Page 23 of March 5

A car honked, zooming past her. She ignored the traffic and contemplated what to do. Her dad was on a ride tonight. Aunt Brooke would want her to call, but she wasn't going to make her change a tire.

Gravel crunched. She looked behind her car. Another vehicle pulled to the side of the road and came to a stop.

Every warning her parents taught her screamed in her head. She moved to the driver's door and went back inside. As she hit the lock, she opened the console between the seats and wrapped her hand around the grip of the pistol that was always there.

Her dad had taught her how to shoot as a teenager and made sure she had a defense weapon in her vehicle and her bag when she worked. Because she went to her clients' houses, it made her feel saferto have a way of protecting herself.

In her side mirror, a man stepped out of the car parked behind her. She reached out and hit the contact number for the clubhouse. A Havlin member would get here faster than the police could arrive.

"Yeah?"

She hit the speaker button. "This is Skye Harrison. Maverick is my dad. I'm parked on the side of Quarterly Road, right past the Crab Shack." She gazed into the mirror. "I have a flat tire, and there's a man walking toward me. Can someone ride over?"

"This is Cord, Skye. I'm sending someone now. I want you to keep talking to me. Can you tell me where the man is?"

"He's coming up to my window." Her heart raced. "He's here now."

The man knocked on the glass. Her hand tightened around the pistol.

"He tapped on the window," she whispered.

"Do not roll your window down. Shake your head and yell that someone is coming to help you."

She followed the instructions. The man moved to the front of her car and peered down at the tire.

"Is he leaving?" asked Cord.

"No, he's looking at the tire."

"Okay. Hang tight, sweetheart."

She swallowed hard. "I know he's probably just trying to help, but I'm a little freaked out.

She wasn't appropriately dressed to be out in public. Her tire wasn't supposed to go flat. Anyone seeing her would get the wrong idea about her. She wasn't a prostitute.

The man returned to the window and bentdown, peering inside. She pressed into the seat as if the stranger could reach through the glass.

"Hey, do you need help?" The man patted his hand against the car's roof.

"No. I'm fine. Someone is coming," she said loudly.

"Skye?" Cord's voice came through the phone. "You're doing great."

Traffic zoomed by. She glanced in the mirror, hoping to see a biker.

"Do you have a spare?" The man put his face inches from the window. "A jack?"

God, why wouldn't he leave? She shook her head, even though she had both in the car's trunk. Her dad had taught her how to change a tire and where the tools were located that she'd need. But she wasn't going to bend over on the side of the road wearing booty shorts.

"Don't unlock the door," said Cord.

"I have a pistol," she whispered. "I-I'll be okay."

"Good, girl. Your dad taught you well. Just sit tight."

In a matter of seconds that seemed like hours, two motorcycles rolled to a stop in front of the vehicle. At the sight of Dio and Brett, she almost cried in relief.

"Dio's here." She inhaled deeply, watching him get off the motorcycle and talk with the man who'd stopped to help her.