Page 20 of The Biker Alien
“Yeah. I got it.”
“You might want to lay low for a day or two,” he says.
“Why? Do you have an operation in place to bring down the Rebel Brothers? The Armadas?”
“Not just yet, no, but to make sure you aren’t in their scope…”
I shake my head. “I can’t. If they know my name, if they come here… if they now where I work… I have to work. I’m a one-woman businesswoman, so…”
“Take a brief vacation.”
I snort. “I’ve never taken a vacation day. My shop is open seven days a week, and it’s only closed on major holidays. I’m going into work today. I was just about to leave in fact to head on over.”
He grimaces. “I’ll work on getting someone over there ASAP.”
“Thanks, but just work on bringing them down. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure they don’t know who I am.”
“You’re the only one innocent in all of this,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “I won’t let you get caught up in this.”
I say nothing, and he gives me a curt nods and walks back to his car.
My gaze slides down to the card in my hand. Josh Simmons. Oh, shit. Stacy told me about him. They’re close friends, close enough that his fiancée asked Stacy to be in their wedding, only she—Melody—was in the wrong place, wrong time. During a store robbery, she had been used as a hostage, and she ended up shot and died a few days later. He’s going to take this personally, and he’ll do everything he can to keep me safe.
And I’m almost more worried about him than myself.
I drive on over to the shop. I should’ve already been here, and I work on some of the bikes I already have in the shop before a few others are brought by for me to check out. I’m working hard, and it’s lunchtime before I know it. For once in my life, I’m not hungry, and I didn’t even eat breakfast. Not really sure what’s going on with that. Maybe it’s the knots in my stomach.
A car drives up. I do work on cars sometimes, but there’s something different about this one.
Josh is driving it.
It’s not a cop car. Is he undercover or…
“Can I help you?” I parrot myself from this morning.
“Got a place where I can park and watch things?” he asks.
“Josh… Officer… I really don’t like the idea—”
“Please,” he says stiffly. “I can find my own place, or you can help me.”
“Fine.” I tell him to drive down, make a right at the gravel street and then the first left to swing round to behind the shop. He can pull over to the side from there, and as long as he’s not too far forward, he won’t be too visible, but he should be able to see most of the front of the shop.
He’s only just pulled away when another car pulls in. What are the odds?
I walk over and just flat-out stop walking when three burly, muscular, tatted guys climb out. Like I said before, I love a guy in tats, don’t judge those who have them at all, but their swagger, the glint in their eyes, the hardness of their stances…
They have to be in one of the gangs.
I rub the back of my neck. Josh couldn’t have gotten into position yet. Guess I should stall some.
“Hello, gents,” I say, doing my best to sound natural.
Maybe they’re Alec’s guys. Not that I want either gangs’ guys hanging around my shop, but of the two, I would rather his.
I think.
“What do you need?” I continue, unable to give them a big smile so settle for a tight, small one.