“She does. Her mom wanted more for her. Rob is only using her.”
“He knew you’d come after him if he had her.”
“That’s my thought.”
“And you played right into his hands,” the warden interjected, glaring at the two of us. “You didn’t think about letting someone else handle this? The police maybe?”
“The police put a warrant out for my arrest, but never bothered to warn Ronnie that her ex had escaped custody,” I growled. “She never had a chance.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you have a warrant for you arrest in conjunction with a murder,” he retorted and I shook my head.
“Someone reported they’d seen my truck outside her house that morning. And they did. I was there, but I never got out of the truck.” I was looking straight at the warden, but all I could see was the little pink bicycle propped up against the garage. “If I’d gone inside, maybe she’d still be alive and Kara would still have a mom.”
“Or you’d be dead and Kara would have no one,” Doc retorted, folding the paper up. “You can’t know. No one can, so beating yourself up over it is a waste of time. The past is the past and there’s nothing we can do to change it.” Her words were brisk, but there was a tightness in them that told me she understood better than most about regret.
“I can’t change what happened, but I can make damn sure it doesn’t happen to Kara,” I ground out, not deterred by the bullet wound in my shoulder. “Thank you for patching me up, but I need to be going.” I stood and the room spun. I grabbed for the table and it rocked underneath my hand. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let my weakness stop me as Diane arched an eyebrow.
“You were saying?”
“I have to go,” I muttered, stumbling toward the door. The hall seemed to shrink then expand, and I shook my head, blinking hard. Diane and the warden trailed after me, a slow moving train as I ping ponged off the walls. “I’d appreciate if you’d give me a little bit of a head start,” I mentioned, glancing at the warden. He didn’t bother to comment, only giving me a flat stare.
“That won’t be a problem,” Doc interjected, helpfully opening the front door for me. “Uncle Tom is the understanding sort.”
“Hrmph,” was Uncle Tom’s only reaction.
I dipped my head, not sure what to make of either of them, as I stepped through the door. Rain poured down in sheets, making visibility poor, and I couldn’t see my Harley. I squinted, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. “Where’s my bike?”
“In the garage,” Diane reported, smiling brightly. “Uncle Tom rolled your bicycle in there earlier.”
I stared at her stupidly as her words registered. “What did you just call my Harley?”
“A bicycle,” she answered, eyeing me as her uncle snorted behind her. “That’s what it is.”
My mouth dropped open. “No. No, that is not what it is.”
“You called it a bike.”
A pounding started in my head. “That – no. You…it’s a motorcycle,” I finally declared, rubbing my temple.
“O-kay,” she replied, her tone clearly implying she didn’t get it at all but was willing to play along for my sake. “It’s raining.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I said impatiently, the rain coming down so hard I was getting wet standing under the overhang.
“You’re also not wearing a shirt,” she pointed out.
I glanced down, sighing when I saw she was correct. “You were just going to let me leave without a shirt on?” I questioned as she stepped aside and I stomped past her.
“No,” she answered, her voice laced with amusement. “I just wanted to see how long it took you to realize it.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snapped, turning too fast and black spots danced through my vision. “Time…” I paused, swallowing hard as the room tilted sickeningly. “I don’t have time.”
“Sit down before you fall down,” Diane advised, taking my arm and ushering me to the sofa. I let her lead me as I closed my eyes against the suddenly too bright lights. “Sleep tonight. You’ll feel better in the morning,” she promised as I bumped against the U shaped sectional. “The pill I gave you should have worn off by then.”
I stared at her accusingly. “You drugged me.”
She nodded, that damn little Mona Lisa smile driving me insane. “I did. You need rest, Clutch, and fluids. There’s no way you can ride a bike with that arm. We’ll leave in the morning after you’ve rested.”
“We,” I mumbled, blinking against surprisingly heavy eyelids, feeling like I’d just downed a bottle of Jack. “What?”
“I’m going to help you.” She gave a little shrug. “Consider it a down payment on the favor I owe you.”
I shook my head, or tried to. “No,” the word sounded garbled and I tried to say it again, but nothing came out.
She patted my arm. “There’s no use fighting it. Sleep and you’ll feel so much better in the morning. I promise.”
I wanted to protest but words were impossible as was standing or moving as unconsciousness dragged me down, my last thought was that I should have gone to the hospital.
Chapter Twelve
Diane
“No, absolutely not,” Uncle Tom barked as I packed food in a backpack. “I forbid it.”
“I don’t think it works that way anymore, Uncle Tom,” I said mildly, checking to see if I’d added enough jerky. Clutch didn’t seem like the type to eat salads or smoothies, staples in my single life. “He needs help.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to be the one to help,” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he put his foot down. “Don’t make me call your mother.”
I glanced at him then my cell phone lying on the table. “Be my guest,” I enunciated, calling his bluff as his chest collapsed as he exhaled in defeat. “That’s what I thought.” I paused my mad packing, chancing a peek in the living room where Clutch was sprawled out, his chest rising and falling in a slow but even pattern. “I don’t get what the big deal is, he’s doing a good thing.”
“I’m sure the felon’s heart is in the right place, Diane, but clearly it’s a dangerous situation. He’s already been shot,” Uncle Tom reminded me, sarcasm thick in his voice as the folds in his forehead grew deeper by the minute. “You’d be putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”
“There’s a little girl out there who is in danger.” He closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer. “Through no fault of her own and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.”
“It’s not your responsibility,” Uncle Tom sighed, his expression becoming defeated. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Of course not.” I tucked a jar of peanut butter into the side pocket. “Now, are you going to help me or not?”
“What exactly am I supposed to help you do?”
“Get me information on this Rob guy. Everything you can find on him,” I said instantly. “Rats go to familiar places and its key we find him quickly.”
“At least we agree on that,” Uncle Tom grumbled as I made a shooing motion. “What am I supposed to tell your mother and brothers?”
“The truth,” I responded and he stared at me in disbelief. “They’d never believe it,” I continued, my gaze straying back to Clutch and his broad chest filling up my living room. “I’ve never been the daring one.”
“Diane,” Uncle Tom said softly, his gaze following mine. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You know that.” He met my eyes. “Your dad,” I turned my head away and he stopped. I heard him exhale. “Diane, your dad loved you so much,” he pushed on.
“I know that. He loved me so much he died for me,” I interrupted, for once unable to hide the bitterness that came with the knowledge.
“He did,” Uncle Tom acknowledged. “And he wouldn’t want you to risk your life.”
“No, I’m sure he wouldn’t,” I replied softly. “But I also like to think he would have wanted me to at least live i
t.” He flinched at the softly worded rebuke. “I’ve spent years not taking risks. Afraid of the shadows, not daring to take a chance that might cost me the life he died for. If Mom could have wrapped me in cotton she would have. I’m tired of it, Uncle Tom.” I looked at Clutch, his body distorted by a sheen of tears. “For the first time in years, I feel…..alive, and it’s amazing.” I blinked back the moisture clouding my vision, unwilling to allow a single tear to fall for fear of appearing weak. “Let me live. Let me do this.”
Uncle Tom closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “He would be very proud of you.” He opened his eyes, a grim smile lighting his face. “As would your mother with that performance.”
“Are you going to help me or not?” I griped, tossing a dish towel at him. “I have maybe six hours before the pill I gave him wears off and I’d like to be gone by then.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He pointed a finger at me. “You better take care of yourself. Anything happens to you and your mom will castrate me.”
“You were never here,” I said airily. “Plausible deniability,” I informed him and he rolled his eyes.
“Like that could ever happen with your mother. I swear she has a tracker on me,” he grunted and I stopped, the zipper in my hand as I thought of another thing.
“You should take my phone.”
“Huh?”
“She might have a tracking app on your phone, but I know she has one on mine,” I told him. “You keep my phone and it’ll look like I’m going to work every day.”
“And when she checks the cameras?”
I waved my hand. “It gives me at least a day’s head start.”
“And how am I supposed to keep in touch with you?”
“Burner phone,” I answered promptly and he just stared at me. “You run a prison, Uncle Tom. You should know these things.”
“I do, but I don’t know why you do,” he countered.
“Television and my brothers,” I replied honestly. “We might be in our thirties, but it still takes ingenuity to escape Mom’s helicopter tendencies.” I pulled open a drawer, revealing four phones. I shuffled through them, snagging one. “I’ll call you so you’ll have the number.”
“What are you going to do when you catch up to this guy?” Uncle Tom asked, his expression serious. “Do you have a plan, Diane?”
“I always have a plan,” I responded promptly.
“A good one?”
“That hurts.” I slung the backpack over my shoulder. “Really and truly hurts me. Your lack of faith in my ability, your doubt, they’re just slings and arrows piercing my heart.”
“Diane,” he said flatly and I exhaled. Loudly.
“Secure the girl is the first thing. Bring the criminal in if possible.”
“If not possible?”
I smiled. “Make it look like an accident.”
“Atta girl.” Uncle Tom clapped me on the shoulder. “You might also want to find out why your biker is riding alone.”
My forehead crinkled as I gave him a questioning look.
“His club,” Uncle Tom elaborated, but I only shook my head in question. “He’s part of a motorcycle club. The tat on his back. I’m surprised he doesn’t have guys with him.”
“Maybe they got separated,” I suggested, but Uncle Tom looked doubtful. “I’ll ask.”
“You need to be careful, Diane. I mean it. I know you. I don’t know him.”
“You believe him.”
He sighed and glanced at the sleeping giant on the couch. “I do, but that doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“He saved my life.”
“You put too much importance on that fact, Diane. You don’t know what his motives were in that moment.”
“To save me. Just like Dad. Except this time, he didn’t have to die to do it.”
Uncle Tom shook his head, but didn’t argue further. “Let me go find out what I can about this Rob guy and what was the girl’s name?”
“Kara.”
“Okay, hopefully having her with him will slow him down and make them easier to find.”
“Thank you, Uncle Tom,” I caroled softly and he frowned.
“Don’t thank me. I might be making the biggest mistake of my life here.”
***
I sang along with the radio, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as Clutch slept next to me. He muttered something unintelligible and I turned down the radio, glancing over at him.
“Accident.” I strained, trying to make out his words. “Make it look like an accident,” he mumbled faintly, his face tense. “Accident. Deliver. Cash.”
I frowned, reaching for the knob to turn the music back up, not wanting to hear anything more. His words were ominous and not only because they echoed my earlier answer to Uncle Tom. I didn’t know much about Chance Hayes aka Clutch, but my gut said he was one of the good ones. So far nothing he’d done or said rang false to me and I wasn’t about to let a few mumbled words in his sleep change my opinion of the guy.
The burner phone dinged on the seat and I spared a brief glance at it, just long enough to confirm it was yet another text from Uncle Tom. I was already regretting giving him the number.
“Where the hell am I?”
The loud exclamation jerked me right out of the daydream I was having of the two of us on his Harley, my arms wrapped around his waist, as we rode into the sunset.
“And what am I wearing?” Disbelief coated his words and I chanced a sideways glance to gauge his current emotional state.
It didn’t look good.
“My brother’s old shirt,” I answered quickly, the words tumbling out. “He,” I hiccupped and Clutch gave me a sharp glance. “He’s smaller than you.”
“No shit.”
We both glanced down at the same time eyeing the blue plaid flannel shirt, whose seams strained as the buttons valiantly held on for dear life.
“Where’s my kutte?”
“You’re – what?” A hiccup broke up my question and some of the irritation faded from his face.
“My kutte. The vest I had on? The leather one,” he explained and I nodded toward the backseat. He twisted in the seat, wincing with the motion as it put pressure on his shoulder, but made a satisfied sound when he saw his kutte laying over his saddlebag. I hiccupped again and he turned to me. “Do I make you nervous, Doc?”
“No,” hiccup, “Why,” hiccup, “would you,” hiccup, “Think that?” I finished in a rush, desperately trying to hold my breath and stop the damn hiccups.
“No reason,” he murmured, eyeing me in amusement. “You might ease up on the steering wheel.” I glanced at my hands, the knuckles white where I held the steering wheel in a death grip. I relaxed my hold right as another hiccup escaped.
I cursed as my chest spasmed. “It’s nothing,” hic, “more than an involuntary,” hic, “contraction of the diaphragm,” I gasped around another hiccup.
Clutch moved, surprisingly fast for a man of his width as he slipped out of his seatbelt, a warm hand settling right under my ribcage. I stared at him in shock, my breath frozen in my chest as he pressed gently against my diaphragm. “Eyes on the road, Doc,” he whispered, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and I jerked my gaze back to the road in time to correct the car from drifting onto the shoulder. “I heard pressure eases hiccups.” His mouth was right next to my ear, his breath fanning the tendrils of hair that had escaped my hasty braid. “I don’t know if it’s true.” His palm pushed deeper, right under my ribcage, enough to feel the pressure but without hurting. “Is it?”
“Hmm?” I hummed, not sure what we were talking about.
“Breathe, Doc,” he murmured and I let out the breath I’d been unintentionally holding. “Better?” I nodded automatically, most of my attention on the placement of his hand and not the road. His fingers rested on the curve of my waist, his palm still under my ribcage as I breathed in and out, his hand rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.
“I think I cured you, Doc.”
“Ye –” I swallowed the rest of the word as his thumb made a lazy circle against my stomach. “Yep,” I squeaked. “Better.” I took a chance and glanced at him. Mistake. His blue green eyes were right there. Our noses practically touched. I inhaled shakily. “You should put your seatbelt back on.”
“You should watch the road.” He leaned back as the tires hit the rumble strip and I hastily brought the car back between the lines. The click of his seatbelt met my ears and I sighed in relief. “You know kidnapping is a federal offense.”
“Only when you cross state lines,” I corrected, before proceeding to rattle off the law. “Under 18 U.S.C. Section 1201, kidnapping is when a person unlawfully seizes, abducts, or carries away and holds another person for ransom or reward across state lines.” When I glanced over, he had a bemused expression on his face. “We haven’t crossed state lines so it’s not a federal offence and I don’t see a ransom or reward in my future.”
He made a choked sound and I shot him a concerned look. He shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “There’s definitely no one willing to pay ransom for my sorry ass.”
“Besides, it’s not abduction if I’m taking you were you want to go,” I added with a shrug.
“You drugged me.”
“You needed sleep,” I defended. “Sleep promotes healing and I was acting as your doctor.”
“Do you have a medical degree or a law degree?” He questioned, leaning back in the seat with a groan.
“Both.”
He sent me a sideways glance. “I was joking.”
I lifted one shoulder. “I wasn’t.”
“Who needs a law degree and a medical degree?”
“It would make more sense if you met my mother,” I admitted. “Not that you ever will meet her,” I added quickly. “Lucky you,” I muttered under my breath.
“She wouldn’t like me,” he claimed, crossing his arms. “The tats or the bike?” He questioned, not sounding upset by the knowledge.
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