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respectfully when you are communicating in a professional context and not in the field. You will be working with her, and that’s final.”
     
    Then, he turned to me.
     
    “Powell, understand that Viper is a veteran and has several of the symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He may sometimes say and do things he doesn’t mean or that he regrets. Isn’t that right, Viper?”
     
    He shrugged.
     
    “That’s what the VA doctors tell me.”
     
    “To continue with the brief…” said Doug, sighing. “Special Agent Powell will pretend to be in a relationship with Viper—the slang term for such a position is ‘old lady,’ as in ‘Viper’s old lady.’”
     
    I rolled my eyes but I held my tongue.
     
    “Viper has already begun to mention his new ‘old lady’ to the club, so that Special Agent Powell’s appearance won’t come as a surprise. In the meantime, Viper will give Special Agent Powell a crash course in the customs, culture, and skills necessary to pose as an authentic motorcycle club member… Or, at least, the girlfriend of one.”
     
    “He’s going to train me?”
     
    Viper grinned, but there was no joy in his smile.
     
    “That’s right.”
     
    “Once Viper is satisfied with Special Agent Powell’s progress, he’ll introduce her to the club and have her initiated. From there, we’ll proceed with the operation and, at the earliest opportune moment, arrange a sting to arrest Fatman and as many White Wolves personnel as possible. In the meanwhile, Special Agent Powell will collect as much intelligence as possible on the illegal operations and, especially, assets, of the White Wolves MC. Once Fatman is gone, we’ll swoop in and castrate the club’s resources—drugs, money, weapons, stolen vehicles. Even if the remaining members try to continue the gang, they’ll be too impoverished to be an effective criminal force.”
     
    It wasn’t a bad plan. It was just crazy enough, just dangerous enough to work.
     
    The only issue was, it was predicated on my being able to convince the White Wolves that I was one of them. And on Viper being able to control himself.
     
    Damn it. Such a jerk, but so good looking.
     
    Good god, where did that thought come from? No, I had a job to do—and I wasn’t going to let myself get distracted from the task at hand.
     
    But wasn’t the only reason I was doing this job to have a distraction? A distraction… Isn’t that what I wanted, what I needed most of all?
     
    No. No. No, Powell. Keep your head in the game.
     
    “Any questions so far?” Doug asked, his look still cool and calm as he took both of us in. Dumbly, we shook our heads.
     
    “Good. Then we can continue. Powell, you’ll need to turn in your sidearm.”
     
    “What?”
     
    “Don’t worry—we’re just assigning you a smaller pistol, something more easily concealed. Especially when you’re not wearing much of anything.”
     
    Viper snorted and I felt myself flush, in spite of myself.
     
    I drew my sidearm, my trusty full-sized Glock, removed the magazine, and decocked it. I slid it over to Doug and he accepted it, passing me back a much smaller Glock, one that would fit in the palm of my hand.
     
    “This is like a toy,” I mumbled. Doug grinned.
     
    “You’ve still got six rounds of .45 ACP in there, so it’s definitely no toy.”
     
    He was right about that. I tucked the gun into the back of my pants, mentally noting that I should acquaint myself better with the feel and handling of it later.
     
    “So, what kind of training am I going through?” I asked, glancing at Viper.
     
    “Viper? Would you like to elaborate?”
     
    He sighed, rolling his eyes like a spoiled kid in a grade school classroom.
     
    “Well, first, you have to learn to ride a motorcycle.”
     
    “Fine.”
     
    “Not that you’ll actually be allowed to ride any of our bikes. It’s a thing that everyone does—the guys teach their old ladies to ride their bikes, but deny it, deny that