Chapter 13
13
Amelia
W HEN I CAME downstairs for my appointment Tuesday morning—note balled up in my fist and steam pouring out of my ears—the common room was empty and dark. Outside the fire station’s windows, the skies were gray, but at least it wasn’t raining. A voice that sounded like Morse’s caught my ears, revving up my anger again. Hurrying my steps, I headed for the front of the room where we were supposed to meet.
Another man responded, and although I couldn’t hear everything, I caught part of their conversation. “… don’t actually wear helmets, do we? I thought?—”
They came into view as Morse spun around so fast that the man with him stumbled back a step before firming his posture and squaring up with Morse. Not wanting to interrupt, I stopped and ducked out of view.
“You wanna splatter your brains all over the freeway?” Morse asked. “Be my guest. That’s your prerogative. But do that shit when you’re not riding with me. Today, you’ll wear a fucking helmet.”
“I don’t have one, sir.”
I couldn’t see the other man’s face, but he wore one of those leather vests with the club logo over a jacket, and his rigid posture and recently buzzed brown hair made him look fresh out of the service.
Morse made a sound of disgust.
Berating myself for listening in on a conversation that had nothing to do with me, I pushed off the wall, vowing to be a better person, and headed toward them once again. They stood before a bank of lockers near the front door. Despite my simmering anger, my stomach flipped at the sight of Morse in a black jacket beneath his biker vest, faded blue jeans, and motorcycle boots. Seriously, when had the man gotten so pretty? He turned toward the lockers, giving me a view of jean-covered ass and making me reconsider my flimsy commitment to being a better human. Slowing my steps, I ogled his backside as he marched to a nearby cupboard and yanked open the door.
“When brothers upgrade, we donate our old gear to the club. You’re welcome to use whatever you need. If it’s in decent condition when you no longer need it, toss it back in here. Not everyone can afford new riding gear immediately when they arrive. Remember that. Don’t be a dick, and don’t judge anyone for digging through the cast-offs. Everyone needs a fuckin’ hand sometimes.” He grabbed a helmet, doused it in disinfectant spray, and handed it to the man.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You can drop that “sir” shit right now. Hasn’t anyone walked you through the basics yet?”
“No, sir. Er, I mean, no. Havoc was giving me a tour when the shop got a parts delivery. We unloaded it, were sent out on a tow, and never got back to the tour.”
“We’ll find someone to remedy that when we return. Do you at least have a bike?”
The man nodded. “Yessir. Wasp helped me find one he deemed acceptable. He gave it a tune-up and said the tires are new.”
Morse turned his attention to me as I approached, greeting me with a nod but not bothering to meet my eyes. “Good morning.”
I didn’t respond because irritation trumped attraction, and I kind of wanted to strangle him. Rather than knocking on my door and engaging in a face-to-face conversation like a functioning adult, this man had slipped me a note last night, informing me where and when to meet him this morning.
He’d stuffed a freaking note under my door so he wouldn’t have to face me.
At least, that’s what I was assuming since I hadn’t seen him since Sunday when he’d walked me back to my room. He’d been MIA ever since, and now we were in for an uncomfortable drive to a doctor’s appointment I wanted to put off indefinitely.
It wasn’t a good morning.
Seeming not to notice my lack of response, he marched to a locker and removed a large paper bag. Handing it to me, he quickly scanned my body, and his eyes darkened. I fought the thrill that shot up my spine, both proud and ashamed of the effort I’d put into today’s look. Thia had insisted I wear her red and black sweater that fit more snuggly than I was used to, a pair of butt-lifting jeans I’d purchased off some social media app, and knee-high black boots that didn’t have a heel and hopefully wouldn’t kill my leg. She’d even done my hair and makeup, completing a look she titled Knock a Biker Dead . Judging by his pained expression, my friend had hit her mark.
Morse bit off a curse and looked away.
This wasn’t the reaction I’d been aiming for, but I was determined not to read too much into it. I focused on the young man beside him as Morse made introductions.
“Prospect?” I asked, shifting the bag to shake the guy’s hand.
“Yes, ma’am, but you can call me Jed. When we’re not in the club, that is.” His grip was firm, his smile easy, and he held my gaze as he spoke. I liked him instantly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jed.”
“Prospect will come with us today.” Morse’s eyes narrowed at Jed for a fraction of a second before he faced me, still avoiding my eyes. “Did you eat yet?”
“No. I don’t eat breakfast anymore.”
Intermittent fasting was what the health gurus called it, but he didn’t need to know the particulars of my battle with the bulge. I’d tried everything from outlawing carbs to eating pinecones and tree moss, but so far, my broken metabolism was proving unfixable. The joys of being in my forties.
Morse gestured at the bag I was still holding onto. “Go ahead and open that up.”
Hoping he wasn’t offering me anything that would tempt my current no-carbs-until-after-fiber-and-protein rule, I peered inside, rifling through the contents. A rain suit, a leather vest, a dark blonde wig, and a pair of gloves.
“Uh… thanks?”
“It’s a disguise,” he explained. “Not a perfect one, but with limited time, it was the best I could come up with. It’ll alter your appearance enough without drawing suspicion as long as you keep your eyes down and avoid cameras.”
While Thia had been gussying me up, he’d been working out how to conceal me. Awesome. So much for the forty-five minutes we’d spent blow-drying and fixing my hair.
I tugged the wig out of the bag and stared it down. Several shades lighter than my own hair color with beach waves, it was pretty but not attention-grabbing. “Are you sure this is necessary?”
“Absolutely. Someone could’ve hacked into your doctor’s office’s files and pulled your appointment information.”
I stared at him. “People can do that?”
“I can.”
“But it’s illegal.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Laws don’t mean shit to assassins.”
He had a point, but I wasn’t yet ready to concede.
“They’d have to know which doctor I go to, though. Right?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “However, that might not be the hurdle you think it is. Someone broke into your house late last night.”
“Wait. What?” More importantly, why was I just hearing about it now?
“We called the cops,” he assured me. “They chased off the intruder, and we secured the premises, but we have no way of knowing what information they got their hands on before the authorities showed up. Doctor bill, appointment reminder postcard, people leave that sort of shit lying around all the time.”
I left shit like that lying around. Had I this time? “H-How did you know about the break-in?”
“We installed exterior cameras to monitor the entrances.”
Yet he’d neglected to ask me for permission. I would have given it to him, but shouldn’t he have at least asked?
Someone broke into my house.
The thought pinged around in my head, making me want to crawl out of my skin and escape this nightmare.
“I’ll have Hound show you the footage when we get back.”
My children could be orphans right now.
Fear stabbed icy talons into my chest and closed around my heart. I needed to focus. I had a doctor’s appointment to get to and absolutely no time to lose my shit.
Morgan and Thia would have been in the house with me. They could have been ? —
What-ifs became weights around my ankles, and I was barely treading water as it was. Pressure collapsed my lungs to the beat of my thundering heart. Darkness crowded the edges of vision as I fought for air.
Warm, powerful arms enveloped me like a life jacket. Morse. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, rubbing soothing hands over my back. “I got you. Breathe.”
It had been so long since I’d had a panic attack that I’d practically forgotten how to handle them. At Morse’s coaxing, I inhaled through my nose and slowly counted to four. I held it for four seconds, exhaled, and waited another four seconds before starting over. My lungs expanded, and the darkness receded.
When my breathing evened out, Morse eased back, studying me like I was a wild animal he’d just released from a trap. “You okay?”
I scoffed. “Hardly. I should cancel my appointment.”
“No. You’ve been limping. You need to see a doctor.”
I opened my mouth to ask how he would know since he’d been avoiding me, but there were surveillance notices in all the public places, including stairwells, and Morse had always been highly observant. It made sense he worked in the surveillance office.
“Did someone really break into my house?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice soft. “But you’re okay. Everyone you care about is safe. We’ve got this. I updated Link on the situation, and we’ve altered today’s plan accordingly. Havoc and Eagle are already on-site, and Tap and Hound will cover us from here. I won’t leave your side until we get back. But we need to get on the road now so we don’t miss your appointment. Put on the disguise, Amelia. Please.”
His eyes finally met mine, and the unwavering reassurance that stared back at me could have persuaded me to do almost anything. The bikers had a plan and simply needed me to do my part, so I pulled the rain suit out of the bag and looked at him for an explanation.
“We’re taking the bikes,” he explained. “It’s not supposed to rain, but I’d like you to wear it all the same. I have something to go under the jacket, though, so put on the pants first.”
He retrieved a plain white vest from a locker as I tugged the rain pants over my jeans. When he slid it over my head, the weight surprised me. Gently lowering the front and back panels, he adjusted the size and zipped up the sides.
“Is this a bulletproof vest?” I asked. It was thinner than the ones cops wore and much heavier than it looked.
“Bullet proof is a bit of a stretch, but it will help to protect you.”
He helped me slide the rain jacket on over it. We removed the tags, and then I tackled the wig, fumbling with the placement until it felt centered.
“How do I look?” I asked.
He straightened the dirty blonde locks before nodding in approval. “Different, but still beautiful.”
Unsure what to do with the compliment, I accepted the black leather biker vest he handed me next. The club’s logo patch sat proudly in the center of the back, with “Property of” above and “Morse” below. My stomach did another stupid little flip.
“Um… why?” I looked at him in question.
His confident expression wavered for a split second before he wrestled it back under control, his posture almost as stiff as Jed’s. “That’s what it has to say. Anything else would look suspicious, considering no biker worth his salt would want his woman riding on the back of another man’s bike. We need the disguise to look authentic.”
“Right. Of course. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
“Exactly.”
It was for the disguise. Nothing to get too excited about, stomach. Good thing, too, because no woman worth her pepper would want to own a vest that marked her as someone’s property. Talk about demeaning.
This undoubtedly should not be a turn-on.
Right?
Then I spotted the patch on the front, and all the warm fuzzies fled the building.
“Who’s Angel?”
What the fuck?
Was I making off with some club girl’s vest? I didn’t know how I felt about that.
Morse looked away and cleared his throat. “I had to come up with a nickname since I couldn’t exactly disguise you with your name on the cut.”
He’d chosen the name for me? “But… Angel?”
“Yep. It fits.”
How?
I wanted to ask, but Morse spun around, clearly finished with his explanation. Jed watched us like he had no idea what to make of the situation.
Same, buddy. Same.
Morse passed me a motorcycle helmet with a visor and asked, “You okay to ride?”
Was I? Someone had broken into my house, and now I was wearing a bulletproof vest and a disguise to go to the doctor. Nope. Definitely not okay. “I’m good enough to fake it.”
He looked me over, assessing my tenuous well-being. “All right. Let’s head out.”
The last time I’d been on the back of a motorcycle was the day I’d dropped out of college and flipped both middle fingers at my parents and the plans they’d fashioned for my life. Young, stupid, and carefree, I was Seattle-bound with only the clothes on my back and the bad boy biker I’d foolishly believed to be my soulmate. Our love affair hadn’t panned out, but man, I’d fallen head over heels for his Harley.
Sliding behind Morse sent that familiar thrill of danger skittering up my spine. My hands encircled his midsection, and we both hissed out a breath. He was so… warm. And hard. Even through his biker vest and jacket, I could feel the lines of his abs. My fingers itched to explore, but I planted them firmly against his torso, determined not to be a creep.
He's just giving me a ride.
Not the wisest thought since it invoked ideas for additional rides I’d like this biker to give me. Rich leather and sandalwood invaded my senses and heated my blood, making all my lady bits clench.
Then he started up the bike.
The heavy vibration against my already stimulated core made me bite back a curse and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. We headed out, and I forced myself to relax and admire the masterful way he handled the motorcycle. Despite the forecast, rain drizzled as we headed south on I-5, but I stayed warm, pressed against him like I was, and dressed in the gear he’d thoughtfully provided. He parked in front of the strip mall that housed my doctor’s small practice, and Jed pulled in beside us.
Slipping my hands free of Morse’s torso, I moved to get off the bike, but he grabbed my leg, holding me in place as he ripped off his helmet and scanned the area, a stark reminder that we needed to be on high alert. A shudder tip-toed up my spine as I looked west toward my house as if I could see through the one-and-a-half miles of buildings and trees that separated us. I wanted to go there myself and ensure my home was okay, but that would only put a bullseye on my head and further endanger my escort. My chest started to tighten again at the thought, but we didn’t have time for that shit, so I forced myself to breathe through it and settle down.
Jed took over the task of scanning the parking lot and nearby structures as Morse offered me his arm and followed me off the bike. When he reached for my helmet, I grabbed his hands.
“The wig,” I whispered.
He nodded. “The hood of the jacket should keep it in place but hold the ends.”
I twisted my fingers around the locks and held on tight as he carefully yanked the helmet free and tucked it under an arm before discreetly straightening the wig and brushing a stray curl back. His attention and proximity made my heart race, even though his determined gaze didn’t once find mine. We headed into the small practice. The waiting room was empty except for a purple-haired mother on her phone and a young boy playing with a set of blocks. After I checked in, Morse marched us to two empty seats on the opposite side of the space, plucked his cell phone from his pocket, and began texting.
Sitting beside him, I peered at the frosted glass door that led to the parking lot. “Is Jed waiting outside?”
“Yes.”
“Is that safe?”
“Yes. Havoc and Eagle have eyes on him.” He slid his phone back into his pocket and swept the waiting room with his gaze.
I sat back in my chair, wincing at the fire that raced down my leg as I tried to get comfortable. Since I didn’t have a phone to distract myself, and Morse currently couldn’t escape, I tried striking up a conversation.
“How did it go with Carol?”
Attention still focused on our surroundings, he replied, “It was… interesting.”
“I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“Well, she accused us of being scammers, salesmen, and finally kidnappers. We had to convince her we weren’t holding you for ransom.”
I chuckled as tidbits of our last conversation finally made sense. “That’s what she thought was happening? When we spoke on that burner phone Tap brought me, she kept asking if I was under duress. God, I love that woman.”
Morse, however, didn’t look amused. “It wasn’t funny.”
I wrestled my laughter under control. “I mean, it’s a little funny.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “She’s a trip, I’ll give you that. She gave me her chess set.”
Certain I must have misheard him, I asked, “ The chess set? The one Henry brought her home from Turkey?”
“The one and only. And as asinine as it sounds, she forced me to take it when I won.”
I knew damn well the lion’s den I’d sent him into, but I played stupid, anyway. This man’s smiles had never come easy, and I was desperate to coax one out of him, if for no other reason than to prove to myself I still could. That life hadn’t completely robbed him of the ability. “Carol is a seventy-four-year-old woman, Morse. How could she possibly force you to do anything? Is she okay? You didn’t hurt her, did you?”
He gaped at me, and I almost lost it.
He must have seen past the cracks in my serious facade because the noise that came from his throat was a cross between a scoff and a chuckle. “You’re fuckin’ with me. Of course you are. You always do. No matter what you’re going through, you always find the humor in it, don’t you?”
“It’s a coping mechanism.”
He grunted. “She called me a pussy for taking it easy on her.”
At that, I burst out laughing.
“Glad you find this so damn humorous.” So did he. I could tell by the way his lips twitched. “She demanded I ‘let an old broad die with dignity,’ leaving me no choice but to compete. When I won and refused to accept the chess set, she threatened to throw it into the fireplace. I called her bluff because she needed help to get out of her chair, but the whiskey she kept spiking her tea with must have given her super strength because—oxygen still attached—she lunged for the board and, honest to God, tried to burn it. I had to take it to keep her from hurting herself or destroying it.”
Still chuckling over the image of him rescuing a chessboard from a little old lady and her fireplace, I said, “Admit it. You like her.”
“That woman isn’t eccentric. She’s batshit crazy.”
“Yep. And generous and wonderful. She’s forced me to accept all kinds of gifts over the years.”
“What do you do with them?”
“I didn’t feel right keeping them, that’s for sure. There’s an empty loft above the garage that she can no longer get into. I hide them there.”
His gaze shot toward me for a split second before it returned to the doors, but not before I caught admiration in his eyes. A woman could get used to being looked at like that.
“Smart. There room for a chess set?” he asked.
“Of course. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to go back to her place.”
He winced, and I instantly regretted my choice of words. He and his club were doing everything they could to keep me safe, and I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.
I grabbed his hand, trying to ignore the zap of electricity that shot up my arm at the contact. “Thank you.”
Eyeing the spot where my hand covered his, he asked, “For what?”
There were so many things, I wasn’t sure where to start. “For taking Carol breakfast and humoring her. For disguising me and bringing me safely to this appointment. For getting us out of my house before someone broke in.” My voice hitched on that last sentence, but I swallowed and forced my emotions under control.
He nodded and promptly changed the subject but didn’t pull his hand away. “Mrs. Landry’s son kept trying to reach her, but she refused his calls.”
My ears perked up. “That’s… interesting. It’s usually the other way around.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Eric has no time for his mother. He’s local, and I’ve never met him, which is crazy since I’ve spent holidays and birthdays with her. When she was in the hospital having surgery, she had me call him. His assistant promised to get him a message, but he didn’t show up, didn’t send flowers, nothing. If we ever do meet, believe me, that man will get a piece of my mind.” As soon as I got my phone back, I needed to call Carol and find out what the hell was going on. “If that little shit is giving her grief?—”
Morse finally gave me his undivided attention, and whatever I’d planned to say vanished from my brain because he was smirking. “What will you do?”
I wanted to answer, but the curve of his lips had struck me positively stupid. Did he even know how hot he was?
Because daaaamn .
I had to tear my gaze away to think. What had we been talking about again? Oh yeah. Eric. “Probably a bad idea to voice my intentions in a public place. Premeditated isn’t really my jam.”
He leaned closer, and my heart raced. “No, but it’s mine. You let me know if you need help with the bastard. I got your back, Angel.”
His eyes sparkled in challenge, making butterflies start up a ballet in my stomach. Was he… flirting with me? This man was so freaking confusing I couldn’t tell.
The nurse called my name. I released his hand and stood, but Morse followed suit.
“I’ll be right back.”
“No. I made a promise,” he said. “You stay in my sight until we get back to the fire station, remember?”
Well, if that didn’t send a shiver of excitement straight between my thighs….
Then, the awful reality smacked me upside the head. What if I had to get undressed? I’d rather microneedle my face with IV-sized needles than allow him to see my stretch marks and flabby areas.
Opening my mouth to protest, the words tumbled to a halt in my throat. The set of his jaw promised an argument if I refused, and the last thing we needed was to cause a scene in the doctor’s office.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”