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knew so well he didn’t need to be close enough to read. Pagans.
    Every hair on his arms lifted. His parents had some disturbing new neighbors, or the rider was not passing by by accident.
    He stood several minutes listening as the noise from the bike faded like a fire engine’s siren once it’s passed by. He noticed the rider didn’t stop in the neighborhood.
    He supposed he needed to think about why this was the second time in a month he’d seen a Pagan biker. First outside his apartment in D.C. and now outside his parents’ home. Was it coincidence, or something more?
    â€œScott?” His mother had poked her head out of the back door. “We’re waiting for you.”
    Scott held his breath. Nothing stirred in the air. He went deeper, sensing through whatever extra survival instincts being undercover had honed in him to the point that sometimes that edgy energy kept him awake for twenty-hour hours at a time. He felt … nothing.
    And yet, he didn’t buy it. Something had just occurred. Instinct told him that was no random biker passing. And yet he had not a single shred of proof to the contrary. Maybe being at home was messing with his head.
    â€œScott?”
    â€œYes, Mom. Coming.”
    He wrenched up the driver’s side door and let Izzy out. He’d be happier knowing she was safe inside.

 
    CHAPTER SIX
    â€œOur target is Shajuanna Collier, the wife of the D.C.-based hip-hop mogul Eye-C.”
    â€œDidn’t he do time for racketeering in connection with illegal dogfights?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œJeez. What’s with these guys? Getting sent up for running illegal gambling isn’t enough. Now he wants to breed these killers.”
    â€œDogs aren’t killers by nature.” Cole sat up straighter as the room of task force people glanced her way for the first time during the morning overview. “Even volatile breeds are often subjected to mistreatment, like starvation and abuse, in order to make them vicious killers, sir.”
    Lattimore, standing before his PowerPoint presentation, nodded vaguely in her general direction. “Officer Jamieson has a valid point. Her expertise in the matter of canine behavior should be useful in the field.”
    â€œI’m no expert.” Cole’s voice was lower this time.
    â€œAll the same, every person here has a part to play.”
    Cole didn’t doubt that hers was a small part. This was the first meeting of the task force team. It consisted of a joint investigation by the Drug Enforcement Administration—Baltimore District Office, DEA’s Wilmington, Delaware, Resident Office, the District of Columbia Division, the Philadelphia Field Division, an FBI advisor, and a Montgomery County, Maryland, police K-9 officer. The men gathered in the room knew more than she ever would about drug trafficking and interdiction. The fact that they were all male and shared previous experience with the DEA didn’t improve her standing.
    As Lattimore continued his overview, Cole reminded herself of the chain of command. As the newest, least experienced member of the team she was supposed to keep her head down, mouth shut, and learn.
    She bent her head to study the proposal that had been handed out to the team, and to give herself a moment to think. Despite programs like Dropbox, shared files, and so on, they were using good old-fashioned paper documents as reference materials.
    Cole followed her notes as Lattimore recited them. “Our prime target is Shajuanna Collier, wife of hip-hop artist Eye-C, real name Isaac Collier. Three years ago Collier was arrested for gambling on illegal dogfights and sentenced to prison for two years. While he served twelve months of that sentence, his wife Shajuanna began breeding dogs, specifically the Argentine mastiff and the Japanese Tosa. These expensive and rare imported breeds are banned in many European countries because they were most