"You're not alone. Don't ever forget that. And smile every once in a while, okay?"
"Go on. You've got rubes to fleece and profits to skim."
"On it. And text me when you stop for the night. I worry."
"You sound like my mom."
He turned and gave me a wave from the club's door. As much as I wanted to get on the road, I had one more thing to do. Under my front seat was a clipboard with the pre-trip checklist for the camper. Stella's handwriting was faded after a year in storage, but the instructions were clear. As I checked and tightened and inspected, I could hear her voice reminding me about the loose hose bracket in the back and to keep an eye on it.
Whether I want to admit it or not, I have people who love me.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter in the continued adventures of Juliana Martin. Here's a sneak peak at book 3 where she faces her most dangerous adversary yet.
* * *
"Juliana, it is time to grow up and stop being foolish."
My mother and I had been locked in this loop for the last four days. Every morning, she descended from her five-hundred-a-day vacation perch on the lake and made her way to the trailer park to harangue me about my life choices. Of course, I had an open invitation to stay with her and partake in the luxury. After one night, I decided the natural stone hot tub wasn't worth it. Being in her lair gave her more time to go on about all my failures.
"Mom, I'm going to be thirty-seven in a few weeks. I think I'm as grown as I'm going to get. I do not want to move to Houston," I said, with the flat monotone of a phrase well-rehearsed and often-repeated.
Rachel María del Carmen Delgado Martin could easily pass for ten years younger than sixty. The designers she favors don't go out of style. Her cat-eye make-up and bright lipstick made some women her age look sad and clownish. But with her smooth unlined skin, she wore it like a queen. In contrast, my black jeans and tank top, still stained from work behind the bar at the Biloxi strip club, marked me as a refugee from a biker rally.
Evidently, my mother agreed. She pulled one of my wild curls straight and let it spring back. I hadn't cut it since the FBI shut down the family law firm, and the jumbled mass was almost to my waist.
I grabbed her hand before she could start finger-combing my hair. "Stop it. I'm not five. I don't need you to spit on a hankie and wash my face."
"Well, you need something. A half-million dollar education and you are living out here in that, that, box with wheels. You are better than this. Come to Houston. The co-op board needs a new lawyer. One word from me and it's yours. You don't even have to live with me, although you didn't seem to mind after your surgery. There's a nice two-bedroom unit on the tenth floor of the south tower, and," she paused as if her next words hurt, "It's yours."
I choked back the sarcasm that bubbled to my lips. For my mother to even think about giving away a couple of million in real estate; she was speaking from her heart. I wasn't going to gain anything by being a bitch.
"Mom."
My contrition was cut short by the rumbling of a motorcycle pulling into my driveway.
If I hadn't been so annoyed, I'd have laughed at the change that came over her in the presence of an attractive man. There was no hiding how FBI agent Ethan Price and I had met. My mother had guarded me in the hospital after the disaster in Austin and cared for me while I healed from my injuries inside and out. When I introduced them, she bathed him in a glare that would have left a lesser man nothing but a scorch mark on the pavement. Ethan, now a clean-cut and high-and-tight agency straight-arrow, had turned the full force of his charm on her. It worked.
She pulled her hand out of mine and ran it over her elaborate up-do and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. I knew she wanted to pull out a mirror and check her impeccable makeup.
Ethan stowed his helmet under one arm and kissed Mom on the cheek. I got a light brush on the lips and a one-armed hug.
"Had I known this is where all the beautiful women are, I'd have left San Antonio earlier.
I suppressed an eyeroll and didn't say anything. I just wasn't having it today. When I didn't respond with a rude joke, he dropped his arm off my shoulder. My mood must have conveyed. Instead, he grabbed a gym bag and leather jacket from the motorcycle. I realized I'd never seen this bike before. Instead of the road-worn shade tree mechanic Harley he usually rode, this bike glowed with modernity and care.
"Nice ride," was all I said.
He took the bait and seemed relieved to change the subject.
"Thanks. I thought you'd like it. I flew into San Antonio last night. An SSA is headed out to take over one of the Alaska offices and he's selling off some of his toys at the right price. I see a fishing boat in his future. I thought you might like to take a cruise this weekend before I have to strap in for the Georgia trial."
I had to admit, the idea of a change of scenery was appealing. However, something about the bike annoyed me. I had a vision of Ethan in his fine-young-man khakis and FBI haircut surprising me with a matching leather jacket for a day out on his middle-manager motorcycle. After mom's attack, it felt like a suburban trap.
But I didn't need a fight on two fronts. I smiled and said, "Now that's an idea I can get behind.
Mom saw her opening. Standing, she looped her handbag over her wrist and said, "I have to get back to Houston. Some of us have responsibilities. Ethan, maybe you can talk some sense into her."
Nothing in his career, including fighting his way out of a sheriff's substation by biting a deputy, had prepared him for the snare set by a former beauty queen in Swarovski crystal studded Louboutin mules.
Before I could head it off, he said, "What's up?"
She lasered in on him and reiterated her, in her opinion, overly generous offer to get me to move back to Houston.
I'll give him credit. The man can read a room and has a well-developed sense of survival. He didn't say anything. The silence dragged from awkward to maddening.
I broke the impasse. "Bye Mom. Drive carefully."
After we exchanged glares that dropped the ambient temperature twenty degrees, she retreated down the driveway. After a petulant door slam, the ticking purr of her hybrid didn't disturb the bird song as she disappeared down Angel Lane.
"Nice Benz. Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"
"Agent Price, all I want right now is for you to convince me that you came to Texas to see me and not that motorcycle."
"Challenge accepted."
Ride the Lightning Page 18