Chapter Two #3
“No,” Doc said firmly. “This is a lead that needs to be properly investigated. Not a treasure map for you to follow alone.”
My temper flared. “I’m not planning to go alone. I thought the club --”
“The club will look into it,” Doc interrupted. “But you need to understand something. These people killed your parents, Nova. They won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I stood up from the bed, facing him directly. “I’ve been living with that reality for weeks. Jumping at shadows, looking over my shoulder, wondering if every strange car on my street means they’ve finally come for me too.”
Doc’s jaw tightened. “Then you should know better than to rush headlong into danger.”
“I’m not rushing into anything,” I shot back. “I’m following the trail my mother left. The same trail that got her killed because no one would listen to her warnings.”
“And you think getting yourself killed will somehow honor her memory?” Doc took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You’re being reckless, Nova. Emotional.”
“Emotional?” I repeated, incredulous. “My parents were murdered. Of course, I’m emotional!” I stepped closer, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong or that I’m not thinking clearly.”
“It means you’re not seeing the full picture,” Doc insisted.
“You’re so focused on finding answers you’re not considering the consequences.
These people have police, judges, and who knows who else in their pocket.
They’ve killed to keep their secrets. They’re watching for anyone picking up where your mother left off. ”
“So what am I supposed to do? Just walk away? Pretend my parents died in an accident? Accept that the people who killed them will never face justice?”
“I’m saying you need to be patient. Let the club handle this the right way.”
“By which you mean the slow way.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my tone. “While evidence disappears and trails go cold.”
Doc ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every line of his body. “By which I mean a way that doesn’t end with you in a body bag.”
“I’m not some fragile doll that needs protecting!” I snapped, standing to face him fully. The top of my head barely reached his shoulders, but I refused to be intimidated by his height. “I’ve been investigating this alone for weeks. I came to the club for help, not to be sidelined.”
Doc stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “No, you’re a woman with a death wish who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.”
We stood inches apart now, both breathing heavily, the air between us charged with tension and something else -- something that had been building since that first brush of our fingers over the coffee mug.
I was suddenly, intensely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the way his eyes had darkened from their usual clear blue to something deeper, stormier.
Doc’s gaze dropped to my lips for a split second, a flicker so brief I might have imagined it if not for the way his breath caught slightly. Then, instead of stepping back as I expected, he reached out, placing his hand on my upper arm.
The touch sent electricity coursing through me, silencing our argument more effectively than words ever could. His fingers were warm against my skin, gentle despite the tension thrumming through him. I froze, unable to move, to speak, even to breathe properly.
We remained locked in that moment, neither of us willing to acknowledge what had just happened between us. His hand on my arm felt both steadying and dangerous, a connection I hadn’t realized I’d been craving until it materialized.
Doc’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze searching mine for something I couldn’t name. The anger had drained from his expression, replaced by a vulnerability that seemed at odds with his usual controlled demeanor.
“I promised to keep you safe.” His voice was low and rough. “Don’t make me break that promise.”
I didn’t pull away from his touch, didn’t step back from the dangerous proximity. Instead, I found myself leaning slightly into his hand, drawn to the unexpected gentleness beneath his stern exterior.
“I’m not asking you to,” I whispered. “I’m asking you to help me find the truth.”
His fingers tightened slightly on my arm, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor us both in the moment. “We will,” he promised. “But we do it right. We do it safely.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The fight had gone out of me, replaced by a confused tangle of emotions I wasn’t ready to examine. Doc’s hand lingered on my arm a moment longer before he finally stepped back, breaking the spell that had momentarily suspended us outside of time.
“Eat something.” He nodded toward the forgotten bag of food. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
He moved toward the door, but at the threshold, he paused, looking back at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Lock the door behind me,” he said softly. “And Nova? Don’t go anywhere alone. Not until we know more.”
After he left, I stood staring at the empty doorway, my arm still tingling where his fingers had been. Whatever had just passed between us felt significant, a shifting of something fundamental. But whether it was the beginning of something or a warning to stay away, I couldn’t tell.
I touched the spot where his hand had been, trying to make sense of my reaction. I hadn’t come here looking for complications -- especially not complications in the form of a stern-faced doctor with a motorcycle club cut and eyes that saw too much.
But as I went to the front door and locked it, I knew something had changed. And like all the other mysteries I’d come here to solve, I wouldn’t rest until I understood exactly what it was.