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had a happy, normal adolescence.
    “Oh? Motorcycle gang?” I picked up my Montblanc pen and squeezed it hard. “Do you mean he joined one the clubs here? Perhaps the Demon’s Bastards or the Lucifer’s Saints?”
    “Yes, he did, and they aren’t clubs—they’re gangs . You call them a club because your father is Jonesy Hughes and you grew up in the life but I can assure you they’re rife with criminal activity, money laundering, prostitution, drugs, guns—you name it, they participate in it,” Eve explained in a steady voice.
    “Okay…so this son of yours? How does he fit into the picture?”
    “Well, I would like you to set up a meeting between the two of us. I don’t have much time and soon, I will move on to different part of the world. I would like it to be pre-arranged and you would have to speak to him because I need this to go as smoothly as possible, is that understood?”
    “Of course, Ms. Kerrigan.” I plastered on a smile as I dropped the Montblanc on my desk. “Now, if you could just give me the name of your son, the biker? No need to worry, I’ll be able to locate him fairly quickly if he’s a Bastard or a Saint.”
    “How reassuring.” Eve’s content expression suddenly disappeared and her hazel-green eyes hardened. “If I get a whiff you’ve informed your father’s club or the Saints’ President, everything will go very bad, very quickly for you, Ms. Hughes. I will have the Feds down here so fast it’ll make your head spin. Are we clear?”
    Her sudden change gave me much-needed food for thought. Who the hell was this woman that she could threaten me so easily and have chills run down my back? Somehow, I knew she meant every word she said.
    “You have my assurance nothing of the sort will happen, Ms. Kerrigan.”
    “Good.” Eve’s easy expression returned as she handed over a cream colored envelope—extremely expensive, elegant stationary, calligraphy handwriting on the back with my full name spelled out. I was thoroughly impressed.
    “Please don’t open this until I leave your office. Though you may think there is nothing to trace this letter, there is. Please don’t allow me to lose faith in you. I trust you to do the right thing—if not for my sake, then my son’s. He deserves to be happy and if I can give him that much then I will deal with everything else. Are we clear?”
    I nodded my head, afraid to speak. “I won’t open this until you leave but I do have one last question for you. What if I’m not able to reach your son? What happens then?”
    My client stood and glared at me, her eyes determined. “You don’t have much of a choice but to find my son. From what I’ve heard, it shouldn’t be too hard to locate him. You know the world, so I expect some results. I’m not paying you for my damned health. I will call you tomorrow to see how everything has progressed.”
    I watched as she turned around and flounced out of my office.
    The envelope felt heavy and weighted in my hand but I still pulled back the flap and slid out the singular page. It was thick, heavy stock paper folded into thirds. I opened it fully and used a couple paperweights to hold it down.
    There was nothing on the paper except a simple name: Trey Lennon.
    What. The. Fuck.
    Trey’s parents, younger brother, and his brother’s fiancée died in an automobile accident under suspicious circumstances almost a year ago. They were supposed to be taking dirt naps over at the local Pine Bluff Cemetery. The whole club had buried Trey’s family in a funeral befitting royalty or heads of state.
    Recognition kicked into overdrive and, of course, I recognized her. The hair was different and she’d lost the softness she had before. Now she was svelte, obviously exercised, quiet and composed.
    Eve Kerrigan—née Antoinette Lennon—knew exactly what she was doing when she walked into my office. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or excited.
    Trey’s presence definitely brought out an animal magnetism