Beauty & the Biker (24 page)

“You don’t want to know.”

“But if you talked about it—”

“It wouldn’t change what I’ve seen. What I know. What I’ve done.”

Her heart ached so badly, she could scarcely breathe. She hugged him harder and he hugged back.

He kissed the top of her head. “Go inside. Make yourself at home. Watch TV. Work on your stories. I have a deadline on a mock-up I promised a client.”

She wanted to press.
What have you seen
?
What have you done
? But she knew he wouldn’t share, no matter how hard she pushed.

“
There are things I can’t talk about, won’t talk about
.”

“Okay,” Bella said, stepping out of his embrace. He was asking for space. So be it.

Patience is key
.

“I’m going.”
But I’m not giving up
.

Forcing a smile, she left Savage to his art and moved toward the house. She glanced toward Funland—another dagger to the heart. Deep down she knew renovating the park would be a monumental task. Beyond that, how could she ask a man to invest time and money in a project that would inflict such devastating personal pain?

“What have you seen? What have you done?” she mumbled to herself.

Bella only had so much patience. Especially when someone she cared about was hurting. She’d spent several months navigating her dad’s personal hell, but even that hadn’t prepared her for Joe Savage’s burning misery. She knew next to nothing about the secretive, haunted soul she’d moved in with, yet she’d fallen for him head over heels, heart over logic. Her mind raced as she scaled cracked steps and a creaky porch. Here she was pushing Savage to invest a fortune in a park he didn’t want while his house, his home, still required extensive renovation. His uncle had left him a money pit, not a fortune.

Her conscience kicked.

Using the key he’d given her, Bella unlocked the front door and rushed inside. She hurried up the steps, blew into her room and shut the door. She fished her phone out of her messenger bag then hooked the bag over a chair.

She was glad it was Sunday, Ryan’s usual day off. This way she could call his personal number instead of the sheriff’s office. Bad enough she was going behind Savage’s back. She didn’t want to complicate matters by making an official query. No, this was a personal call. To her friend’s brother, a man she’d known all her life. A man who also happened to be a cop.

She scrolled through her contacts, her ears perking at the muffled sound of music. Dark and bombastic. She cracked open her window. Savage had cranked up a heavy metal track. Even from this distance the volume was intense. It had to be earsplitting in the studio. How could he hear himself think? Although, maybe that was the point. She imagined him drawing skulls and cross bones, and eagles with lethal talons because it certainly wasn’t the kind of music to inspire sparkly fairies.

Heart heavy, Bella closed the window as her call connected. In spite of the loud music, Killer trotted into the studio. Good. Maybe he’d provide some comfort. Animals had a way of doing that. At least Savage wouldn’t be alone in his funk.

“Bella?”

“Ryan.” Her stomach grumbled with guilt. She’d never been a snoop. It felt wrong, but she didn’t hang up. “Am I calling at a bad time?

“Never. What’s up, honey?”

“This is awkward.”

“Spit it out.”

“I know Chrissy spoke to you about Joe Savage.”

“And I know you moved in with him today. Anything wrong?”

“No. I… News travels fast. I guess Georgie told you.”

“Lots of people told me.”

“We’re sort of… I don’t know what we are exactly. But I care about him. A lot. And I’m worried. I think something bad happened. Something job related. Something that made him resign from the force. He’s…haunted. But he won’t talk about it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Not precisely.”

“But you have an idea.” She continued to stare out the window, guilt churning as she eyed the studio. Savage wouldn’t be happy knowing she was prying. She told herself it was for his own good. Yeah. Like he’d buy that reasoning. “Do you know more than you told Chrissy?” she pressed.

“I didn’t see any reason to share certain specifics.”

“It has something to do with children, right?”

Ryan held his tongue.

The churning in Bella’s stomach morphed from guilt to dread. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a librarian. If you don’t tell me, I’ll utilize my rad research skills and find out on my own. Calling you seemed the more direct approach. Since you’ve already pried—”

“I reached out.”

“Which is what I’m doing.”

Another pause. “Yeah. Okay. But keep it to yourself. If I was Savage, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”

Feeling wobbly now, Bella deserted her lookout post and settled on the edge of the bed.

“I’m only telling you this because I think you should know what you’re getting into. And why I think you shouldn’t dig too deeply into his past.”

“Got it. Go on.”

“I don’t know why he resigned specifically, although from what I learned I assume the man burned out. It happens. A decade working homicide. Four additional years working undercover for the Bureau of Organized Crime. His last case alone would have been enough to put me off. It’s rough, Bella. Sure you want to know?”

“I’m sure.” She chewed her thumbnail, bracing.

“A sex trafficking operation run by gang members.”

Her stomach clenched.

“Women forced into prostitution. Young women. Girls,” Ryan clarified. “Many as young as twelve.”

Twelve years old
? “Oh, my God.”

“These monsters preyed on the poor, the homeless, runaways, kids addicted to drugs. They were brutal. Ruthless. Girls who stepped out of line were beaten, branded, threatened.”

Bella felt sick.

“Savage worked that case for twenty months—a special task force. It resulted in the rescue of eighty-six girls and the arrest of ten ring members.”

“Thank God.”

“Not every girl made it out alive. All of them had been exploited and abused. I’m skipping over a lot of what I learned, Bella. Savage lived and breathed that hell for almost two years. If he has a problem with children, my guess is he can’t disassociate them from the atrocities he witnessed.”

It wouldn’t change what I’ve seen…

“You okay, hon?”

“I feel queasy. And angry.” She licked her lips, swallowed bile. Her heart ached for those girls. For Joe. “No wonder he’s cynical.”
What tortures you
? Now she knew. Horrors beyond her willingness to imagine.

“Don’t force this conversation with Savage.”

“I won’t. Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For filling your head with garbage?”

“For giving me perspective.”

Bella disconnected. Her temples throbbed. Her chest hurt. Tears welled, but she forced them back. She got it now. Got it all. Why Savage had kept everyone at bay. Why he’d been a recluse. Why children made him cringe. She got it. She instantly understood his cynicism and why he’d lost faith in mankind.

Make me believe
.

He’d reached out to her while holding back the severity of his emotional distress and shielding her from the twisted atrocities in the world.

Make me believe
.

She massaged her heart, glanced toward her laptop.

“Who wouldn’t want super powers to vanquish evil?”

Bella couldn’t erase what Savage had witnessed, what he’d lived through and lived with, but she could provide escapism. She could inspire hope.

She smoothed her hand over the beautiful quilt handcrafted by her mom. Bella didn’t have a gift for sewing, but she had a way with words. Armed with purpose and compassion, motivated by disgust and outrage, she shifted to the desk and fired up her laptop. Opening the file for
Pendragonites
, she scrolled to the introduction of Sir Driscoll, imagined Savage, and took up his quest to vanquish evil.

Chapter Twenty-One

With the music cranked and the door shut, Joe managed to lose himself in three separate art projects. One involved a morbid sketch of the grim reaper. That had come easy. Too easy. The second required more time and thought—a sketch involving special forces, a sniper rifle, and the American flag. Then he futzed around with an idea for Zeke and his storm chasers. A logo involving a tornado. Clichéd, but Zeke had been adamant about including a cyclone in the Z-Crew logo. The man was obsessed with twisters.

As he drew, Joe flashed on Bella’s friend, Emma, a woman who rode shotgun with Zeke in order to photograph dangerous storms. “
She’s addicted to the thrill
,” Bella had said. Joe was grateful that he’d fallen for an Inseparable who got her kicks via books. He liked Bella’s profession—librarian. He liked her hobby—writing. He liked that she’d grown up in a relatively crime free town and that she was probably typing away right now in his house. A house surrounded by locked gates. Safe. Everything about her life was safe. And he meant to keep it that way. Which was part of the reason he’d come to the decision to raze Funland as quickly as possible.

Archie and Zeke were right. The decrepit park was a safety hazard. He kept imagining Bella enlisting her friends and family in an effort to fix it up. She was so damned positive that the rides and concessions were salvageable. Her gung ho attitude would inspire her to take action, to prove to Joe that he could cut renovation costs by utilizing the time and skills of friends and neighbors. Oh, yeah. He could see it. And it worried him.

Then there was the story Zeke had shared. How long before more kids snuck onto the ground for a thrill or on a dare? It wasn’t safe for anyone and yet Joe had allowed Funland to stand in honor of Mike and in memory of the one good summer of his own childhood.

Time to let go and move on.

Joe glanced at his watch, surprised by the time. He’d been immersed in work for five hours and Bella hadn’t interrupted him once. Was she lost in her own world? Watching a movie? Gabbing with her friends? Working on one of her stories? Although, hell, it was past midnight. She was probably fast asleep. It stung that she hadn’t peeked in or texted him goodnight. It’s not something he’d expected from past girlfriends, but it was something he expected of polite-to-her-toes Bella. Was she angry with him? Wary of him? Had she tripped on the stairs, bashed her head and blacked out?

“Crank it back a notch,”
he could hear Val say.

Joe wrapped up his work, killed the music and lights and headed for the house. Killer had spent most of the night curled in his homemade bed, but now he trotted alongside Joe as if walking him to the door. Half way across the yard, thunder rumbled and a fat raindrop smacked Joe’s cheek. Two seconds later, the night sky ripped and rain poured. A wicked wind set the porch swing in motion. Hell was breaking loose.

Joe was half soaked by the time he opened his front door. So was the cat. As always Killer tried to race inside and this time Joe let him. He could feel his self-imposed walls crumbling by the minute.

Killer looked up at Joe then settled on the braided doormat, licking himself dry and making himself at home.

“This is a one-time thing,” Joe said, even though he knew it was the start of a new routine. He’d maintained a sanctuary for weeks and then Bella had climbed over his fence. Soon after his barriers had been breached by Archie, Sheriff McClure, and the Inseparables. Tomorrow Zeke and his friend Jimbo were delivering a hunk-of-junk ride for Bella. And now Joe was contemplating hiring a crew to speed renovate the exterior of this house and to take a wrecking ball to Funland.

Given the major onslaught of visitors, Killer’s home invasion ranked as a minor infraction.

Joe moved into the kitchen, filled a small bowl with water in case his guest got thirsty in the night then hoped to hell the cat had a strong bladder. “Pee in this house,” Joe warned the damp tom as he cut toward the stairs, “and it will be the last time you see the inside of it.”

When he hit the second floor he was surprised to find light spilling from beneath Bella’s closed door. He knocked lightly.

No answer.

Peeking in, he saw her slumped over her desk. His heart stopped, his battered mind imagining the worst. But then he noted the rise and fall of her shoulders. She’d fallen asleep. Her laptop was powered up although the screen had gone black. Had she been writing? Researching real estate? Theme parks? It wasn’t his business. He looked away from the screen and squeezed her shoulder. “Bella.”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

She slowly lifted her head and looked at him bleary-eyed. Her hair was tousled and her cheek was creased from where she’d rested her face on her arm and a book. “Are you okay?” she asked in a groggy voice.

The woman was still half asleep. Joe smiled. “Sure. You?”

“Tired.” And still she sat—eyes glazed, hair messed, and looking adorable in striped boxer shorts and a pink tank.

“You work tomorrow, right?” he asked while gently tugging her from the chair. “You should go to bed.” What he really wanted was to take her to bed, but that would be selfish and pushing things.