Chapter One

      Jordan Brand opened the throttle of her jet-black Ducati motorcycle and shot through the intersection just before the light turned red. She leaned forward as she aimed her bike between the two cars in front of her, determined to make up time by creating a third lane for herself. Jordan ignored the loud honking as she zipped in between the two lanes of traffic. She couldn’t care less if the other drivers didn’t like her shortcuts. This was California. No one had the right to cast stones.

      Jordan cut off a canary-yellow Escalade as she made a right turn onto Broadway. She ignored the posted speed-limit sign. After all, sometimes tiny little rules needed to be broken. Jordan accelerated as she made another right onto Sixth and drove in the wrong direction up the one-way street. After dodging an oncoming car, she invented a parking spot in a no-parking zone and jammed on the brakes. She dropped the kickstand and shut off the engine.

      “What lunatic actually thought it was a good idea to give you your license back?”

      After she removed her helmet from her head, Jordan smiled broadly at the large, heavily tattooed man standing outside the tattoo parlor. “Which one of us has a better shot at makin’ it to old age, Chappy? Me with my driving, or you with your cigarettes?”

      Chappy grinned right before he took another drag from his unfiltered cigarette. “It’s too close to call.”

      Jordan swung her leg over the seat of her bike, tucked her helmet under her arm and walked over to where he was standing. She reached up, pulled the cigarette out from between his lips, dropped it on the sidewalk and then crushed it beneath the heel of her boot.

      “I just added a week to your life.” She smiled up at him.

      Chappy ran a beefy hand over his shaved, tattooed head. “If you come a little closer and give me a hug, I’ll forgive you.”

      After she gave him a quick hug, Jordan asked, “Is Marty inside?”

      “He’s been waitin’ on you, as usual. Got the client in the chair already. Don’t you own a watch?”

      Jordan stepped away from him with an easy laugh and pulled a rolled piece of paper from the inside pocket of her motorcycle jacket. “I have the drawing right here. When have I ever let you down?” She stopped just before she pulled open the door to the tattoo parlor. “You know, for social degenerates, the two of you are really uptight about punctuality.”

      * * *

      “No.” Ian Sterling slipped the top photo from the large stack of pictures in his hand and dropped it onto the floor.

      “No,” he said again, and the second photo followed the first. He sifted quickly through the pile as he paced around his photography studio. “No. No. No. Dammit. No!”

      Ian dropped the rest of the photographs onto the floor. He pulled off his reading glasses, marched over to his phone and stabbed at the intercom button with his finger. “Chelsea.”

      Dylan Axel, who was leaning casually against the desk, asked, “Is there a problem?”

      Ian ignored him. “Chelsea. Come in here, please.”

      The door leading to the reception area opened and a tall, rail-thin brunette hurried in. “Yes, Mr. Sterling?”

      Ian jerked his head toward the photographs