Though, he did love working out. Most of his free time involved whatever local gym he could locate or health food store to peruse the shelves for any new finds.
He wasn’t lonely though. He liked his life.
Time alone came easy for Cash. He never felt the urge to share with anyone. Life had made sure of that.
In his newest assignment, Cash had learned, for many years and various reasons, different agencies under the umbrella of the DOJ had infiltrated the Disciples of Havoc. Undercover agents were layered deep inside the bike club. Under a cloak of secrecy, Cash was tasked with finding the responsible parties for the theft of missing money from the sales of the club’s illegal trafficking operations.
What goods were being trafficked and how the government participated in those sales were not his concern. He wouldn’t muddy the water trying to understand the government’s current position inside this one-percenter motorcycle club. That part didn’t matter. He had his assignment.
From these elite operations, he had learned that good versus evil was really better stated as less evil versus more evil. Cash stood firmly on the side of less evil.
But his focus wasn’t coming easy this time. Being in Dallas again was doing a number on his head. His scattered thoughts pulled in distant memories he’d dealt with and filed away many years ago. That messed with the small amount of prep time he’d been given before arriving, namely the three-hour flight from Arkansas to Dallas.
He’d assured his superiors that his history in this city wouldn’t be a complication.
Perhaps he’d been wrong.
As he turned the corner, down another long, deserted hall, he thought about his cover as a healthcare administrator. It didn’t allow much access to any actual suspects in the thefts. If his past told his story, then this was nothing more than a sloppy and telling decision by an arrogant lead agent used to getting one over on his superiors. Or, as Cash liked to think, the beginning of the end for the operation.
Seemed simple enough.
Not the rocket science smarts his superiors thought he used to identify those on the take.
Add to the mix that the Dallas area law enforcement didn’t have a reputation for being on the up and up on any government level, from local to federal. He had to assume everyone working in Dallas was rogue until they proved themselves otherwise.
In the hushed briefing he’d had with the attorney general himself, Cash had learned every member of his new undercover team posed as a healthcare professional in one way or another. Methodist Hospital had a long-standing agreement with the federal government to give a safe harbor to undercover operatives.
The agents were never identified to the hospital.
The agreement still remained an utter secret which was quite remarkable in this day and time. Another point Cash had a hard time believing.
Hiding in plain sight only went so far.
His most consequential question of the day was why have this cream of the crop team, with agents from both the FBI and DEA, working on the sideline, inside a hospital the Disciple brothers never used?
It made no sense unless the hospital somehow aided in the theft. And there was zero evidence to support that claim.
The stress in his shoulders grew. Safety was always an issue, but that outlaw biker gang brought its own set of security issues. He didn’t have the privilege of shooting from the hip on this case. He needed facts, not assumptions.
The truths had to present themselves.
This assignment was fluid at best. A constantly moving target. The pieces of the puzzle shifting with no rhyme or reason.
Cash stretched his neck and let the worry building there slide down his tailored-suit-covered arms. He aimed for a passive confidence, aware of all the surveillance tracking his every step through these halls. He didn’t allow himself a moment before he turned another corner and spotted the room he was looking for.
The door unlatched on his approach without him having to use his identification badge to enter. He lifted a hand, pushed through the door, and entered an older waiting room that had been turned into the team’s temporary conference center.
All heads snapped his direction. Four people sat at a table in the middle of the open space. Two wore scrubs, the others were in the usual attire of the DOJ—Men in Blackcame to mind.
“Special Agent Ryan?” the point person at the head of the table asked, using his undercover name, Cash Ryan. He lowered his laser pointer from an overhead screen.
Cash nodded. “Call me, Cash.”
“Take a seat. We haven’t been here long. We’ll catch you up.”
He pulled a chair from the corner, dragging it over to the small table. He sized up the agents. One in particular hit his heart like a sledgehammer. He was so unprepared to see her that he dropped the chair, causing it to scrap loudly against the floor.
All eyes shifted back to him, including hers.
