Chapter 9
9
J ackson’s whispered words startled Lina, but she didn’t let it show. She kept her pace and didn’t look back as they approached the diner. The substance of the question didn’t warrant a raised eyebrow, but the way his lips caressed her ear and his voice rumbled through her body was another story.
She shook her head. “It was the first thing I checked after I saw Sam outside the hotel,” she answered, her voice low. “I won’t know for certain until I pick my bike up, but it’s the only place for a tracker that makes sense.”
Their conversation halted as a waitress led them to a booth, telling them she’d be back for their drink order as she handed them menus.
“Did you see something that made you ask that question?” she asked.
Jackson—she had a hard time thinking of him as Viper now—shook his head in response. “The devices are so easy to get these days and small enough to go undetected unless you look for them. I wanted to be sure. Speaking of your bike, do you need to call the shop and tell them you won’t be picking it up today?”
The waitress returned, and they placed both food and drink orders. When she left, Lina set her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her palm. “Once we have a better idea of what’s next, I’ll call them.”
“If it needs to be picked up, I can find someone in the area,” he offered.
His words piqued her curiosity. So focused on her own situation, it only now occurred to her that Jackson possessed hidden depths: the cabin last night, a contact who could pick up her bike, a place to take them for lunch despite being four hundred miles from his home.
“The night we met, you mentioned being in the military. How’d you end up in Mystery Lake with the Falcons?” she asked. A twinge of guilt pricked her conscience at the question. It wasn’t fair to ask his story when she wasn’t ready to share hers, but she wanted to know. If he didn’t want to tell her, she hoped he’d say so.
But he didn’t.
“Six of us discharged around the same time,” he started. “We’d worked together over the years—some on the same team, but others just on ops—and we all wanted something different from our lives. Only we didn’t know what. We had vague ideas—we wanted to have a purpose, we wanted to stick together, we wanted to do something that didn’t involve guns.”
“So, no private security firms for you?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “A few asked. A few put on the hard press. But it wasn’t what any of us wanted.”
“Is one of you from Mystery Lake?”
Again, he shook his head. “Not a one. We all like to ride, so we decided to wander a little bit. You know, kind of let our systems calm down after so many years doing what we did.”
She knew a little bit about that. After leaving her former employer—the CIA—she’d holed up in her apartment and thrown herself into studying for the CPA exam. The process had been intense enough to keep her mind from spiraling but not so intense as to trigger adrenaline dumps or anxiety.
“One day, we rode through Mystery Lake, and Dulcie’s bike got a flat. We stopped for him to fix it, then wandered around the town, had lunch, and decided not to leave.”
The waitress brought their drinks over—iced tea for both—then left to deliver a salad to a table on the other side of the diner. “That easy?” she asked.
“Getting the businesses up and running wasn’t that easy, but the decision to stay? Yeah, that easy.”
“How many businesses do you guys own?”
“Seven.”
She blinked. “Seven?” He nodded. She owned one, and that was quite enough, thank you very much. “What kind?”
“Rita’s and the construction supply company are our biggest, but we also own a property management company that mostly manages houses we bought, fixed up, and now rent to vacationers, a bike repair shop that’s well-known internationally, a car restoration company, and we recently helped someone open a new taqueria in town. We’re investors in that more than owners.”
“That’s six; what’s the seventh?” she asked, surprised he’d shared so much. Was this what a normal conversation with someone was like? She could hold her own with casual chitchat and had a knack for saying a lot without actually saying anything. But the CIA didn’t encourage relationships, and after she left, taking care of her mom and growing her business had consumed her time.
“The nursery in town,” he replied.
“As in flowers?”
“And plants and trees and anything that will grow in our area.”
The waitress stopped by and delivered their food, interrupting any more of her questions—questions she wasn’t sure she would have asked anyway, despite her curiosity. Knowing what businesses the club owned was one thing; probing into them felt like a privilege she hadn’t earned. Especially not if she wasn’t ready to reciprocate.
“What’s our next move?” Jackson asked, tipping his head toward her backpack while popping a fry into his mouth.
She weighed her answer. She wanted to be somewhere secure before opening the tin, but making the ten-hour drive back to Seattle didn’t seem like a good option. “Find a hotel around here and open it there? If it’s what you think it is, once we see the contents, we can plan our next step.”
“We could go back to Danielle’s,” he suggested.
“Would she mind?” He shook his head. She considered the idea. The cabin was isolated, and Jackson trusted the owner. Plus, it was only a couple of hours away. “Let’s do that,” she said.
“I’ll let her know,” he replied, pulling out his phone.
They fell into companionable silence as they ate, and her thoughts drifted to other meals, to the “family” dinners she and her parents shared over the years. There’d been so many evenings when her dad sat quietly at one end of the table, eating as if she and her mom weren’t sitting four feet away.
After living in a house with such strange—and, to an extent, strained—relationships, when college came around, she intentionally built a large group of loud and boisterous friends. The pendulum swung all the way to the other side, though, when she joined the CIA and spent most of her time alone.
Being with Jackson felt somewhere in the middle, balanced. His silence more contemplative than withdrawn. His presence more steady than unruly. She wasn’t alone; she had a partner. And yet he respected the fact that this was her journey— something her father set out for her—and gave her space to think, act, and make decisions.
The novel experience rolled around inside her like a pinball looking for somewhere to land or something to bounce off.
Maybe for now, it was enough that she liked having him by her side.
“It looks like clouds are coming in, and it might rain,” he said, showing her the weather app on his phone and bringing her thoughts back to their more immediate concerns.
“I can finish in two minutes,” she replied, glancing at her mostly empty plate. She’d eaten her chicken Caesar salad without noticing.
He motioned for the check as she took her last few bites, then handing Jackson a wad of cash, she rose. “Consider this on my dad,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the bike after I visit the ladies’ room.”
He eyed the money for three seconds, then reached for it. “I’ll pay, head to the can as well, and see you outside.”
A few minutes later, Jackson held out her helmet when she joined him at the bike. After clipping it in place, she swung her leg over his bike and hunkered down for a chilly ride back to the cabin. A cool wind whipped through the square, and she zipped her jacket all the way up, then leaned into Jackson and wrapped her arms around his waist. Before yesterday, she’d only ever ridden on the back of a bike once and only out of necessity. She liked being in control, being the one with her eyes on the road. But Jackson’s confidence and competence put her at ease in a way she hadn’t expected. She even tuned out a bit and watched the scenery go by. Another novel experience.
They turned north on Highway 101 toward the junction with 299. A mile before the turnoff, Jackson exited and pulled into a gas station. It didn’t take long for him to top off the tank, and a short time later, they merged back onto the surface street. To her surprise, they passed the highway on-ramp and began winding vaguely northward through a commercial area.
Stopping at a light, Jackson leaned back. She straightened and set her ear close to his lips.
“Gray truck, three cars back. I saw it when we left the diner, then again after stopping for gas. I’m going to see if it’s following us or if it’s a coincidence.”
She nodded as the familiar flutterings of an adrenaline rush teased her senses. She truly didn’t want anyone following them. It complicated the situation immensely. Still, she couldn’t deny the thrill of the chase. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since quitting her government job and becoming a CPA.
The light turned green, and Jackson accelerated, the rumble of the engine vibrating through her body. He zipped onto the highway, quickly moving into the left lane. After passing three cars, he switched back to the right lane and, at the last second, whipped down an exit, pausing at the bottom. She leaned around him enough to glimpse in the side mirror. The gray truck followed.
Jackson chuckled. “Hang on. I have a plan.”
Trusting someone so quickly went against her grain, but she didn’t hesitate now. With a smile of her own, she answered, “I’m sure you do. I’m looking forward to it.”