlam. The Panthers welcome him back with open arms. He never said how that
happened, but we all know what happened later."


Jace Lanser killed Marcus Mallon.


Rafe readjusted the phone and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up. She
remarked, "Okay, so…the Panthers ran drugs for Galverson?"


"Right."


"And then when Mallon took over—they still ran them?"


"No, but they watched the area for him. So, like—they just told him who was
around, competitors or DEA or someone like us. I don't think they actually ran
the drugs anymore since Boss told them not to."


And when Jace Lanser spoke, Jace Lanser was listened to.


Rafe understood.


"Do we know if they run drugs now that Boss is out?"


"Why is this important? You're not there as one of us. Or are you?" Suspicion
crept into his voice.


"No, but I just want to get a better feel for the politics around here."


"Oh, well…as far as the drug market—I think the area's open."


Rafe sighed. She understood what that meant.


She said flatly, "So that means that there's going to be some civil unrest in
this area until a new druglord takes over the market."


"Yeah. Probably."


'Fuck...' Rafe sat back as the realization hit her. A sense of gloom hit her,
but it mingled with a sense of exhilaration at the same time.


She murmured into the phone, "I'm walking into a storm, aren't I?"


"You need to get out of there." Coolay clipped out. "Rafe, really. Just walk,
whatever you're there for—leave it and come back."


'Help.'


Her sister needed her and Rafe had already made the decision to find her.


"I can't." Rafe said thickly. Her voice was full of emotion, but she shook
her head clear. She didn't want to deal with whatever she was 'feeling.' As far
as she was concerned, 'feelings' and 'emotions' were for the insane and weak.
She was neither.


She made the decision to find Sarah.


She was going to find Sarah.


And, in some sixth sense part of her, Rafe knew that her sister had run into
the sort of trouble that Rafe spoke well.


A green sign for Rawley approached. Rafe's car zoomed past, but she knew it
was only a twenty minute drive until Pedlam.


"I need to go, Cools."


He started to protest, but she hung up and let the phone drop beside her.


Jace Lanser wasn't welcomed in Red Valley. He was still worshiped in
Pedlam—that was her hunch. And both were affiliations of the Panthers.


There was a rift between the two packs. It had to do with Jace Lanser.


And Rafe was starting to get the feeling that there was more going on
underneath the surface than she realized.


'Whatever. I came to get Sarah. I'll get Sarah and then I'm out. We're both
out.' Rafe thought quickly and darkly. She wasn't there to figure out the
brewing storm or to fight on one of the sides. She wasn't a Panther. She had no
obligation to the Panthers, even if her Boss used to run with them.


'He's not even my boss anymore.' Rafe blinked as the feeling slammed against
her. Jace had walked. He was nothing to her, nothing whatsoever.


Rafe's throat got tight. Both hands held the steering wheel with whitened
knuckles.


She drove into Pedlam like that, chalk-faced, white knuckled, and betrayal on
her backside.


Pedlam was a small town, just like Red Valley and the one she'd driven
past—Rawley. There was a fourth town in the area, but Rafe wasn't concerned with
that one. She was concerned with Pedlam and she drove past the glooming
hospital, a few banks, and parked a block away and down an alley from the
Seven8.


The nightclub stood three stories high. The front door was bleak, but there
was a line of waiting customers that circled the block. A team of bouncers stood
in the front and when the bleak red door opened—bass flooded outside and revved
up the waiting patrons.


Rafe eyed the attire and figured a girl needed to be dressed like a hooker to
get in the door.


She got out of her borrowed car and appraised her own clothes.


She wore the same thing—most of the time. Her light brown cowboy boots. Tight
blue jeans—this pair was nearly white, but Rafe never cared as long as they were
blue jeans. And she normally wore a tight camisole tanktop, but she wore a black
western-styled buttoned shirt over the blue camisole.


The buttoned shirt hid her 9mm that was in the small of her back.


Rafe eyed the waiting line again and knew her outfit needed some changes.


Gritting her teeth, Rafe turned around and retrieved her backpack from the
seat. She exchanged her 9mm for a lethal knife and slid it underneath her jeans,
over her left thigh, and hooked the handle so her underwear held it in
place.


She unhooked her buttoned shirt and placed it inside the car. Rafe unraveled
the loose ponytail and let her dirty blonde hair hang free.


There was a loose wave that remained from the ponytail holder. Rafe didn't
care. She knew from past experience that her hair was considered seductive by
the male gender. It was long, blonde enough, and she never primped it to
maintain a high-maintenance look.


The guys loved that.


Snorting in disgust, Rafe lifted her backpack and moved to open the trunk.
She placed the bag inside, but after a moment's consideration—Rafe moved to the
side pocket and freed a beaded piece of rope that held an emblem on the end. She
wove it around her arm and hand to wrap it around her wrist.


For a moment, Rafe lifted up her arm and eyed the emblem that hung from the
inside of her wrist.


A small silver phoenix stared back at her. The bird looked back at her with a
diamond as its eye.


The entire thing had been a gift from Jace. Rafe kept it because she liked it
and she wasn't ready to part with it—not yet. As she heard the music blare from
down the street again, Rafe figured anything from Jace might come in handy.


She was walking in blind, without her gun, and her only form on contact was
the cellphone that she slid into her front pocket—right alongside a wad of
money, a fake license, and the car keys.