Covert Identity

by Maria Hammarblad

  I guess talk me into it. You're the only one I know who'd say straying out of the ordinary is okay.

  "It might do me good, or end me up kidnapped, gang raped, and sacrificed to some ancient Norse devil. You have a wild side, don't you?"

  "Who, me?"

  The answer came a little too quickly, and sounded too innocent.

  Jimmy used the same expression. Damn, I'm thinking about him again.

  She must have been quiet for a lot longer than she realized. Mona hollered, "Sharon? Sharon, are you there? Don't zone out on me. Tell me all about this mystery man."

  "Not much to say. Big biker dude, followed me to Wal-Mart."

  "He followed you?"

  She sounded incredulous and Sharon smirked. Finally, a normal reaction.

  "Yeah, I kinda tried to outrun him, he was so freakin' loud, and I guess he got curious."

  Her mind painted an image of Mona shaking her head so her bouncy curls danced around her face.

  "So, how does it feel? Do you like him? I guess you like him or we wouldn't be talking about him?"

  The straightforward questions made her voice mousy.

  "Yes."

  "What are you hesitating for? Live a little."

  "But he's a biker."

  Mona sighed.

  When did phones become good enough to hear things like this?

  "Well, is he a good biker or a bad biker? Ninety-nine percent of them have desk jobs and drive food to retirement homes. They save animals and take care of little kids. I'm not kidding, ninety-nine percent."

  It was easy to imagine her little house invaded by twenty big and dirty men doing drugs, throwing empty beer cans everywhere, hiding corpses under her porch, and maybe keeping a baby or two chained in the back for human sacrifices.

  I'm assuming too much, and I've watched too much TV.

  "Bad."

  She whispered the name from his vest. "Devil's Spawns." Saying it out loud might call down a horde of bearded men with sawed-off shotguns. They probably had those things street fighters put around their knuckles, too. And chains. Yes, with guys like these, there would definitely be beatings and stranglings with thick chains.

  "Oh." Just for once, Mona sounded disconcerted, but she found her footing quickly. "Well, you know, they're not all bad. I'm sure they have members who aren't crazy. If you think he's a nice guy, go for it."

  "But..."

  "You watch too much TV. Even if he's not a nice guy in the eyes of society, he might still be good to you."

  Sharon didn't answer, and her friend sounded too cheery.

  "I'll tell you what, if you want to try this out, I'll come over to your place and wait for you. If you don't come home and don't call me, I'll get the police. If he follows you home and doesn't want to leave, I'll shoot him with Big Pink. If you don't want him to leave, I'll sneak out the back. How's that sound?"

  Big Pink was Mona's Mossberg pump shotgun, a pink model 500 made for women. She also had a pink AK47, and a pink Glock. Come to think of it, her friend was quite a walking armory, girl style.

  "I love you."

  Mona giggled. "I love you too, but not in that way. Imma run out a quickie now, but just lemme know and I'll be right there."

  Chapter Two

  Sharon fingered Jimmy's card, put it back on the table, and lifted it up again.

  She took her phone and pretended she just wanted to program the digits into it, to see if he would call her. Which was stupid, because he didn't have her number.

  He would have her number if she called him.

  Maybe she could call and hang up, and maybe he'd call back?

  No, that was a dumb idea. If nothing else, acting like a child would cost her self-respect, and self-respect was important. She could text him. That would be better than hanging up. Or just forget all about it.

  Forgetting about him would be the prudent thing to do, the safe thing to do, but she had the number entered, and all she would have to do was to press call.

  She placed the phone on the table, straightened it so it aligned with the edge, and went to make more tea. The water showed no sign of boiling.

  "I was happy. You just had to show up and ruin my inner peace, didn't you?"

  If she was to step out of her comfort zone like this, she should hurry before she changed her mind again. She snatched the phone, pressed the big green button, and suffered a whirlpool of panic in her stomach at the first ring.

  Why did I do that? Exhale. He's not going to bite you, at least not over the phone.

  Seconds ticked by and no one answered. Maybe all the angst had been for nothing; he wasn't going to pick up, and that could be a good thing. She could leave a voicemail and throw the ball back to his side.

  After that she'd have to wait for him to call, of course, and the waiting would probably be in vain.

  Waiting sucks. Oh, who am I kidding? He doesn't even remember me.

  "Hello."

  This was an awful idea. Should she hang up? No, it was too late. She should have ended the call earlier, during the dozen rings before he answered when she could have done so without seeming crazy or losing self-esteem. Now it would seem weird.

  She forced her mouth to speak.

  "Hey, it's Sharon. We met at the store earlier today."

  "Sharon, hang on, just a sec."

  He sounded honestly happy. What a relief.

  Wandering over to look out the window, she heard men's voices around him. It sounded like a party. Maybe that was normal for him for a Sunday afternoon... Then, there was the clatter of a door closing. "Not right now, man, I'm busy."

  He spoke quietly in the phone.

  "Hey, I'm so happy you called. I didn't think you would."

  "I didn't think I would either."

  "Well I'm glad you did. What's up?"

  The question threw her off; she fretted so much over calling or not calling she hadn't thought of what to say.

  C'mon, I'm smart. How hard can it be to say something?

  "Eh, nothing. Talking to you."

  Brilliant. Way to go sounding like an idiot.

  Jimmy laughed. "That you are. Hey, I know I said I'd come over and take you for a ride, but I'm drinking right now, and you don't want a drunk driver, right? How 'bout tomorrow?"

  Seriously? Do I really want to be involved with a guy drunk at five on a Sunday afternoon?

  The devil on her other shoulder must be quite an electrician. He disconnected the warning bells and controlled her mouth.

  "Sure. I work from home, but I do have to work, so afternoonish sometime."

  "What do you work with, Sharon?"

  This, she could answer without stuttering.

  "I'm a web designer."

  Male voices called for him and Sharon eyed the clock on the wall.

  We've talked for almost forty minutes?

  "Hey, I have to go, but I'll see you tomorrow."

  "I look forward to it."

  "So do I."

  She looked at the phone for a long moment before placing it on the table. She shouldn't get her hopes up. Odds were he'd forget all about her, the time, her number, and the address before morning.

  *****

  Sharon normally kept a tight schedule. Surviving as an independent contractor required discipline.

  She was good at her job, enjoyed it, and made a fair living out of it. Monday morning, she took a seat by her desk with a mug of coffee and turned her computers on. Her e-mail held a list of things to update as well as a couple of new assignments, but staring at the monitors gave no inspiration.

  Maybe some toast would do it. Cinnamon toast with a dab of butter both smelled and tasted good.

  Okay, now I'm going to perform work. I wonder if Jimmy has a job. Probably not. Those guys probably make a living out of trading weapons or selling drugs or something. Gosh, Mona is right, I watch too much TV. He might work in a store, or even have a desk job.

  She opened the backend of a client's website, and stared at the code. Norm
ally, she was fluent in a number of computer programming languages, but this morning, even the simple HTML code that made up the webpage seemed to come from another world.

  Her eyes fell on her hands resting on the keyboard.

  Why can't I have pretty nails like normal people?

  And, where did that come from? I've never cared about my nails before.

  Trying to work was clearly futile. She went into the bathroom and stuck her tongue out at her reflection.

  "Why am I such an idiot?"

  She spent most of the morning fixing her hair, trying on clothes, and tearing them off again. Luckily, Mona came over early.

  "You're climbing the walls, aren't you? I brought lunch. Hey, those kids are sitting in the car again."

  It was too much to answer at once, and Sharon settled for the last question. "Oh yeah? They're there every day. At least she leaves the car running. I guess they have the air on."

  Her friend put pleasant-smelling bags with Thai food on the counter and frowned.

  "You should call someone, you know."

  "I don't know who. I mean, I think it's wrong, but it's not illegal, is it?"

  Mona shrugged. "Child services. I'd consider it child abuse. Look into it."

  "I think she does drugs."

  "The mom? Who owns the house?"

  When Sharon didn't answer, Mona frowned. "I'm serious. They're so small they can't take care of themselves. I mean, sure, I left my kids but I left them with their dad, not sitting in a car. Hey, are you really wearing that?"

  Sharon looked down at herself. She thought the red shirt and short black skirt were quite flattering.

  "Why? Does it make me look dumb?"

  "I thought you're going on a motorcycle."

  So...?

  Mona rolled her eyes.

  "You need something practical. Like... jeans, real shoes, and a jacket. You could take my leather pants, but that's not your style."

  "Oh..."

  It was winter, but winter in the south could seem like summer. Sitting on a bike would probably be cold. Was there a reason for all those jeans and leather jackets?

  With a little help she was soon practical, comfortable, and at least kind of cute. She would have preferred stunning, but cute would have to do.

  Mona said, "Lemme see your purse."

  Sharon handed it over. What did her handbag have to do with anything?

  "This is fine for shopping, but what will you do with it on the bike?" She adjusted the straps. "Now it's practical. Wear it across your shoulder. And..." She pulled out the pink Glock. "You remember how to use this, right?"

  They had been to the shooting range once, a both exhilarating and terrifying experience.

  "I'll just shoot myself in the foot or something..."

  "No, you won't. Show me what to do with it."

  When Mona was satisfied, she dropped the gun in Sharon's purse. "See, nothing to worry about."

  "Won't I get in trouble for having that?"

  What was so funny? Mona looked about to burst with laughter.

  "You have a concealed carry permit, remember? We got them together? Besides, would you rather need a gun and not have one, or have one and not need it?"

  I'm so confused.

  The purse became bulky and heavy with the gun inside, but Mona might be right. Jimmy didn't come across as dangerous, but one never knew, and he might bring friends. Nothing wrong with being prepared when doing something new and potentially dangerous.

  Mona grinned. "It's not okay to shoot him just for making a move on you, or for not making a move on you."

  "You think you're so funny."

  "That's because I am funny."

  Each minute seemed to take on the length of a day, and when the time came, Sharon was convinced Jimmy wouldn't show up.

  He probably forgot about me. Maybe he wasn't serious to start with. What would a guy like him want with a girl like me anyway? I'm sure there are better fits for him where he is.

  "He's here."

  Sharon sat up as if she'd had a spring in her back.

  "Really? That wasn't loud."

  "Maybe he fixed it. Ooh, he's cute. Go on, get out there."

  Stepping out on the porch took a fair amount of courage, and she stopped again, right outside. There was something sexy about a man straddling a large machine.

  The thought made her cheeks heat.

  I hope I don't look like a tomato.

  Jimmy smiled and waved, but didn't look at her. Following his gaze, she saw Mona disappear from the window.

  "Roommate?"

  "Friend."

  He got off the bike and towered over her.

  "You're looking out for each other, that's good. You need to be careful when dealing with guys like me."

  His eyes glittered and it didn't sound like a warning, but she still asked, "Why? Do I need to be afraid?"

  The question made him laugh.

  "Not a bit."

  Standing close to it, the motorcycle was both colossal and intimidating. She attempted to postpone closer contact with it. "Wanna come inside? Say hi to Mona and have some coffee?"

  Jimmy grinned. "No. It's a fine day for being outside. See, I even put that on for ya."

  He poked the muffler with his foot and glanced towards her, shaking his head just a little to get the hair out of his eyes.

  I have butterflies in my stomach, this can't be good.

  She didn't have time to say anything. He produced a helmet and plopped it down over her head, adjusting it deftly.

  "Why aren't you wearing one?"

  "There's nothing in my dumb old head to protect. You, on the other hand, are a clever girl working with computers and stuff. I have to take care of you."

  Building websites for nearby industries wasn't exactly working with computers, but close enough. If he thought her smart, she wouldn't shatter the illusion.

  He was already back on the bike and patted the seat behind him.

  "First time?"

  "Yes."

  As much as she hated to admit her ignorance, she had no idea what to do.

  Jimmy winked. "Just trust me. Lean with me and don't fight it."

  Swinging her leg over and adjusting her purse over her shoulder seemed reasonable, but what was she supposed to do with her hands?

  As if reading her mind, he said, "Hold on to me, okay?"

  "Hold on to you?"

  Just sitting so close made her heart race. Touching him was surely morally dangerous, and she put her hands carefully on his hips.

  "Oh my God, woman, I'm not going to eat you."

  Why did everyone she met sound like they were about to fall over with laughter? Was she really that comical?

  She leaned forward to wrap her arms around him. His clothes looked like they would smell like sweat and smoke, but he smelled like fresh laundry and leather. The ever-reasoning part of her mind cried out. You still have a chance to run. Go back inside, go back to everything normal, and stop this folly right now!

  Closing her eyes made the voice go away, and she forced herself not to let her hands wander. Why was temptation so hard to resist?

  He fired up the engine and it was all she could do not to scream. First with fear, and soon with undiluted joy.

  Chapter Three

  Jimmy drove towards the beach, and the combination of speed and sitting so close was intoxicating.

  He pulled into a parking lot much too quick, and she had to force herself to relax the grip on him.

  Please don't stop, just keep going. We can go see what Key West looks like or something. That should take a while.

  Would he find her crazy if she asked to go further?

  He turned towards her and smiled.

  "You okay back there?"

  "Yes. I was hoping you'd never stop."

  His eyes smiled and he brushed a finger against her cheek.

  "We can go a bit further soon."

  Touch me more. I'd pay to have you touch me more. Damn, I'm lost
, aren't I? This can never end well.

  "Get up. I won't abandon you here, I promise."

  But I don't want to move...

  She obeyed anyway, of course. They walked side-by-side down the beach, and she giggled when he ambled towards an ice cream stand. He did not strike her as a man who would like ice cream.

  Jimmy squinted and scrutinized her.

  "I figure you for... blueberry and... butter pecan?"

  "I didn't think men knew blueberries existed, or pecans. You know, you're not at all what I expected when I saw you on the road yesterday."

  He winked, eyes glittering with mischief.

  "I'm sorry I don't live up to the stereotype."

  It didn't take long before she held a huge ice cream cone—and struggled not to spill it all over herself. Eating never used to be this difficult.

  Jimmy didn't seem to have any such problems. He strolled to a bench, stretched his long legs in front of him, and one arm along the backrest behind her, not quite touching, but almost.

  She wanted to rest her head against him. Did he have someone who did that? Would he hold her if she did?

  At least he didn't seem able to read thoughts. He ate ice cream and pointed at people passing them.

  "See that guy over there? He drank Diet Coke and ate Mentos until he almost exploded. Now he's banned from buying soda. Was in the hospital for a month. True story."

  "That can't be true."

  "Of course it is. That girl, the blonde over there, she tried to climb Mount Everest, but she was so skinny the wind caught her and blew her all the way down."

  He didn't miss a beat; he told bizarre anecdotes about everyone in sight. Once he got going, she laughed so much she had to dry her eyes. He didn't ask anything about her, no awkward getting-to-know-you-on-the-first-date conversation. It made her feel like she'd always known him.

  Just as she relaxed for real, she spilled ice cream.

  "Oh crap."

  "I'll get some more napkins."

  She snuck her phone out and sent a text to Mona, "Having best day ever!!!!"