Hunter had to admit, it was impressive. Like NORAD. Or maybe a scaled-down version of NASA’s Mission Control.
“Seriously.” Her brows pinched together. “Whoareyou people?”
“I’m Batman,” Sam said. “This”—he gestured to Hunter—“is Robin.”
Hunter scoffed. “If anyone’s the sidekick, it’s you.”
“Whatever you gotta tell yourself to be able to sleep at night.” Sam’s shrug displayed the height of unconcern.
“You realize your attempts at evasion don’t work when you both give the sameBatman”—Grace made finger quotes—“response, right?”
When neither man answered, she sighed. “So I’m just to assume you’re…what? Part of a biker gang that sidelines as independent government defense contractors or something?”
“Hot on the independent government defense contractor part.” Sam touched the side of his nose. It was as close to the truth as any of them dared get. “Cold on the biker gang part. Black Knights Incorporated is a world-renowned custom motorcycle shop. The leather jackets and the biker boots”—Sam gestured toward his own—“are simply a fashion statement.”
“So between missions doing lord knows what, I’m supposed to believe you build motorcycles?” The timbre of her voice thickened with doubt.
“The civilian side of our operation does most of the heavy lifting on that front,” Sam explained. “Although Hunter here fancies himself a budding motorcycle designer. When we’re on site, he’s usually down in the shop with a socket wrench in hand.”
“Not a designer,” Hunter disagreed. “I don’t have the vision. I’m just your average, everyday grease monkey.”
“And you were called on to help me with that assignment in Michigan how?” Grace pinned him with a sharp look. “How does an independent government contractor suddenly get hooked up with a little FBI investigation in Nowhere, Michigan?”
“Let’s just say we work for people who keep their finger on the pulse of things. And when they heard you were trying to find aninwith someone in the Michigan Militia, they sent for me.”
Three years prior, the FBI had received a tip that the group of militiamen were plotting to poison the water in the office building of a local mayor, a man who’d been cracking down on some of their more illegal activities. When Grace and her team hadn’t found a way to confirm or deny the allegations—the Michigan Militia was a close-knit group not known for letting things slip through the cracks—Hunter had been tapped because his cousin, Chuck, was part of the organization.
It'd been easy enough to introduce Grace to Chuck. And then Hunter had stayed on a few more days to make sure she’d been able to wrangle the information she was looking for out of his relative.
In that short amount of time, he’d gotten some of her story. North Carolina native. Family full of law enforcement officers. Recently divorced and nursing a broken heart.
Their acquaintance might have ended there. It probablywouldhave ended there except, after she’d found out he was headed back to Chicago, she’d asked him to accompany her to an event in the city.
“It’s a fundraiser sponsored by the bureau. My ex will be attending with his new fiancée,”she’d said with a grimace followed by an imploring glance.“I don’t want to show up alone.”
The red sequined cocktail dress had followed as well as the kiss.Thekiss.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
He’d spent three years alternating between dreaming of seeing her again and telling himself he’d built her up in his mind. Assuring himself she wasn’t as witty and wonderful and intoxicating as he remembered.
He’d been dead wrong.
She wasexactlyas witty and wonderful and intoxicating as he remembered. Looking at her now made him feel a little drunk. His head buzzed. His heart raced. And the only way he could stop himself from rubbing a soothing finger over the smudge on her cheek was to shove his hands deep into his jacket pockets.
“At least now I know why you don’t have an online footprint.” She narrowed her eyes. “As an independent defense contractor, it’s not like you can go around posting on social media. But you should know, the fact I couldn’t findanythingon you? Not even a picture of some drunken high school shenanigans preserved on MySpace or a dumbass Vine Video showing you and your teenage friends skateboarding into a city park pond? That’s creepy. In this day and age, not being Google-able is the equivalent of sporting a porn stache while wearing a trench coat and walking around a playground.”
Hunter’s identity had been scrubbed from the internet the minute he’d agreed to join the Black Knights. It was the same for all of them. Madam President preferred her fast-action response team to be populated by ghosts.
Of course, he couldn’t admit as much. Instead, he said, “You looked me up?” Why did that idea make him want to grin like an idiot?
“Tried andfailedto look you up,” she corrected. “As I said.”
“It’s best for guys in our line of work to be…uh…untraceable,” Sam supplied. And then quickly changed the subject. “So now you’re up to speed on us. How’s about you catch us up on what’s going on with you?”
When Grace didn’t immediately launch into an explanation, Sam cleared his throat and lifted an eyebrow at Hunter.
“Just…” Grace pointed at Sam’s expression. “Give me a second, okay? I’m not purposefully evading your question. I’m trying to arrange my thoughts into some sort of order. There’s been a lot that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.”
