Kara stared at him. “So how are we leaving here?”
Jace opened a leather saddlebag, stuffed his backpack inside and then closed the lid. His gaze flicked to her. The blue-and-white flowered sundress she’d changed into billowed in the wind. He caught a glimpse of long, tanned legs and shapely feet encased in white strappy sandals.
Hugging herself, the motion lifting her breasts, she stared at the bike as if it was a writhing spider. “I can’t ride on that thing.”
Jace blew out a breath. “Yes, you can. Jarrett is sending someone to pick up the car.”
“I’m in a dress.”
All her arguments were feeble. Jace gestured to the flowing dress. “Doesn’t matter. Get on.”
If Jace had asked her to walk over live coals, she could have handled it far easier than riding on a bike.
Terrified, Kara stared at the motorcycle. Her heart beat like the drums she enjoyed listening to at the club where she and Jace used to go to listen to live music.
Kara had avoided motorcycles ever since Conner’s death. She didn’t like them, didn’t like being around them and vowed to never ride one.
Now, she had no choice. Even as the thought shot through her head, the upstairs door next to Jace’s apartment opened and a man came outside. He peered into the parking lot at them and pushed the glasses up on his thin nose.
“Hey, Jace! Everything all right? I got home a little while ago and thought I’d heard someone in your apartment. I’m keeping an eye on it for you, you know.”
Jace waved a hand. “Thanks, Oscar. All’s fine.”
Kara peered up at the man, who looked as if he was more of a paper pusher than Jace had been before her ex had married the biker lifestyle.
Jace gave her a reassuring smile. “Get on first and brace your back against the bar. It’s easier for you to throw your leg over the seat. Watch your balance. Wait until I’m on and then use these—” he tapped at pegs at the back of the bike “—to rest your feet. Make sure to avoid touching your legs to the hot exhaust. You’ll do great, Kara.”
She stared at the big bike. “Is it like riding a bicycle?”
“Yeah. Once you start, you never forget.” He winked at her. “Just like sex.”
Oscar hurried toward the stairs.
“I don’t have time for this guy. Oscar’s a black hole with convos and a biker wannabe, and I’ll never get rid of him. Get on the bike. Please,” Jace urged in a low voice.
Gingerly, as if mounting a horse, she hoisted a leg over the thick black saddle. She did exactly as Jace instructed, and as he climbed on in front, she took the helmet from him.
Jace’s neighbor descended the stairs. His gaze was fixated on her bare leg, the skirt riding up almost to her panties. Biting her lip, Kara pulled down her skirt, feeling as if cockroaches crawled on her skin. The guy looked like a nerd, but something in his eyes hinted he was slimy.
Her stomach roiled. Kara looked away.
“Look, man, appreciate you keeping an eye on my place. Me and the old lady are taking a short run up to Sugarland. We’re running late, so I’ll catch up with you.” Jace waved a hand at his neighbor.
“Sure you don’t need help?” Oscar eyed her the way she’d seen hungry people eyeball steak at restaurants.
“We’re fine,” Kara called out.
“You’re more than fine, mama,” Oscar said. “In fact, you’re...”
Jace started the engine, drowning out Oscar’s words.
Now she had to go through with this or she’d look like a scared princess too high-maintenance to ride with Jace. Even through the helmet’s tinted visor, she could see the pure lust on Oscar’s face. Something about him made her more uncomfortable than riding on a motorcycle.
Isn’t it always the quiet ones you have to be aware around?
Kara wrapped her arms around Jace tightly and leaned against him.
Jace backed up and then took off, at a slower pace than she suspected he normally drove. The seat beneath her felt comfortable and vibrated with the purring engine. Still, she shut her eyes. Opened them. If they were going to wipe out, she wanted to see what was going on. If they were going to crash, she wanted to try to grab some control.
Even though she felt none.
But Jace took it slow and easy to the address she’d given him.
Kara’s aunt Wanda never visited family. Since Dylan had begun working for Kara, she’d only seen her aunt when she visited the house. Then, when Bruce, Wanda’s husband, started leering at her, Kara stopped visiting.
Wanda’s house was far more modest than the luxurious, waterfront home her first husband had owned. Her aunt hugged Kara after opening the door. Kara hugged back gently, mindful of the bruises probably on the woman’s arms. Her anger surged at the thought of Bruce beating her aunt, but she managed to keep her emotions at bay.
Inside the living room, Kara perched on the edge of an armchair and studied the woman who had always welcomed the neighborhood kids with lemonade and cookies after school. In her late fifties, Wanda had a haggard look, with pain time-stamped on her face. Her long dark hair was gone, replaced by a serviceable cut. Despite the heat, she wore long sleeves.
Not only had Kara’s family been torn apart by the accident, but Dylan’s had also been damaged.
Too many people suffered because I had to take the car out without my parents.
Family photographs lined the walls, along with a photograph of Conner and Dylan at a Little League game. Bile rose in Kara’s throat.
Wanda gripped her hands tightly in her lap, anxiety clear in her dark eyes. Her red-and-white polka-dot shirt was bright and lively, a contrast to the shoulders slumped within the clothing. Gone was the plump woman who looked healthy and happy. Wanda had lost weight and had an air of desperation.
Jace explained they were searching for Dylan because he was in danger. He studied Dylan’s mother with an intensity she’d witnessed previously that reminded her of a cop scrutinizing a possible suspect. Jace wasn’t law enforcement. He’d make a good cop. Too bad he’d chosen a different path in life.
