All the Way (10 page)

“You didn’t trust Blake to bring you and Rob back safely?”

“Mostly.
But I figured over
a thousand miles one way is enough on a motorcycle, thanks.”
Then Blake would’ve been free of his obligation, and I’d be free of this relapse into our past. And all these old feelings that seem so new again
.
So much for alternatives. “Robby has only nine days left. I’d hoped there might be a faster way to bring him home. Guess not.”

“You don’t think you’ll get back in time?”

“I don’t know. I hope so, but I wonder if Blake’s trying to take it a little slower for me. I’m barely getting used to riding again and it hasn’t been easy. Every time I look at the bike, I have to rise above the fear that still gets to me
around
motorcycles, remembering Kenny’s accident.”

“Can’t blame you for trying to hitch another ride.
Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Then that’s it? Nothing from Robby?” She couldn’t hide the plea in her voice. Kristin offered her sympathy. “Krissy, I appreciate your help. Anything else interesting going on?”

“That depends. Would you find Jack’s number on your caller ID
six times
interesting?”

“No, that’s frightening. What’s his problem now?”

“You are, apparently. Dan said the diner crowd hasn’t seen him there for two days.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing. When Jack goes underground,
he’s the most unpredictable.”

“He’s at his most dangerous, you mean.”

“Like I need this on top of everything else.”
Her nails dug into her palms. She tamped down the anxiety that surfaced with any mention of Jack.

Layla thanked her friend again and ended the call. A lump of dread lodged in her throat. With a tense sigh she dragged herself into the restaurant lobby, inquired about the nearest bank machine, and visited the one across the street. She withdrew cash and cringed as the machine spat out her receipt. She only had one-hundred dollars in her account.
How would she get through this trip on so little cash?

Dusk shimmered beyond the tree line. The sun had almost disappeared. They’d have another hour or so before total darkness descended. She hoped they’d stop for the night before it got pitch black on these long, flat stretches of highway.

Out of nowhere, Layla felt a nameless threat cast a shadow of warning over her heart. Icy anxiety spread through her, followed by pinpricks of fear. Her breathing quickened. Strangely, this felt different than her steady anxiety over her brother. It bordered on helpless terror.

Her gaze darted around attempting to pinpoint the source of the dread. The only thing that caught her eye was the alligator-green motorcycle idling at a pump at the gas station next door to the bank. The same color as Robby’s motorcycle. Layla gasped. Without looking or thinking, she raced toward the bike. With every pound of her heart she prayed it belonged to her brother. She nearly got run over by someone barreling down the exit ramp. The car almost clipped her before she leaped to safety at the curb.

But the person who walked out of the gas station toward the distinctive green bike wasn’t her brother. Her hopes disintegrated. Heaviness gripped her chest. She turned around and headed back to the restaurant.

As she pushed at the door, something flashed in the corner of her eye. She blinked as the metal caught the last surge of light before the sun set—some ornament attached to the grill of the car careening into the lot. The same guy who’d nearly run her over?

The awful feeling sense of foreboding returned. Layla didn’t wait to investigate.

She pushed inside, breathing deeply until her pulse normalized. Her reaction seemed totally unfounded. It had to be the sorry state of her nerves, making her react like this. The adrenaline that had spiked her blood at the familiar motorcycle was wearing off.

She reached for the second door of the restaurant lobby, flung it open. And crashed into Blake.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Layla tipped her head back and stared into his furious face. “What do you mean?”

“That car almost crushed you. You didn’t even stop to look before you took off across the street.” He seemed really upset.

“I guess I wasn’t thinking.” She sighed. “All I saw was a motorcycle the same color as my brother’s. The next thing I knew, I was standing beside it.”

“Rob’s has an alligator airbrushed on the tank. That wasn’t his—I already scoped it out.” Blake curved his hand around her shoulder. As he guided her back toward their table, his worried glance raked over her again. “Just be more careful next time. Okay?”

“Okay.” She rounded the corner with
him
and saw their dinner had arrived. His untouched burger had to be cold by now.

“You shouldn’t have waited,” she said, sliding in across from him as they took their seats.
A disgruntled look met her comment. “What? I told you I had calls to make.”

“And the little jaunt across the street?” He motioned out the bank of windows.

Layla shrugged. “Had to visit the bank machine.”
She tried to ignore the terrible feeling that lingered at the base of her spine.

“Even in hick towns
strange people emerge at nightfall. Not the kind you want to know up close and personal.”

“I didn’t know I had to check with my personal bodyguard before crossing the street.” She stuffed a heaping forkful of cob salad into her mouth. She chewed slowly, thinking about her brief anxiety attack. Should she tell Blake? Even if she did, what did she expect him to do about some random sense of doom?

“I would’ve gone with you.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but refrained.
He dug into his food. Four bites later his burger was gone, washed down by the remaining half of his iced tea. The heap of fries vanished fast.

“Are we in a hurry or are you just inhaling again?” she asked. He grinned, shrugged. “Why don’t you stop to chew your food, afraid it won’t taste right?”

He gazed at her through lowered lashes. “Depends what’s on the plate.”

“Here we go again,” she groused as his innuendo. She ignored him and applied herself to catching up to his near-empty plate. She crossed her legs, bumped into one of his, tried the other way, and ran into him again. He had her caged.
Drat his long legs
.

Back to being Blake, she mused, glad he’d moved beyond his protective instincts.
It reminded her too much of how he used to make her feel—like nothing in the world could harm her while she was with him. It was too easy to get used to it, to depend on him for that comfort and strength, when
life had taught her over and over that the only person she could depend on was herself.

When she finished, the waitress dropped off the check, which Blake swiped up.
Layla shot him a look as she reached for the stack of plates to hand to the waitress.

She glanced at the bill in his hand. “Here, let me see how much I owe.”

Blake didn’t budge, except to shake his head. “That’s the other reason I didn’t want you going across the street. You don’t need money. I’m footing the bill.”

“I know you’re not serious. Blake, please let me see the total.”

“I already budgeted for this trip. Adding you doesn’t make much difference.”

Layla frowned. That didn’t sit well with her.
It wasn’t just about her pride, and wanting to carry her own weight. After all, she couldn’t hide from Blake the truth he already knew—how she and Robby had to cut corners, sometimes barely scraping by when she had a slow week at the diner.

When they dated, that had been one thing. But now…would there be some hidden expectation attached to his generosity? It was cynical to think that way, but she couldn’t help recalling the times Jack had revealed a generous side. Layla had gratefully accepted his kindness, only to have Jack dangle his generosity over her head when he wanted something.

The past would not repeat itself.

After he paid, she followed
Blake out of the restaurant, demanding, “Will we argue over the money issue the whole way?”

“There’s nothing to debate. I invited you. It’s my treat.”

“We’re not talking one dinner, Blake. This is an entire trip.”

“Layla, do you have any idea how much money I make?”

Kristin had mentioned Blake was wealthy, but that meant nothing to Layla. She’d live in a cardboard box as long as she could count on the man who loved her. “I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter. I’m not tax deductable like other charity cases.”

He held the door open for her. “I don’t consider you charity. My company pulled in one-point-two million last year. Trust me, you won’t break the bank.”

She marched through it, her chin up even while recalling the meager hundred in her account. “I don’t like owing people.”

“This isn’t some favor in return for anything.”

“Not until you want something.
Jack pulled that stunt on me. It made me feel cheap, dependent on him. I hated it.”

Lengthening his stride, Blake brushed past her. His tone was frosty when he said, “Compare me to Johnson again and I’ll leave you in Nowhere, Timbuktu, with a quarter to call someone who cares.”

Her step faltered, realizing the error in her judgment. Blake was right. She never should’ve compared him to Jack. “Blake…” He sent her a withering look. “I’m sorry.”

He’d attempted to be generous, and she’d thrown it back in his face. Her shoulders sagged. It seemed they could do no right around each other. Especially when she wedged
an unsurpassable mountain of distrust between them. He’d been right at the rest stop. She was still hesitant to trust him, and he seemed intensely
annoyed by that.

Layla wondered if, on a subconscious level, they’d both agreed to this trip together to sort through their past once and for all. It hung like dead weight between them, distracting them from the true purpose of this mission: to rescue Robby. Maybe she’d consider wading through the tangled mess of their past, toward the chance that they’d come to some sort of resolution. It couldn’t be worse than the constant tension between them now.

They’d do better working together than against each other.

As she approached the bike, she watched Blake check the saddlebag fastenings.
He wore the grumpiest expression. Still, he was
gorgeous.

Forcing her attention away from him, her gaze traveled absently to the corner of the lot where a car was parked, set apart from the rest. It looked like a Crown Victoria, the model used by law enforcement for unmarked cars. Like the one she’d spotted last night on her street.
As the parking lot lamps flickered on, she noticed a three-leaf clover glinting on the grill. She flashed back to her return to the restaurant. The tinted-glass driver’s side window cracked an inch to let trails of smoke curl into the darkening sky.

A nervous tickle skittered up her back, raising the hair along her arms. She tried to shrug it off. It was probably just somebody waiting for one of the restaurant employees to get off work. But then, why was he wearing dark sunglasses at dusk. And why did the hint of profile she made out through the shaded glass look terribly familiar?

A creepy sense of deja vu slithered down her back. The numbing fear she’d felt earlier washed over her again. Her throat felt tight.
Jack?

No…it couldn’t be…he wouldn’t follow her like this.
Would he
?

Every nerve stretched taut. Her heart pounded. She stared at the vehicle, trying to make out the license plate. She whispered, “Does that say Ohio?”

Blake stiffened. He glanced at her, then turned his head in the direction of her stare. A startling thought occurred to Layla. What would happen if Blake and Jack stood toe to toe? She pictured the aftermath. All that would be left was fur and feathers.

She quickly masked the fear on her face. She knew Blake. If he suspected the source of her fear, he would investigate. And she might be totally off base. It might not be Jack in that car. They’d never get to Sturgis or find Robby if Blake harassed an undercover officer. No matter who he was.

One thought thundered inside her brain. Leave—
now.
She yanked the zipper on her coat and yelped in pain when it caught on her hair.

Blake’s head snapped around. “Here. Let go.”

The unintended diversion worked.

He reached for the zipper where strands of her hair were caught in the gold teeth.
“It’s snagged on the lining, too,” he said.

Even with the motorcycle between them, she felt his presence surround her as he gently pried the zipper loose. She tried to hurry him up, waving away his help.
“It’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Hold still, Layla.”

His eyebrows lowered as he absorbed himself in the task. His fingers slipped to the insides of her coat, feeling for the place where the lining had caught.

Through the veil of his lashes, she watched as heat gathered in his eyes, darkening them until smoke gave way to fire. The skin tightened at his temples. Clasping the freed zipper, he slid it down notch by notch, his breathing less steady. One finger grazed the edge of her top where it dipped across the swell of her breasts.
Her heart rate spiked and her skin tingled at his touch.