My Biker Bodyguard

by Turner, J. R.

  Detective Larson chose that time to come into the room. "Good morning Mrs. Kramer. Mitch," he said, turning to him. "You're leaving?"

  Mitch nodded. "Yeah. But what's happening?"

  More eager to talk about legal business than to upset Beth at the mention of her daughter's imminent return to Milwaukee, and to avoid feeling like he was a kid caught with his hand in the familial cookie jar, he waited for the detective to respond.

  "Well, the clean up's all done at the estate. The security guy, Pullman, he'll be all right. Already he's trying to break out of the hospital and get back to work. Mrs. Kramer, you've got yourself one loyal employee there."

  She smiled in a curious way. One that had Mitch thinking that maybe Pullman was more than just an employee to her. Could that be what had sparked off Jared? Could he have sensed Beth growing close to someone and mistakenly thought it had been Dirty Dan?

  "Thank you, detective." Beth offered Larson a seat by waving toward a chair. He sat with a groan and a creak of vinyl as she said, "I only wish that I could have remembered sooner, been able to keep Jess from coming here."

  "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. There's a few things we want to make sense of. A few loose ends." Larson flipped open his notepad. "When you were shot, we couldn't find any trace of an intruder, just the broken skylight."

  She nodded and sat forward. "Yes. Jared and I fought. I fell trying to get to the door. Or he tripped me, it's still a little hazy. But I remember he shot me and the sound was so loud. I heard Mitch coming, running. Jared shot the skylight then. I think to make his alibi sound good. Jess told me, last night, that Jared said he planned to kill himself once I was…dead."

  Mitch exhaled largely, rubbed the stubble on his chin. That made more sense. If he hadn't been so cocksure that Jared was an innocent bystander in all of this, he would have put it together himself. The way Jared had carried on about losing Beth, how he'd hurried to get to the phone and called an ambulance, now appeared to be less about Beth being all right, and more about his loss of control over the situation. "I'm sorry I didn't put it together sooner. I should have."

  Larson shrugged. "We always knew the scene was hinky. Reason the FBI tried to finger you, Mitch. They thought you were in on it, had helped out by leaving a hole in the security grid."

  "What about the confession we got outta Marlboro Man?" Mitch said. "Punch was his name."

  Larson nodded. "D.A. spoke with him late yesterday. Word is, Punch was paid by Jared to name Grady if he got pinched. The transfer went through electronically the day of the shooting. Jared must have planned to off everyone or he wouldn't have gotten so sloppy."

  Jess came into the room, trailing that sweet vanilla scent behind her, carrying the suitcase she'd brought with her from Milwaukee. Her face was troubled, but cleared when she realized Beth had other visitors.

  "Hi guys. Detective Larson, I wasn't expecting to see you again." Jess set down her suitcase and came to Mitch's side, her hands in the back of her jeans. "I'm glad I get the chance to thank you for helping my family, and for smoothing out things with the feds after Mitch hitched a ride on that helicopter."

  Larson waved a hand. "It was nothing."

  "Heck it was." Mitch sat up. "She's right, you've got my thanks for that too. I'd probably be brought up on charges if it weren't for you."

  Beth said, "Jess, you're leaving now?"

  Jess went to the hospital bed and touched the rail gently. "I've gotta get back to the shop and make sure things are all right back home. But we'll talk on the phone and you can come visit, like we planned."

  Beth nodded and covered Jess's hand where it rested on the railing. "I'll do that. Tell your father for me that I…hope he's happy and I wish him nothing but the best."

  "I will." Jess kissed her mother on the cheek. "I can't wait to see you again."

  "Me either. Doesn't seem as if we've had enough time, does it?" Beth patted Jess's hand once. She pulled back to lift herself a little higher on the bed. "I never did have a chance to ask, but did your father ever remarry? I know that he was still single last year, but just…I'm curious. I wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes if I plan to visit."

  "No, my father never remarried." Jess smiled. "But he does have a girlfriend he's been keeping secret from me. I've met her though. She isn't the drama queen type. Very laid back. I'm sure you and she will get along just fine."

  "Good to know. You be safe on your way home."

  "I will." Jess turned to Mitch and raised an eyebrow. "You ready?"

  "Mitch is going with you?" Beth asked, her surprise evident in the depth of her eyes.

  Mitch cleared his throat and stood. "Yeah, well, y'know. Jess is…a little hard headed, but I finally sweet-talked her into giving me a chance."

  "My, my, my," Larson said. "Guess the feds weren't so far off the mark."

  Mitch smiled at Larson. "Shut up."

  "Well, now, this is something new," Beth said. The slight frown on her brow disappeared as she turned a pleased smile on Jess. "You couldn't have picked a better man. I'm sure he'll take excellent care of you."

  Jess's own smile faltered a tad. "We'll take care of each other."

  "Of course." Beth clasped her hands together. For a moment, Mitch saw the vulnerable side of Jess under that gaze. The side that had made itself clear to him how very alone Jess was, surrounded by her father's friends and none of her own.

  "You'll have to come out and visit us, Beth. Really. We'll make sure to visit you."

  "I know you will." Beth shook herself a little. "There's so much to do! I can hardly think of everything I've been wanting to get done and haven't, without a little thrill going through me. To think, the world is my oyster, my daughter has been returned to me, and she's looking at a happy future. Never would have dreamed that such great things could happen to me and my family."

  "Me either," Jess said with a smile. She leaned into Mitch's side when he put his arm around her.

  Larson stood. "Thank you, Mrs. Kramer, for your help in the investigation." He turned to Mitch and Jess. "I'll wish you both the best in Milwaukee. Mitch, you get back to town, look me up. Anytime. Right now, I gotta go do a load of paperwork." He paused, holding the door open. "Ain't life grand?"

  Mitch nodded. "It sure is."

  Epilogue

  One Year Later "Now don't go bustin' her up," Dirty Dan said. "Just got her right as rain and I don't want no pansy-assed Californian blowin' her tranny on her first ride."

  Mitch straddled the big Harley, keys in hand and smiled. "Don't worry Pops, I'll take good care of her."

  Dan grunted and squinted at him. "You better."

  Jess knew he meant more than the motorcycle. Straddling her own hot pink Harley Davidson, she was ready to go and didn't want to wait around any longer to be on their way. From the look on her father's face, he was winding up for another lecture on the merits of staying close to home. Thankfully, J.D. saved her.

  He clapped Dan on the shoulder and said, "C'mon Pops, we got a party waiting. Tiny's about to show Beth where he got that Geisha girl tat."

  "Oh God, Dad, you better go save her. That's a whole lot more than she's ready to see." Jess chuckled. Tiny wore that particular tattoo on his left butt cheek. Dan came between her and Mitch where they sat on their motorcycles and gave her a hug. She said, "We'll be fine. I love you. Now go on."

  She waved to him as he started back to the cookout. Behind him, Trash waved to her from across the parking lot. A whole chorus of farewells rose in the afternoon sunshine.

  Mitch looked at her, his face creased in a huge smile. "You ready, luscious?"

  "Honey, I been ready all my life."

  He winked at her. "Don't call me honey."

  She laughed as he leaned close and kissed her on the lips, zapping her with the promise of what would come that night when they were finally alone again. "You can be my biker bodyguard anytime you want."

  "Anytime?"

  "Yeah, if you can keep up." Jess slipped
her sunglasses on and turned the ignition on her Harley. She let it rip and roar for a moment before leading the way out to the main street.

  On the back of each of their motorcycles waved two black flags with white lettering. On Mitch's the word "Just" and on hers, the word "Married" waved in the wind as they rode off on their cross-country, sight-seeing honeymoon far, far away from her backyard.

  THE END

  Stark Knight

  A Knight's Inc. Adventure Book One

  Turn the Page to Read an Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE Don't kick. Don't move.

  Sara Stark dug her fingers into the dirt edge of the chasm. Her flashlight lay shattered somewhere far below her dangling legs. Utter blackness amplified each rasp of breath. Drake should be here, not back in Houston sitting behind a desk. No way would he sweet-talk himself out of this one.

  The packet had been waiting for her at the airport. A simple mission: penetrate an abandoned mine and find a stolen medallion. Drake said no guards, said it was an in-and-out operation, an easy job.

  Easy my ass.

  With a grunt, she pressed one heel against the side of the opposite boot. A blade clicked open from the boot's toe and she buried it in the dirt wall, giving her the leverage needed to boost herself onto solid ground. Grey light filtered forward from the depths of the catacomb passages, carrying with it the echoing shouts of Mexican guards. They shouldn't have had any interest in stopping her, yet they'd almost killed her.

  Resting against the wall, her breath still harsh, she evaluated her options. She was too tired to outrun them and without a flashlight, they'd catch her before she fumbled her way to the exit. The Tazer on her belt might help, if they didn't take her down before she could zap them all. She needed an edge, an element of surprise.

  Bare earthen walls emerged from the ink around her as the guards closed in. Support beams rose up each side of the passage and abutted a thicker one above. The big beam offered some hope. The shaft was narrow enough, if she worked fast and ignored her weariness, she'd have the edge she needed.

  Sara sucked in the dank odor of moldering lumber and leaned forward. Palms pressed against the wall in front of her, legs braced on the wall behind her, she worked her way up spider-style until her back brushed the ceiling. Hidden behind the beam, knees locked, arms burning from the pressure, she waited and tried not to sweat.

  They called her awful names in Spanish. With luck, they'd fall into the hole for that alone. But flashlights, jostling in the hands of running men, lit every surface, including the grubby edges of the hole.

  Great, if they see me, I'll be nothing but a glorified piñata.

  Luck was not on her side. They slowed, their lights illuminating the broken blackness in the floor. Five to one, each armed with made-in-America M2 Brownings.

  Just perfect.

  Not terrible odds, but it could have been better. A tremor ran through her arms and she silently cursed Drake again. Where the hell was the Intel on this job? Someone better have some damn good answers. This wasn't in her job description.

  The guards leaned over the chasm, searching for her. From her vantage point, the pieces of her flashlight were small on the bottom of the wide cavern beneath. Better the light than her, she supposed, and better to act now before her limbs gave out. She released herself.

  The rush of air from her descent was their only warning. Twisting in midair, she planted the sole of each boot into the backs of two guards. The pair plunged headfirst into the crater with matching cries of surprised fear. She landed, rolled, and flipped to her feet.

  The remaining three whirled on her and Sara drove her fist into the center guard's nose. He windmilled on the precipice for a scant second, then dropped in to join his pals. The shorter, stocky hombre on her left reacted faster than the stringbean on her right.

  A roundhouse kick to the side of Stocky's head kept him from raising the muzzle of his weapon. Stringbean didn't lift his M2. His thin, incredibly strong arms grabbed her in a bear hug. They plunged against the wall in a cloud of hair oil, gun oil, and rank cologne.

  Air exploded from her lungs with a woof. Dirt sifted over them. She went limp, pretending more than her sense of smell had been injured. He grinned, proving the ploy worked.

  Just give me an opening.

  Playing the frightened female, she slumped further down the wall. He taunted her with a lurid comment and a slimy smile.

  Thank you.

  She brought her knee up in a hard, quick thrust. His mouth curled into a small 'o' of surprised pain. A gurgling, high-pitched whine whistled from his throat. He fell to his knees, clutching the crotch of his khaki pants.

  Satisfied, she yanked the Tazer from the back of her belt and delivered a jolt that would keep him immobile for fifteen minutes. He collapsed, face down.

  Stocky howled with blind rage behind her. She turned, sidestepped him easily, and touched the Tazer to his back. His momentum propelled him headfirst into the wall. He landed on the outstretched arm of his partner.

  She exhaled a relieved breath. Smiling, she said, "You two make such a cute couple."

  Unable to move, they only stared at her with anguished eyes. The Tazer nestled back in her belt, she patted the drawstring bag tied over one hip. The medallion hadn't appeared to be worth much–neither for the effort it had taken to steal and hide it here, nor the expense of hiring her to find it.

  Despite the perplexing interference of the guards, she'd succeeded and the client would be pleased. On the other hand, Drake would not be happy to see her. Boss's son or not, he had a lot to answer for.

  From the bottom of the cavern, the three guards yelled for help. She plucked a flashlight from the floor and shined the beam into the hole. In Spanish she explained their compadres would recover soon and rescue them. She wriggled her fingers in a cheerful wave. They raised their M2's and uselessly fired as she moved out of range.

  In the following quiet, she chuckled and called, "It's been a slice, gentlemen."

  Sara left the mine with the treasure and a grin.

  Drake flipped through the long list of repairs. The east wing needed new paint, patching, and a thorough refurnishing after their live-round exercise last week. The upper floors of the sprawling estate were in dire need of rewiring and two guest cottages had suffered flooding during the late summer rains. None of which was of great concern, he just hated the boring duty of hiring men and signing checks.

  Starlight Estate, as his mother had named the old family home, had expanded like an elephant off the diet-wagon. In the last decade an indoor pool, the dojo, the gymnasium, and the armory, not to mention scads of smaller structures for security and training, had increased the sixteen rooms to nearly thirty.

  Knight, Inc., the family acquisitions and recovery company, generated ample funds for the upkeep. He'd soon take over the enterprise after his father, Colonel Bruce Knight, retired for the second time. The ex-military man's focus lay more in Washington these days than it did back home.

  The television glowed mutely from a walnut cabinet. Tuned to CNBC, Senator Halley commanded the media's attention with a finger-pointing declaration of some sort. Drake didn't care for the man, an opinion based on the current feud between his father and the senator.

  The outer door slammed, followed by echoing shouts in the large foyer. Drake clicked the television off, eager for the interruption. Only one person in the world entered his home like that. Stark.

  From the thudding footfalls bearing down on him, he guessed she wasn't happy about Mexico. He adjusted his cuffs and unsuccessfully tried to control his smile. If there was anything more interesting than a pissed off woman, it was a pissed off Stark.

  Fritz appeared, more friend than butler, his wizened face puckered with concern. Drake waved him back through the red oak doors. No one could stop a freight train with polite cajoling.

  "Drake!" She shouted as she banged into the room. "Easy job? Why the hell didn't I know the mine was guarded?"

  "Hello, Stark.
It's good to see you," he said mildly. She hadn't stopped to shower or change after their pilot had returned her to Houston. Mine dirt clung to her clothes and the thick, golden braid down her back was dulled to an amber hue. But there was nothing dull about the snapping green eyes peering between the ragged locks of her bangs. "I take it Mexico was more difficult than you were prepared for?"

  About the Author: Award-winning author J.R. Turner fell in love with storytelling at an early age–only back then they called it telling tales. After a decade working as a contract artist and craft instructor for the Milwaukee Public School system, she returned to writing after moving to her hometown in central Wisconsin in 1999. A million or so words later, her debut novel, Stark Knight was released in 2005. Today she enjoys exploring exciting plots and living her passion–only now she calls it working. Whether it's word smithing during dinner, scene crafting while driving, or supposing "what if" while reading the warning label on toothpaste, she finds intrigue in the smallest details. Her love of action and adventure, coupled with the desire for a happy ending, have defined her style and granted her wide appeal. She lives with her husband, three children and the family cat–who is also an aspiring typist.