Vance, Luke confirmed, was their top tracker. He also did all their wire work. Further, he was the guy they chose to do most reconnaissance because he was ultra-quiet, something he’d learned during his past as a felon.

Lee was ex-special operations force, Army Night Stalkers. Monty was an ex-Navy SEAL. Lee’s specialty was everything. Monty’s specialty was planning operations (these operations Luke also didn’t go into detail about).

Matt and Bobby, two more of Lee’s team, were local boys who should have been cops but preferred an extra challenge. They spent a lot of time pulling in skips, taking photos during dangerous liaisons, doing stakeouts, providing security (as in bodyguards) when a client needed it and they acted as added manpower. “Foot soldiers” was how Luke described them.

“Good ones,” he said.

Ike had been a cop until something ugly went down. That something ugly wasn’t shared by Luke either. He was tracker number two on the team and was often out-of-town, the same as Vance.

Jack, another guy I hadn’t met, was muscle.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Except for taking most night shifts in the surveillance room, yeah.”

Mace sounded interesting mainly from what Luke didn’t say. Apparently he used to be a world-class surfer. He was half-Native Hawaiian and he came to Colorado to take up snowboarding, something at which he also excelled. Mace, like Lee and Vance, was good at everything he did, he had no specialty, they were all his specialties (except wirework which Luke explained only Lee, Monty and Vance knew how to do). This was due to a life as an athlete, some of that professional, he knew how to use his body and his instincts and reflexes were sharp.

“How did he go from a professional surfer/snowboarder to a private investigator/bounty hunter? That seems a strange career move.”

I thought of surfers and boarders as Zen masters, riding the waves and the snow, one with nature, not out cracking heads and looking pissed off all the time.

“Personal reasons,” Luke answered.

“What personal reasons?” I asked.

Luke didn’t answer.

I gave up mainly because I knew I’d get nowhere as well as the fact that it was none of my business.

“And you?” I went on.

“Me?”

“Why are you in the game?”

He turned to look at me with a half-smile on his lips. “Shits and grins.”

His eyes went back to the road.

He was holding back, how I knew this I didn’t know, I just knew it.

“Bullshit,” I muttered.

The air in the SUV changed rather dramatically and my body automatically tensed at the feel of it.

Then Luke spoke and it wasn’t with his usual somewhat-teasing, bordering-on-affectionate tone. “Babe, there comes a time when you’re sharing’ my bed and you feel free to turn your attitude on me with your body pressed against mine then you’ll be in the position to know.”

Well then, there you go.

I suspected Luke was “good” with the situation just as long as I didn’t push it.

Good to know.

I decided to change the subject. “What’s on tonight?”

“Search. Got a client who wants dirt on his wife before he asks for a divorce.”

“Is she cheating on him?”

“He’s the one who found a replacement. Lookin’ for a way to make the divorce payout more comfortable.”

Um.

No.

“This guy sounds like a jerk,” I said.

“He is a jerk,” Luke replied.

Luke pulled over and parked in a well-lit street in a neighborhood filled with comfortable houses of the nearly very rich. He made to exit the vehicle.

“Wait,” I called.

He turned to me and raised his brows.

“We can’t do this,” I told him.

“Why not?” he asked.

“It’s not right.”

Luke twisted his body fully to face me. “We don’t make judgments. We send invoices.”

I could see right away where there might be a problem with my being on the team. I didn’t make judgments but I sure as hell had a moral code.

I decided not to debate this point with Luke mainly because I didn’t figure I’d change his mind in the few minutes I had.

I tried a different tactic. “I don’t see how this is going to help me be more of a nuisance to drug dealers.”

“This isn’t training, babe, this is a ride-along. You go where I go. You don’t like it, I’ll take you home and you can have a bubble bath.”

In truth a bubble bath sounded good. However I figured if I f**ked up this chance there wouldn’t be another one. I was too curious about what this team of badasses did for a living, considering I was “with” one of them (I didn’t know how to describe my relationship with Vance except that calling him my “boyfriend” sounded pretty stupid… we were exclusive, Vance made that clear, but how to translate that into a descriptive modifier was unclear). Also I had the impression that the team liked me, respected me. I had this impression because somewhat easily they’d accepted me. If I went home and had a bubble bath I knew that would disintegrate faster than the bubbles.

“Let’s do this,” I muttered, getting out my side.

As he did last night, Luke walked straight up to the house like he owned the place. He opened the door with a key.

“You have a key?” I whispered, not about to make the same mistake as I’d made last night by being loud and calling attention to us.

He looked at me. “Client gave it to us.”

Oh. Right. That made sense.

Luke entered and didn’t turn on any lights. He went directly to a massive kitchen like he’d taken that route on numerous occasions. I followed.

He went straight to a small office off the kitchen that even in the dark I could see it was decorated by a woman. Luke pulled on a pair of plastic gloves then took a small flashlight out of his belt and started to rifle through the desk.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Anything,” Luke answered.

I stood there watching.

The flashlight often slid along the walls and I saw one of those bulletin boards with the criss-cross ribbons on it, business cards, receipts, notes, letters and photos were shoved into the ribbons. The photos were different shots of the same four people, a woman, a man and two young boys.

“They have children,” I hissed at Luke.

Luke didn’t answer, he kept searching.

I got more uncomfortable. I wanted to pretend it didn’t matter but it went against the grain, so deeply against the grain that the grain was feeling raw.