Understanding did not deflect Virginia from her own survival for one second. She twisted to find him in the kitchen. “I didn’t catch your name?” She smiled, suddenly appalled at the hesitation pulling her mouth tight. It should not matter that the girl in the frothy dress wanted him. Virginia needed someone. Tourmaline bothered with love, Virginia dealt in life, and there could be no first without the second.
“Just the conscript,” Jason answered instead.
“Cash,” Tourmaline said.
The entire table froze.
Virginia turned back. Instantly, her stomach twisted.
It wasn’t anything new—the look on Tourmaline’s face—but for some reason it stung. This should have been clean and painless. Instead, Virginia wanted to fix it. To take it back. To apologize and somehow keep Tourmaline from hating her.
And with no prospects, no plan, and the only reason she was allowed at that table hating her, Virginia’s future looked dim.
Tourmaline lifted her chin, jaw jutting forward, and heartbeat pounding in her head. Why had she been calling him the conscript? He wasn’t her conscript. He wasn’t anything but a man who’d lost his dad and who had stood on a dark road asking what she might want for herself. And that man’s name was . . .
“Cash Hawkins,” Tourmaline repeated, meeting Virginia’s eyes only because she didn’t have the nerve to meet her father’s.
The food was served. The conversation flowed.
Virginia started talking with Tourmaline’s father about someone they both knew whom Tourmaline didn’t.
Jason openly stared. Or glared. It was always hard to tell.
Tourmaline’s stomach churned. She needed to get out. Get some air. A lot of air. “Excuse me.” She pushed away from the table, eager to leave.
No one noticed. Her father’s phone started ringing and he got up to answer. Jason kept his gaze fixed on Virginia. Virginia winked back. Cash put pots in the sink. No one was following. No one cared.
Tourmaline left the house dizzy. One minute she held all the keys and all the doors and the world was all hers, as long as she stayed in her place, and the next moment she’d been tossed out with nothing of her own. Neither felt like what she wanted.
She pulled on her boots instead of flip-flops. Her stomach was alive and trembling as she dug through her father’s truck for a smoke, and tried to decide whether to give in to the urge to scream. Shuddering, she lit it and took a deep breath.
Why ride a biker when there was a bike she’d already put some work into?
She flicked the smoke into a puddle and stalked toward the garage. Hello, Shovelhead.
Her heart beat wildly at the thought of someone seeing her. As if they were catching her with one leg in her pants and her head stuck inside her shirt.
But no one did.
The evening light spilled into the shadowed garage. The stretch of concrete between her and the outside was clear. Tourmaline put her head down and pushed, legs straining to roll the Shovelhead outside and hauling back to keep the long, low monster of iron from rolling away.
Taking a deep breath, Tourmaline turned the bike on, pulled out the choke cable, and twisted the throttle a few times to open up the lines. Come on, she prayed with a furtive glance toward the house, and threw her whole body into a vicious kick.
The engine barked to life—a deep, ripping bellow that unzipped a rush of blushing fear and excitement through her body. She threw her leg over, torn between embarrassment at doing this and embarrassment at being embarrassed.
They’d seen her now—Dad and Jason. They shouted over the engine. Coming to drag her back while Virginia and Cash looked on.
Tourmaline bit her cheek and pretended they weren’t there. If she got held up here, she’d be held here forever—always afraid of the spaces where she wasn’t allowed to go. She eased the choke cable back to the sweet spot in the engine and began to feather the clutch.
The road materialized from the raindrops left on the leaves. The shimmer of evening sun. The heat rising off the drying asphalt. Her heartbeat rocketed along with the RPMs. The bike moved forward, putting the noise, the confusion of people, and the whole world behind her.
It didn’t seem as if the three men Tourmaline left behind should have been as shocked as they were that the little dogwood flower on the branch had unfolded into some deadly wood sprite and roared off on their old bike.
Tourmaline’s father stood in the driveway staring at the road where Tourmaline had gone. “Should I go after her?” But he didn’t look as if he were asking either Jason or Cash. “She’s not wearing a helmet.” He frowned and turned to the garage. “She doesn’t fucking know how to ride!” he yelled to no one in particular.
Virginia stayed silent. Still. Fading into the trees and the side of the house. If she caught his attention in the wrong way, in the wrong moment, she’d be gone. Especially without Tourmaline here. Better to wait for an opening rather than try to force something. Her phone buzzed and she twisted away from the men to check it.
From Hazard. Come by the office tomorrow. 9am.
Virginia shoved the phone back into her pocket and took a deep breath. It was okay. She’d make what she had work for him. She could handle this.
“You don’t think she’ll run into anyone,” Tourmaline’s father said. “Right?”
“We can go out after her,” Jason said.
Cash’s gaze flickered between the road and Tourmaline’s dad, and his mouth looked as if it wanted to smile but knew what was best for itself.
They’d all finish dinner though, right? Virginia’s mouth watered, and without thinking, she shifted toward the house.
Jason spun.
Virginia ducked. And immediately realized her mistake.
Their eyes locked, and she could see—see—the recognition interrupt his entire body as he flinched and stepped back.
Virginia slowly stood, refusing to drop her gaze and make the moment worse. But it was terrible. She’d given up an awful sort of revelation about herself: You had to be trained, down to your bones, to duck the second someone turned. It always showed up in the worst possible moment.
There was a horrific pause during which neither of them knew what to do but both of them knew something had happened. A slow tide of heat drew into Virginia’s cheeks—back prickling like she’d been pressed into spikes, and only Jason stood between her and freeing herself.
He blinked and seemed to shake it off. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.
“Me?”
“You,” he said firmly, as if she’d told Tourmaline to do all this.
“I was here for dinner.”
Jason put his hands on his waist and took a step closer, towering over her. “What else have you been doing with her?”
“You really think this is my fault?” Virginia laughed and crossed her arms, refusing to back away as he advanced.
“I know you.” He pointed his finger. “I know exactly who you are.”
“You don’t know shit,” she snarled, hoping with everything she was made of that she was right.
“Jason!” Tourmaline’s dad barked.
Virginia pressed her lips tight.
Jason turned.
Tourmaline’s dad glowered at both of them. “Sauls just called. You have to go.” He was speaking to Jason. “You too, conscript.”
Cash went inside.
Virginia turned to follow, still thinking of her mostly full plate, but ran straight into Jason’s immovable chest.
He stood in the doorway. Silent. Eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me,” she huffed.
He didn’t move. The bright hazel eyes snapped just as they had when she thought he was flirting. Now though, Virginia saw that they were a purposeful distraction—that their look could always be seen as flirting when the whole time he was just being an asshole, glaring down at her as if she had leaned over Tourmaline’s shoulder and whispered for her to bite some poisoned apple.
“Tourm
aline isn’t home right now,” he said, putting his arms up in the doorway, broad chest pushing toward her in a declaration of space.
“So, what, I’m just supposed to leave?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“I didn’t finish my food.”
“Don’t care.”
“I was invited.”
“Don’t care.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes back, mocking her.
Virginia turned to see if Tourmaline’s dad was hearing this ridiculous shit. But he was frowning into his phone, and if he’d overheard he didn’t seem to care.
“Go on now,” Jason whispered in her ear, close enough for her to feel his breath, warm and soft on her neck. A small shiver of something equally good and bad ran down her body as he moved behind her. “And if I catch your ass around Tourmaline again, we are going to have a problem.”
Virginia would have turned and kept arguing. Certainly she wasn’t going to get pushed out by this asshole breathing down her neck. But the small moment of hesitation brought some clarity into her thinking. If she fought back, she might not have another chance at getting further. And right now, she didn’t have much to bring to Hazard except the tail end of his patience.
This wasn’t over. “Fine,” she snapped over her shoulder. With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked to her truck and left.
Riding into McKinley Hollow on that growling Shovelhead made Tourmaline feel something she hadn’t quite felt before. She did not need to be told where to go, or how to get there. There was no steel frame to hold her encased in its comfortable grasp. No laminated glass to protect her from the elements. Vines tangled into emerald trees, hanging arched and low over the twisting mountain road. The road bent up and away, and the old bike seemed as happy to be out of the garage as Tourmaline was to be swallowing great lungfuls of the sweet mint and wild onion air.
She loosened her death grip on the handlebars and took a deep breath. And as she put the house farther and farther behind her, she felt more at ease. More sure.
Until she came up over a hill and noticed the familiar Impala, drifting the hill behind her.
Alvarez.
The honeysuckle breeze turned sour. Shit. Without even thinking, Tourmaline shifted forward and yanked open the throttle.
The bike responded immediately.
Mistake.
The bike lunged straight for a wall of thick tree roots and leafy bramble. Panicking, she clamped down on the brakes. The engine dove. The back fishtailed.
She slithered around the bend, losing it, feeling the massive weight slip out from underneath her. Not breathing. Not blinking. Just praying that the bank was dirt and not stone.
It was neither. She slid around the corner to face the back end of the sheriff’s parked cruiser.
The bike stopped, wedged underneath the back bumper of the car. Everything went mute.
The cop appeared over her, looking as scared as she was. “Are you all right?”
She gasped.
He blinked.
Tires slowed by her head. Panicking, she twisted and scrambled out from under the bike, gritting her teeth at the burning sensation running down her leg and arm.
“He was—” she started. But she frowned and just stared, the rest of the words unsaid as the Impala disappeared down the hill.
“Aren’t you . . .?” the cop trailed off, peering at her thoughtfully.
Tourmaline shook her head without even realizing he hadn’t finished. And there on that road, she suddenly realized that Virginia might be right—at least about this. Tourmaline was on the wrong side without ever having done anything.
“Don’t move—I’m calling an ambulance,” the cop said.
“No!” she screeched. “No. I’m fine. Look.” She twisted her leg to show him. “Just scrapes. I wasn’t going fast.”
He looked at her leg and cringed, fingers still on the radio.
She refused to look. It already burned like hell. If she looked, she might get scared, and fear was to pain what gasoline was to fire. “I just need help picking up the bike. I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Did you hit your head?”
She touched her hair. Had she? “No.” Her fingers slid down the tangles. “Look, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m totally fine.” She took a step toward him and her knee buckled, skin screaming along raw, scraped edges. Putting her hands on her waist, she straightened and forced a perky smile. “See?”
He said something into the radio and then looked at the bike. “Aren’t you Calvin Harris’s daughter? What were you doing? Is this his bike?”
“No,” she retorted. “Who is that? I just . . .” She frowned. Shit. She had no license. No helmet. Couldn’t call Dad. But how was she going to get out of this? She bit her lip and stared at the bike at her feet.
“Are you okay?”
Now he was going to go back to the ambulance nonsense. Think, Harris. She closed her eyes and tried to be more Virginia. “What were you doing is the better question.”
“Me?” He sounded shocked.
“Parked on a blind curve. On the wrong side?” She opened her eyes and huffed. “Help me get this up. I’m sure it’s already flooded. You’re going to have to block traffic for me until I can get it started. This is a dangerous curve. Do you know how many people die from this shit? Can’t. Even. Believe.” She kept talking as they dragged the bike out from under the back of his cruiser. Tourmaline squatted while the cop pulled, and together they heaved it up on its kickstand. “You’re a cop,” she gasped, heart pumping furiously in her ears, dizzy from adrenaline and exertion. “Don’t they teach you this stuff in cop school?”
He stood there, panting in deep breaths, looking between her and the bike and the road.
“Well, do you want this to happen again? Get out there. Block some traffic!” She waved him into the road.
He frowned. “I should set a flare.”
She limped out of his way. Was this actually working?
He fished a flare out of the trunk and lit it in a sudden burst. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” he said, belt shifting as he headed up the road.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Tourmaline floundered, saying whatever came into her head first. “I’ll be here to discuss this whole bike situation. This is an antique. Original frame. You better hope to God it’s not bent.”
He disappeared around the bend, the trail of sulfur and smoke hanging in the heavy air.
Oh dear lord. She shoved her fist into her mouth and bit hard. Please don’t be bent. The engine was probably flooded, but maybe since it had cut off before she went down, it would start.
The cop was still gone. It was worth a shot. Jumping on the bike, she stood over the seat and drove every bit of bone, fat, and strength in her body into a kick.
Thank the lord, it started.
Tourmaline roared away, spitting gravel and feeling as if she didn’t know who she was at all. The cop was a diminishing figure waving wildly in her mirror.
The chase was on.
She scooted up. Hugged the gas tank with her thighs. Lowered her elbows.
The first right that opened in the hillside was a tight, cracked road leading away from the river. She turned, careful not to open the throttle until the bike had straightened out.
It dug in deep and hauled her up out of the hollow with a growl.
A flicker of blue flashed in her mirrors.
The one damn time she did something, she fell headfirst into trouble—or rather, rear-ended it. Tourmaline gripped the handlebars tighter, palms sweaty. She couldn’t get caught now. This was it. Like it or not, she’d brought herself here and there was nothing to gain by holding back. She opened the throttle wide, the bike screaming and rattling so loud the whole valley could hear.
She spun the bike in another left, circling back over the hills. Her hair whipped across her face, but she kept the throttle hungry and gnawing at the road. She did no
t know herself at all, but she knew this was going to work only if she beat him to the river. The cop was a curve behind. Maybe more.
Hopefully more.
Another turn. Another slip in the gravel. More of her heart choking her throat. But she was back on the main road, and she opened the throttle wide, centering the front tire on the double yellow and speeding past a Westvaco truck hauling timber.
Next to the truck, the tires stood taller than her head, and the iron beast beneath her suddenly felt like a toy. A split second of the trucker looking down, and she’d be nothing but a bump under his tires. But then, she’d spent most of her life feeling exactly like that, only without the ability to go faster. Swallowing back the fear, she opened the throttle wider. Pinned back. Hell-raising fast. The wind whipped through her hair, and if she could have forced her jaw to unclench and her mouth to open, she could have swallowed it all whole.
The trucker laid on the horn.
But Tourmaline kept her eyes trained to that sliver of the James River just visible through the trees. The logging truck slipped behind her with its jaws of steel and that deep drone in the tires.
She slowed, then veered off the road and popped over the edge down the gravel bank. Her teeth shook—body tight. She braked desperately and cut the engine. The back tire skidded, but she’d learned her lesson and kept it loose. All she needed was to get under the bridge before the cop caught sight of her.
The bike clanked and squeaked, and she slowed to a stop at the bottom with her heart pounding. Pain washed up her side, made worse by the still heat coming off the river, and she grimaced against the tears pricking her eyes, boots slipping in the dirt as she walked the bike alongside the concrete pillars and twisted to look back up the road. Where was the cop?
Two men stood fishing farther down the bank, casting lines into the river and sending curious glances in her direction. “Five-oh,” one of them said, focused on the far bank and reeling it in.
It took her a second to realize he meant the cop.
She twisted farther, catching sight of boots at the top of the embankment. Shit. Gritting her teeth, she shoved her boots into the gravel, pushing the bike deeper toward the brush on the other side of the pillar. It wasn’t even the prospect of jail that bothered her; it was the idea that she’d fail so spectacularly at taking the bike in the first place. That her face would be put up on another kind of wall—one of shame. Dad would tell the story to everyone, and they’d all laugh. Her face turned fiercely hot just to think of it.
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