seventeen

The bike started veering toward the center line. I wrenched it the other way, desperately steering for the side of the road, hitting it, dust and gravel flying up. The bike went into a slide. I held on as tight as I could, bracing myself for that final bone-jarring topple.

I lay in the gravel at the side of the road, bike pinning my leg down, panic arcing through me. Then, slowly, I heaved the bike off me. I braced for a wave of pain, but it didn’t come. I felt like I’d been thrown out of a van. Nothing screamed “I’m broken,” though.

A clean lay-down, which is the most you can hope for. Still holding the bike up, I slid out from under it and rose, stretching and patting myself down. My leather jacket was scratched to shit. My jeans were studded with pebbles. I was okay, though, which is more than I could say for my bike.

I assessed the damage—dings and scrapes and twisted handlebars—and decided we’d both gotten away pretty damned good. Which wouldn’t keep me from kicking Cody Radu’s ass when I got hold of him. Sulking in the bathroom? No, he’d been sabotaging my bike and—

A silver vehicle crested the hill. I froze, but it was only a car. I let out a sigh of relief, then a string of curses as the stupid bitches in the front seat gawked at me, not even slowing to see if I needed help.

That made me realize Cody might have more in mind than just sabotaging my ride. I was now stranded on a very empty stretch of road.

I took out my cell phone. It had survived the fall, but it didn’t matter. No service.

The back tire was blown, meaning the motorcycle was useless, and I was still two or three miles from town. I started pushing. My left leg seized up. Okay, not as uninjured as I’d thought. Shit.

Another vehicle came over the hill. A pickup this time. I took off my helmet, making it clear I was female, and waved at the wrecked bike. Too late I heard the scrape of the muffler. It was the skeevy guy who’d driven past the police station yesterday.

He stopped beside me. “Laid her down, huh?” He grinned. “That’s why little girls shouldn’t play with big-boy toys. I suppose you want a lift now.”

“No, I’m good. I could use the exercise. Build up my muscles so I can handle her next time.”

His grin faltered. “It’s about five miles.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

He hesitated, then sped off, steering into the gravel to dust me. I answered with an energy bolt to his back tire. Just a little one. A slow leak that would, if I was lucky, strand him on an empty road of his own in a day or two.

I looked at the hill, then at the truck speeding away. Five miles to town? I was sure he was exaggerating, but even half of that was too far to push a motorcycle.

I headed off the road. I set her down in the brush, too far from the road to be seen, then went back and cleaned up the signs of my lay-down. I was barely done when the top of another silver vehicle came over the hill.

Hiding in those bushes was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Everything in me screamed that I should stand at the side of the road and wait for the bastard.

But I had a pretty good idea what Cody had in mind. This wasn’t a guy who let women stand up to him. He had to bring me down and if I wasn’t lying on the side of the road, he’d put me there.

I thought I could take him in a fight, even if I wasn’t sure what kind of supernatural he was. But I was on a case. As tempting as it was to show up assholes like Cody Radu, I’d deal with him later, in a way that wouldn’t run me any risk of being hauled off to jail for assault.

I hadn’t done as good a job as I thought of disguising where I went off the road. He slowed there, put down his window, and squinted into the brush beyond. He didn’t stop, though, just rolled along slowly, scanning the roadside for me.

Once he was gone, I set out again. I kept a watch on the horizon, in case he doubled back. He didn’t. I’d gotten as far as the spot where I hid my bike when I heard the purr of a performance engine behind me. I turned to see a black BMW.

Michael Kennedy. My day was now complete.

I continued walking, expecting, hoping, he’d drive past with a honk and a wave, happy to see me suffering after I’d sent him on a wild-goose chase. Instead, he slowed and drove beside me in silence for a minute.

Finally he rolled down the window. “Are you okay?”

“Better than my bike,” I said, gesturing to where I’d hidden it.

“One could say this is karma.”

“Yeah, yeah. So how was your visit to Cougar?”

“A wasted morning, which I completely deserved. I promised I wouldn’t fish for leads, and that’s exactly what I did.”

“Because that’s exactly why you asked me out.”

“What? No. I wouldn’t—”

He met my gaze and the denial dried up. He swore, blushing, and pulled ahead onto the shoulder and got out.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was a jerk and my only excuse—”

“—is that you want to find your sister’s killer. I get that. But I’m not competing with you, Detective Kennedy. If you’d asked what I’d found, I would have told you. I just don’t like being played.”

He nodded, walked over, and handed me the keys. “Drive her back. I’ll walk the bike and meet you at the garage. There’s one just off Main.”

I’d seen it—the former town gas station, now just a garage. I took the keys, got in his car, and waited for his reaction. Offering to take my bike was a nice gesture, but it was just that—a gesture. He didn’t expect me to take him up on it.

I started the engine. He retrieved my bike and began walking. I rolled the car up beside him.

“You’re okay with this?”

“I offered, didn’t I? Just be careful. Driving without a license ... I hate to sound like a cop, but you could get in a lot of trouble.”

I stopped the car. “You’re right. You should—”

“No, I was just saying to take it easy.” When I hesitated, he waved me on. “Go. You’re slowing me down.”

I reached into my pocket and held up a card. My driver’s license.

“I thought you said—”

“Implied, never said.”

He laughed and waved me on again. I drove a quarter mile, then circled back and came up beside him again.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I said.

“Uh, yeah. I’m serious about the apology, too. I was a jerk.”

“You’re a cop. You’re supposed to be a jerk.”

“I don’t think that’s in the code.”

“Read the fine print. It’s there.” I parked and got out. “I’m not leaving you to walk my bike two miles.”

We argued for a minute. Then he gave me my bike and started walking ... south, away from his car.

“they!” I called. “Where—?”

He flagged down an approaching pickup. The old guy stopped, which probably had something to do with the badge Michael was waving. He explained that we needed a lift. The guy assumed it was police business and grumbled, but didn’t argue. Michael and I loaded the bike into the back, then he waved me to his car.

“I’ll go with him.” He held up a hand against my protest. “I’m protecting the old guy, not you. Pretty girl in the passenger seat, he might not be able to help himself, and I don’t think he wants to spend the rest of the day in the hospital.” He walked to the truck. “See you in town.”

NOT SURPRISINGLY, THE garage didn’t carry my tires. There wasn’t even a mechanic on duty, just a kid fresh out of high school who “knew a lot about cars.” He liked my bike, though. Liked Michael’s car even better, and declared that he was definitely moving to Portland or Seattle next year, as if life in a big city came with keys to a sweet ride.

He called two other garages trying to get me a tire. Neither had one, but they recommended a bike shop in Vancouver. He called and they had one in stock and would hold it for me until they closed at seven.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Michael said as we drove off, leaving my bike behind the shop.