It was a fine line to try to walk when a person fully realized what was happening, so he doubted that she did. Staying mentally stable and functional in the midst of terror was nearly impossible, even for trained soldiers or law officers. Whether she acknowledged it or not, Sandy Lynn’s emotional stability was going to depend largely on him. It already did.
Leaving both sacks of clothing with her, Clay stomped his way across the slippery drive and stopped beneath the open-sided shelter designated for tenants’ vehicles. Nobody was home but him, as evidenced by the lone tarp-draped silhouette of his heavy street bike.
Clay whipped off the cover, shook it free of moisture and quickly folded it. Instead of stowing it in a saddlebag, he laid it aside and began to inspect the motorcycle, beginning with a quick once-over and ending with an oil check. The gas tank didn’t hold as much as a car, of course, but he also burned less fuel.
He swung astride, got his balance and started the engine. It gave a grind and a couple of sputters before roaring to life. There was something comforting about the rumbling sound, something that spoke to his inner man, as well as imparting a sense of barely leashed power.
With a grin he looked back at Sandy Lynn. She was standing just where he’d left her, meaning she hadn’t taken his advice to step inside where it was warmer. Therefore, she was likely shivering already. Well, he couldn’t help that. If her stubborn streak meant she’d be chilly, then so be it. As she’d pointed out more than once, he was not her boss.
Instead of revving the cold engine he cautiously let it idle to warm up, giving it tiny shots of extra gas to speed the process. Two helmets hung by chin straps from the handlebars, one containing a pair of gloves. Clay unfastened one, slipped it on to warm his bare head and noticed that the tips of his ears hurt as if being pricked by a thousand needles.
This idea is no good, he told himself as he donned the gloves. Even if Sandy Lynn sat close behind him she’d be very uncomfortable, perhaps getting sick or otherwise being harmed by the cold. He couldn’t do that to her. There must be a better way. And the sooner he thought of it, the sooner he could have her safely ensconced in a defensible dwelling.
Clay turned off the engine. His bike fell silent. Swiveling his upper torso, he glanced back at Sandy Lynn. Although her expressive eyes were not as wide as they’d been when she’d spotted an assailant the last time, there was a look of concern on her face.
He checked to be sure the kickstand was down and started to dismount. Sandy Lynn’s attention was not directed toward him. Instead, she was looking into the distance and frowning. She took several backward steps and braced herself.
That’s when he saw and heard three mammoth motorcycles heading toward them; one on point, the other two flanking and positioned back from the leader. They weren’t speeding. Their engines were idling with the rumble of leashed power so typical of machines their size.
Clay made a dash for Sandy Lynn, intending to scoop her up and force her through the door before turning his attention to defense. He was moving fast but awkwardly due to the slippery ground. Mental calculations told him he’d make it across ahead of the three riders. One more leap and he’d be there.
His left leg was extended, his right foot pushing off. Success was within his grasp.
He reached out to her and shouted, “Inside!” just as the sole of his right boot started to slide.
Arms windmilling, Clay fought for balance. Momentum carried him a few inches farther before gravity pulled him to the icy ground and knocked the air out of him.
He gasped as he tried to roll out of the way and failed, hampered by the icy ruts.
The lead motorcycle veered slightly, lining up to hit him.
Clay couldn’t see the rider’s face through the tinted face shield of his helmet, but he did hear the pitch of the engine rise to signal acceleration.
Everything happened in seconds. He was kicking at the icy ground, trying to push backward with his heels. The front wheel of the advancing motorcycle loomed larger and larger.
Something grabbed his arm, tugged on his coat and moved him slightly. Sandy Lynn? It had to be. Clay struggled to help her.
That was when he noticed the lead bike starting to lean. The sound of the engine became a high-pitched whine. The rear wheel had lost traction! He might escape after all.
Wobbling and fishtailing, the rider battled to regain control as the others rode past.
Clay gave a last kick, cleared the low ice berm and landed in softer snow as the rider cut the power, regained control, straightened his front wheel and followed his companions out of the parking area.
Only then did Clay look up at Sandy Lynn. Her face was red. Tears sparkled in her eyes and had started to trickle down her cheeks. What he intended to do when he stood up was scold her for getting too close to danger and risking her own life for him.
What he did, instead, was pull her into his arms—whether she liked it or not. To his relief, she came willingly.
Her cheek rested on his chest. She wasn’t sobbing, but her breathing was irregular and raspy.
Clay’s command of his lungs and emotions wasn’t much better. As soon as he felt he could manage to speak calmly, he said, “Thanks. That was close.”
“What?” she said weakly.
“I said, thank you for pulling me out of the way.”
Sandy Lynn leaned back to gaze up at him, and the pathos in her expression tied a knot in his gut. Her lips were quivering and getting blue as the corners lifted. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell me I shouldn’t have interfered? Because if it does, I may faint from the shock.”
All Clay could do was marvel at her fortitude in the face of trial after trial, threat after threat. A responding smile quirked at one side of his mouth as he tried to think how best to respond. Finally he decided to build on her wry comment. “Give me time. I want to think up the best way to tell you how wrong that was without hurting your feelings.”
“You don’t need to worry. I’m already getting a good lecture from myself. I can’t believe I actually did that.”
“I can’t either.” The smile spread. “What got into you?”
Sandy Lynn was shaking her head. “I suspect I may have a superhero complex. I have no idea where I got the courage or the physical strength to move you.”
“Credit the ice,” Clay said. He had been keeping one eye on their surroundings and listening for a return of their apparent enemies in spite of his concern for Sandy Lynn.
Now that the immediate threat was past he asked her, “Do you think that could have been Hood? You said he rode.”
“Yes. Very well, actually, which may be how that first guy kept his wheels under him, but I couldn’t see his face.” As she stepped back she was brushing snow off herself. “Do you think they’ll come back? Or do you think they were just messing with you because you fell?”
Some of the slush was melting into his jeans while the parts on the outside began to literally freeze. Clay stomped his boots and rubbed his palms together. “I’d come back if I was them,” he said through chattering teeth.
Sandy Lynn nodded. “Yeah. So would I.”
ELEVEN
She had insisted that Clay call the cab company one more time before she’d agree to stow the pillowcases in his saddle bags and swing onto the impressive motorcycle behind him. She knew what it felt like to ride “seat cushion” for the driver, but being up there behind Clay was so different from her prior experiences there was no comparison.
Arms wrapped around his waist over his damp jacket, she willed some of her warmth to him, as if there was actually a way to pass it along. Silent prayers for Clay and for their mutual safety spun through her head and found their way to her heart of hearts as they rode.
During the long years when she’d missed him and wished she’d made a different choice as a teen, never once had she pictured them ridin
g together like this. The contradictory nature of the surprising occurrence struck her two ways. Yes, she was glad they were escaping and happy to be so close to him, even though the respite was temporary. On the other hand, she was certain that Clay would rather trust her safety to someone else, anyone other than himself. He’d implied that wish often enough.
Sandy Lynn tightened her hold and laid her cheek against his shoulder blade.
He reached up and tapped his helmet, then signaled to her. It took several seconds before she realized he was trying to tell her that the helmets were radio connected, and another few before she located the switch and activated their communications.
“Can you hear me now?” he asked.
“Yes. Where are we going? Your old place?”
“That was plan A. Are you still okay with that?”
“It’s fine. I’d rather have Enid with me, but I’m not afraid of you. I trust you.”
“As you should,” he replied.
Even through a static-filled radio transmission she could tell he wasn’t pleased by her candor. “I was just trying to put your mind at ease,” she told him. “If you don’t want me to speak freely, tell me.”
Clay gave a wry chuckle. “Will it do me any good?”
“Probably not, but you can always try.” She peered over his shoulder at the passing sections of Springfield and noticed less familiar streets. “Where are we headed, exactly?”
His reply was delayed as he carefully negotiated a right turn, then straightened the wheel. “My condo is up this way. A Realtor is negotiating a sublet for me, but nothing’s been finalized yet so the place is vacant.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes. I’m paid up until the first of the year. After that, I’d better have a renter or I’ll be in danger of losing my equity.”
“Equity? How long have you owned it? I mean, you just moved back down here, didn’t you?”
“I bought it as an investment a few years ago.”
That was a shock. “You bought a place here? In Springfield? When you lived and worked in Kansas City?”
Because of her hold on him, she felt and heard him breathe a sigh before he said, “It’s home, okay? Always was.”
“So, that’s why you came back?”
Despite a long hesitation, Clay finally agreed with her. “Of course.”
Of course. It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to say he’d returned because he’d missed her or had thought fondly of their long-lost relationship, which had obviously meant little to him. She’d known that already. So why had she let herself hope he’d admit that she’d been his motivation? Had her lonely childhood and rotten marriage taught her nothing?
To her chagrin, tears began to threaten. That was ridiculous. Clay hadn’t told her anything new. There was no reason to be upset about losing a closeness she had only imagined in the first place.
The radio in her helmet crackled, drawing her attention back to the present. “What did you say?”
This time, his voice came through clearly. “Hang on. I think we’ve got company.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t misheard him.
“Riders. Behind us,” Clay shouted over the increasingly loud roar of his bike.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I’d rather be worried than clueless. What can we do?”
While Clay’s grumbling was incomprehensible, their acceleration told the story. Did he intend to try to outrun the others? Three of them? Even in good weather that wouldn’t be easy. In snow and ice it was suicidal.
Sandy Lynn gritted her teeth and held on tight, hoping and praying Clay could go faster without losing control. She knew that her body position was critical, but beyond leaning with him into the corners there wasn’t a whole lot she could do to help.
They began climbing a winding road north of downtown and lost momentum. Asking about their pursuers was out of the question because she didn’t want to cause any distraction, so she swiveled to glance back.
That was a mistake. Clay began to turn left as she looked over her left shoulder, and the difference in their centers of gravity made the bike lean too far. If Sandy Lynn had not sensed the problem and righted herself in a split second, they would have immediately gone down.
She gave a little squeal as he battled to keep control. The rear wheel spun free long enough to throw a rooster tail of snow and slush behind them.
The motorcycle began to skid.
Clay shouted, “Jump!” as they tilted sideways.
* * *
Helpless to overcome gravity, Clay did the only thing he could—he put his bike into a controlled skid and laid it down in the roadway, letting go of the throttle at the last possible second to keep the weight of the rear section from crushing his leg.
He’d felt his passenger fall away. The following fractions of seconds passed in a blur. Careening along after the bike, he sought traction with his heels and elbows. Thankfully, Sandy Lynn wasn’t screaming into the radio so he could hear the engine die. The motorcycle stopped moving when it half buried itself in a snowbank.
A hand lightly touched his arm, his shoulder. “Are you all right?” The words faintly echoed inside his helmet. The instinct was to answer with a nod. Common sense overrode it. Clay lay very still until he could make an internal assessment of his physical condition. As long as his neck and the rest of his spine were intact he’d be okay.
Sandy Lynn’s voice rose. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” He pushed up on his elbows, then tried to stand. The world was spinning on a wobbly axis.
Right there when he needed her, Sandy Lynn steadied him. “Easy. You took quite a jolt.”
“Apparently.” With a hand resting on her shoulder, Clay looked behind them. Their tracks weren’t immediately visible because the fall had partially obliterated them. Although it was unlikely that the riders who had been following would fail to notice the part of his motorcycle still visible in the fluffy snow, he nevertheless hoped they would be going fast enough when they passed the corner that they’d miss seeing it.
“Hide,” Clay ordered, reaching an arm in front of her and pushing her backward. “Over there.”
Relief flooded him when she not only followed directions instead of arguing, she helped him wade through the snow and duck out of sight. By this time, Clay was so cold he couldn’t stop shivering.
Crouching next to him and fisting a handful of his jacket sleeve, Sandy Lynn whispered into the microphone in her helmet. “I thought that was an old wives’ tale.”
“What was?” Clay managed as he did his best to quell his tremors.
“Chattering teeth. Yours really are.”
“Anything to further the cause of scientific study,” Clay quipped wryly. “Believe me, I’d stop if I could.”
“I know. I’m sorry I teased you. It’s the fault of my skewed sense of humor. When I get nervous, I make jokes.”
“No problem,” he said. “Just keep your head down and pray they bypass us.”
“Pray? I have been. It doesn’t seem to be helping.”
“Tell me that a year from now when you have a long-term perspective,” he said.
He heard her exhale noisily right, and she said, “Now that I can pray for.”
Confused, Clay asked, “What?”
“Being alive in a year to be able to look back.”
“Amen,” Clay said softly. “Here they come.”
* * *
Hunkering down behind the drifts, Sandy Lynn wished she’d had the presence of mind to run over to the bike and finish burying it while she’d had time. Now it would be foolhardy to show herself. Nevertheless, she was sorely tempted.
When she felt Clay’s arm slide around her shoulders, she le
aned into him just enough to demonstrate acquiescence. At least that was her intent. Facing possible injury or even death was altering her perspective, and she didn’t know how to stop the change from progressing. Feelings that had been buried in her subconscious kept rising to the surface like bubbles of air trapped in the flow of a rock-strewn river at flood stage.
That was a good analogy, she realized, because her emotions were not only turbulent, they were unpredictable, washing over her and carrying her along as if she were little more than a dry leaf riding the current to who knew where.
The oncoming riders approached the turnoff. Clay’s hold tightened as if he was afraid Sandy Lynn would bolt. “Do you think...” she began.
“Shush. Not a sound.”
“But...”
He held his index finger up in front of the tinted face shield and hissed, “Shh.”
Only then did it occur to her that the other riders might be wearing similar radios. If they happened to have them tuned to the same frequency, was it possible they’d be able to hear any sounds she made? Maybe. At this point it hardly mattered because she was holding her breath.
Closer and closer. Louder and louder the trio of engines sounded. Sandy Lynn could hear her own heart pounding in her ears as she tried to ease her breathing enough to mute her gasps.
Was that a sound shift? Or was she imagining it because she counted on her prayers for deliverance? No! She was hearing the Doppler effect for real. The three other motorcycles had passed, and the sound of their engines had altered in pitch and strength.
She made ready to stand. Clay held her in place, crouched behind a deep drift. “Wait.”
It was all she could do to follow the order. If she had not considered it totally sensible, she would have disobeyed in a heartbeat and peeked out to make sure her deductions were correct.
Finally he eased his hold on her and she was able to peer over the piled-up snow. The rumble continued to fade. Their skid had been for the best.
Christmas Vendetta Page 10