Riding Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  “Then why are you crying?”

  She cast her gaze toward the horrifying scene around them. He could read the concern in her troubled expression. They’d just made a very narrow escape. She was worried that their actions here would haunt them. Dirty Forever wasn’t just a motto; it was a way of life. Getting out unscathed wasn’t easy. Just ask Ace.

  Cole spent the next few minutes wiping down the SUV with a handkerchief. Then he studied the hard-packed sand for boot marks. The terrain worked to their advantage, making it almost impossible to leave prints.

  He went over the story with Mia. Dimebag and Gonzo had found them at the summit. Mia and Cole had been brought by gunpoint to this remote location. Cole went crazy after Gonzo pulled Mia out of the vehicle. Cole started fighting Dimebag. Mia struggled with Gonzo. Cole defeated Dimebag, took his gun and shot Gonzo in the back. Although it was Bill’s gun, not Dimebag’s, Cole assumed it was unregistered.

  The story was close to the truth and easy to remember. Mia wasn’t a great liar, but she could be vague. She’d peed her pants and panicked. No one would expect her to describe the events in photographic detail. As long as there was no evidence placing Wild Bill at the scene, they’d be okay.

  There was a cell phone in the SUV that Mia used to call WITSEC. The situation had to be handled with kid gloves. They couldn’t avoid Damon Vargas. Reporting him for misconduct would only draw more suspicion.

  Thirty minutes later, squad cars descended on the scene in a cloud of dust. Two uniformed officers forced Cole to the ground and handcuffed him, despite Mia’s protests. He didn’t mind. He expected this treatment.

  They were taken to separate cars to be interviewed while crime scene investigators combed over the scene. Mia sat in the backseat of a squad car, trembling with anxiety. She told the same story over and over again. By the third time, even she believed it. She had to own up to her affair with Cole, but she didn’t disclose every sordid detail.

  The detectives she spoke to seemed satisfied. They exchanged a few smirks over her unprofessional behavior, which didn’t surprise her. Men in law enforcement were no less sexist than the general population. Sometimes, they were decidedly more so. The two detectives left her in the backseat with a bottle of water.

  Damon arrived in his unmarked vehicle a few minutes later. She watched as he inspected the bodies and the SUV, her heart racing. After chatting with the crime scene investigators, he joined her. He was wearing a wrinkled suit again, and his eyes were bloodshot. He smelled like the breath mints he used to mask the scent of alcohol. It was late, so he’d probably been called in from home. Or whatever dark corner he inhabited during his off hours.

  Mia took a sip of water, saying nothing. Another squad car drove away with Cole in the backseat, still handcuffed.

  “I was worried about you,” Damon said.

  She believed him. Maybe he’d been more worried about his career, which was the only thing he seemed able to hold on to, but he cared about her. Their relationship was similar to Cole’s with his uncle. Damon was a ruthless manipulator, flirting with disaster. She hoped he’d get help before it was too late.

  “You haven’t mentioned the bug.”

  “I figured it was confidential.”

  He smiled without humor at her mild descriptor. A better one would have been illegal. “Your husband’s murderers are both dead. Congratulations.”

  Mia felt no triumph whatsoever, but she had gained a sense of closure. She knew why Bill had killed Philip. A part of her wished her husband had cooperated during the robbery. Another part recognized that he’d done what came naturally to him. He hadn’t meant to risk her life, or endanger his own. He’d just reacted in a certain way, and so had she. So did everyone.

  “I’m assuming I won’t be allowed to practice forensic psychology again.”

  “That’s a fair assumption.”

  “We won’t be working together.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I’ll miss you.”

  She studied him for a moment, uncomfortable in his presence. He needed to move on, not pine away for a woman he couldn’t have. Or the mother he’d lost too soon.

  “You should see someone about your nightmares.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Will I get relocated?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about Cole?”

  “They’re going to claim the two men killed each other in a drug deal gone wrong. It’s cheaper and safer to circulate a fake story.”

  “Will he be charged with any crimes?”

  Damon rubbed a hand over his mouth, deliberating.

  “Let’s make a deal,” Mia said. “I won’t say anything about our last conversation, and you pull some strings for Cole.”

  “I can probably get the parole violations dismissed.”

  “If you don’t, you’ll be sorry.”

  “I’m already sorry,” he said, looking away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  30 days later

  MIA STEPPED OUT of the retirement home and into the sunlight.

  Cole was waiting for her in the parking lot. She’d wanted to say goodbye to her mother before they left town. He was standing next to his bike, wearing his typical riding gear. Half helmet, sunglasses, jeans, motorcycle boots. The only difference was his leather. He had on full sleeves, having retired his cut.

  They’d reunited yesterday morning, after spending a month apart. Damon hadn’t filed any charges, but the DA felt it was necessary for Cole to spend some time in the county jail. It provided him with an alibi, which was convenient. According to court documents, he’d been picked up the same day he’d destroyed his ankle monitor. Getting incarcerated also provided him with protection and a believable reason to disappear from the area. The official story was that Cole would return to Chino to finish his sentence in solitary confinement. In reality, he’d be living in a halfway house in Northern California.

  Cole had bought his freedom with information about White Lightning’s involvement in the kidnapping of a presidential candidate’s daughter. He had to make himself available for general consulting about motorcycle clubs while he was on parole. It wasn’t much, but the DA seemed satisfied. Thanks to Cole, there were two fewer dangerous criminals on the loose.

  White Lightning had been abuzz with rumors about Dimebag Arno and Gonzo Lowe. Word on the street was that the two men had quarreled over drug money. Gonzo had stabbed Dimebag in the neck. Dimebag had drawn his gun and shot Gonzo. They’d both fallen and bled to death.

  This version of events was accepted as truth. Gonzo had kept his collaboration with Bill a secret, and Dimebag had been struggling with meth addiction, skimming off the top. It was no surprise that he’d come to a bad end.

  Wild Bill Shepherd had sold his hotel and bought King’s Castle. Cole hadn’t spoken to his uncle since the incident at Tranquility Springs, and he didn’t plan to. Jester Arno had risen into power within White Lightning, and he was stirring up old resentments with Dirty Eleven. The two clubs were at war again.

  Mia had also spent the month in flux. She’d been asked to submit her resignation, along with a sealed letter in which she admitted to having sexual contact with a patient after hours. If she sought work as a forensic psychologist again, prospective employers could check into her record, and she’d have a lot of explaining to do. That was fair. The punishment fit the crime. She’d owned up to what she’d done, and she was ready to move in a new direction.

  She had the option of assuming her original identity after a year passed. Now that her killers were both “dead,” there was little or no danger in her coming out of hiding. The only problem was Cole. She couldn’t have a relationship with him as Michelle Ruiz, victim of Gonzo Lowe. It might draw suspicion from Cole’s enemies. So she’d decided to stay Mia. It felt right. She wasn’t the same person she used to be. Cole knew her and loved her as Mia. They’d have each other, and that was enough.

  Her husband’s murder case had been quietl
y closed. Mia had named Rylan Shepherd and Gonzo Lowe as the culprits. Her statement was locked inside a confidential file not available to the public.

  While Cole was in jail, she’d started doing research for her book. She’d learned of The Trailblazer, a serial killer who’d targeted women on nature trails in the San Francisco area. Maybe it was an odd choice for someone with Mia’s personal history to study grisly deaths and psychological disorders. But it felt empowering for her to learn about the victims and delve into the killer’s motivations. Even if she never organized the material into a book, collecting it was a worthwhile exercise, and part of her healing process.

  San Carlos, where they were headed, was a small town on the outskirts of San Francisco. Mia had rented an apartment close to the halfway house where Cole would be living for the next six months. He had a job lined up at a loading dock, but his weekends were free to spend however he wished. As long as he stayed out of trouble.

  To Mia, the arrangement sounded like heaven.

  She’d met him yesterday at the bus stop. He’d put a down payment on a used motorcycle. The bike he’d borrowed from Jigsaw had been impounded. Her Prius was in San Carlos already, along with the rest of her things. She’d made the trip earlier in the week and flown back to Riverside.

  They’d spent last night in a hotel. She’d thought he’d be eager to strip off her clothes and take pleasure in her body. He’d surprised her by wanting to just hold her, and look at her, and talk to her. They’d touched and kissed for hours. When he finally made love to her, it was agonizingly slow and sweet. She’d cried afterward, overwhelmed with emotion. The joy of being with him again, of being alive...it was too much. Too big for her heart.

  Fresh tears pricked her eyes as she approached him.

  “How did it go, Red?” he asked.

  Mia just shook her head. She’d gone back to her natural hair color, but her mother still hadn’t remembered her. They’d had a nice chat about the cooler weather. Mia said she wouldn’t be visiting for a while, maybe not until spring. Her mother had frowned for a moment, almost as if she had a flicker of memory. The she’d smiled and patted Mia’s hand goodbye.

  Cole brushed his lips over hers. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  The trip to San Carlos took about eight hours. It was almost dark when they arrived at Mia’s apartment. The evening air was cold and moisture-laden, so different from Indio. Cole didn’t have to check in with the halfway house until tomorrow morning, so he could stay here with her tonight. She led him up the narrow stairway to her third-floor apartment. It was a small space, cozy and quaint, with antique furnishings. She’d put a desk by the window in the bedroom. The real draw was the location.

  When he looked out at the runway, she held her breath in anticipation.

  “You rented an apartment right next to an airport?”

  “It was a good deal.” That was true; the cost of living in the San Francisco area was sky-high. She could afford a nicer place, but this one felt right. “I thought you might like to take lessons on the weekend.”

  “I’ll have to pay off the bike first.”

  She smiled at this statement, which sounded so earnest and responsible. Her heart filled up again, threatening to spill over. “It’s just for small aircraft, so hopefully it won’t be too noisy.”

  He tore his gaze away from the window and studied her instead.

  “What do you think?” she asked, twining her arms around his neck.

  “I think you’re amazing.”

  “Are you going to miss being an outlaw?”

  “We can be outlaws in bed.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, already excited. “Am I still your property?”

  His eyes darkened with interest. “If you want to be.”

  “Maybe we should join the mile-high club,” she said in his ear, rubbing her thumb over his spider web tattoo. “Or have sex on your motorcycle.”

  He swept her off her feet and carried her across the room, depositing her on the soft mattress. “I’m not sure about the mile-high club in a small aircraft, but the motorcycle thing can definitely be done.”

  “I won’t ask how you know that.”

  “I love you, Mia.”

  “I love you, too. So much it hurts.”

  “It hurts? I’ll just have to kiss it better.” He removed her clothes between kisses. When she was naked, he pulled his shirt over his head and stretched out beside her. “Tell me where it hurts, baby.”

  “Here,” she said, touching her lips.

  He kissed them dutifully. Then she circled her nipples, so he kissed her there. And when she smoothed her hand down her belly, parting her thighs, his mouth followed. After teasing her with soft kisses, he lifted his head. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh.” He unbuttoned his pants. “Maybe this will help.”

  She dug her fingernails into his back and wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping as he entered her. “Oh yes.”

  “Are you better yet?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  He curled his hands under her shoulders and thrust into her, hard and deep. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I want this to last forever, Mia.”

  “Yes,” she said, threading her hands through his hair. He crushed his mouth over hers, filling her to the hilt, over and over again.

  Mia and Cole, forever.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

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  ISBN: 9781459256545

  Riding Dirty

  Copyright © 2014 by Jill Sorenson

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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