Chapter 10
10
V iper accelerated back onto the highway rather than turn onto the surface street. He hit the merge at seventy miles an hour, then threaded his way into the left lane. He didn’t often push his bike—preferring leisurely rambles to chases—but it had the power for it, and the machine burst to life beneath him as he wove between cars, putting as much distance as possible between them and the truck. Less agile than the bike, the truck fell back when it got stuck behind two cars going the same speed side by side. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but they would be soon.
Lina held on to him, her body moving with his as if they were one. Not once did he feel her tense or flinch as he lane-split, cut in front of cars, or accelerated around semis. It didn’t take them long to reach the unincorporated community of Glendale, and he took the second exit, barely stopping at the bottom before turning left and heading underneath the highway. Whoever drove the truck—most likely Sam and his partner—would see them exit, but he’d use the surface streets, neighborhoods, and back roads to lose them in the small town.
Glancing down at the navigation screen, a different plan formulated. Turning right onto the main road through town, he slowed enough for the truck to see them but not so slow as to be obvious. When the familiar bumper eased through the stop sign, he once again accelerated, tossing a prayer to whoever might be listening that no cops were nearby. A mile later, he turned left onto a narrow country road. A hundred yards up, he hung a right onto an overgrown gravel fire trail. It was half the width and even less maintained than the one they’d traveled that morning, and Lina’s arms tightened around him as the bike bounced, but she didn’t lose her seat.
“Hang on,” he shouted over his shoulder. He felt her nod as he swung the bike in a U-turn. Then, switching the engine off, he quickly backed it into a copse of trees. Through the thick curtain of bush and branches, they could barely make out the country road, but they could see enough to glimpse the passing cars.
Birds and insects, startled into silence at their arrival, came back to life. Somewhere overhead, two crows started chattering, and deep in the woods, a twig snapped. Viper glanced toward the sound, looking back just in time to see the truck fly by. Tension eased from his body, and behind him, Lina exhaled.
Not wanting the echo of his engine to alert their pursuers, he waited another three minutes before easing his bike onto the trail and kicking it into gear. With not a car or truck in sight when he turned back onto the main road, he felt confident he’d lost their tail. Even so, he wouldn’t risk leading them back to Danielle’s.
Winding through town, he passed the on-ramp to Highway 299 and continued west. Crossing under the highway, they hugged the Mad River on their left while neighborhoods clustered against the mountains lined their right. A mile later, he turned onto a road that circled back to Highway 101, not far from where they’d left it. Only this time, he’d take them north, into Oregon, to a different destination. One that even if Sam and Nest—as he now thought of the faceless woman—found them, they’d never be able to access.
Lina didn’t question his decision—not with her body or voice—as they roared through the hills and forests before turning north. They rode for almost two hours before he pulled over at a gas station to top off the tank. Well into Oregon, and with no sign of the truck, he was starting to believe they might be in the clear. At least for now. But they’d managed to find him and Lina once, and he had no intention of underestimating them a second time.
Lina glanced around. “Where are we headed?”
“Coos Bay,” he replied before waving off the attendant who’d started out to offer his services.
“What’s there? Another campground?” She slid off the bike, did a little shimmy, then stretched her arms. Viper glared at the attendant watching through the glass door.
“No. Another friend.”
“That we can trust?”
“ I trust her. But if it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to stop.”
Lina eyed him, her helmet resting between her arm and her body. A gentle breeze carried the scents of gas, diesel, and the sea.
“You haven’t misplaced any of the trust I’ve given you so far,” she said.
“And I won’t,” he said, tapping the nozzle on the rim of the tank. It didn’t take long to fill a Harley. “Not intentionally, anyway.”
He felt her eyes on him as he replaced the nozzle. The attendant came out, and Viper handed over cash left over from lunch, somewhat surprised the station still accepted it.
“You need anything?” he asked, jerking his head toward the small mini-mart. “Bathroom? Water? Tootsie Rolls?”
Her lips twitched. “You like Tootsie Rolls?”
He shrugged, grinning. “They’re the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. What’s not to like?”
“I’ll grab you some when I finish in the restroom,” she said before spinning toward the door. She drew to a halt inside, looked right, then left, before heading left. When she disappeared from view, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his friend confirming their arrival.
A few minutes later, they straddled his bike. As they double-checked their helmets, Lina asked, “How much longer?”
“About two hours. It’s a nice drive, and hopefully, we’ll outrun the storm,” he said with a nod to the bank of clouds a couple of miles offshore.
“Here’s hoping,” Lina muttered as she wrapped her arms around him, and they accelerated north.
They didn’t.
An hour into the ride, it started drizzling. They made a quick stop to pull on rain gear, then kept going. The waterproof ponchos helped, but by the time they reached his friend’s driveway, water slid under the hood, soaking his shoulders, back, and chest. Between that and the wind from the ride, he was looking forward to being off his bike.
Following the twisty driveway up a hill, they reached a gate. Stopping six inches from the entry—he would not give the rain any chance to slide from his shoulder down his side—he typed in a code.
The gate swung open and as soon as they could fit, he guided them through and up the last half mile to their oasis. Well, not quite an oasis, but damn close. Perched on the mountain, the sprawling Frank Lloyd Wright style house hosted picture windows, water features, and, most importantly, a portico.
Pulling underneath it, he turned the engine off and kicked the stand down. The sudden lack of wind warmed him, but only for a few seconds. The engine barely quieted before chills snaked across his skin.
“She’ll have a fire going,” he said. The damp cold had stiffened their joints, and they both dismounted slowly.
“Who will?” she asked as one of the huge double front doors swung open.
“Me,” their host said.
Viper chuckled. Roxanne always did have a flair for the dramatic.
Framed by the door, their host wore a fuzzy fire-engine-red turtleneck sweater that hugged her neck and torso and a pair of skintight jeans cropped to reveal her thin ankles and hot-pink toes. A series of long gold chains hung from her neck; her blond hair, now streaked with gray, sat piled into a loose beehive on her head, and one of her long, gold-tipped fingernails tapped an elegant martini glass.
Viper glanced at Lina, who stood, helmet in hand, gaping.
“Oh my god, you’re Roxanne Kelly. My mom and I watched your movies all the time,” she sputtered. She didn’t even notice the drop of water that had fallen from her hair to her nose. “They weren’t super accurate, but you were amazing.”
Roxanne slid her gaze to him and winked, her lips, as red as her sweater, stretching into her trademark wide smile. “I like your friend, Jackson. Now ditch the rain gear on the porch—Klaus will pick it up—and come inside and get warm.”
Lina shot him a wide-eyed, slightly accusatory look before stripping out of her gear and following Roxanne. He could have told her whom he’d called on for help, but this was much more fun.
Dumping his gear beside hers, he stepped inside, his sock-clad feet immediately grateful for the radiant heat rising from the stone floor. Lina already stood in front of the roaring six-foot-tall fireplace, her hands held out toward the flames. Roxanne reclined on a sofa, her feet tucked under a blanket, martini still in hand.
“Klaus will be in to get you drinks,” she said when he joined Lina at the fire. “Now tell me, how did you two find yourselves on the run?”
He glanced at Lina, making it clear the ball was in her court. Roxanne’s eyes bounced between the two.
“It’s a?—”
“Long story?” Roxanne finished. “They always are, darling. Life’s too short to get worked up about other people’s secrets. If you don’t want to tell me, say so, I won’t be offended.”
Lina grinned. “I always wondered if you were anything like the characters you played.”
Roxanne arched a perfect eyebrow, smiled, then took a sip of her drink. “Much to the directors’ chagrin, I’m afraid.”
In the eighties, Roxanne had starred in a series of movies about a female intelligence agent—sort of a cross between James Bond and Lara Croft with a whole lot of sass and sex appeal. They’d garnered all sorts of awards, including an Oscar and two Golden Globes for Roxanne. Films like that often didn’t age well, but Viper and the club had watched them all more than once. Sure, they enjoyed the eye candy, but the writing and acting kept them coming back. Roxanne took great delight in knowing that more than half of the Falcons could recite all the lines from those movies.
After the studio released the last film in the series, she took five years off and spent it raising her son before hitting the big screen again in entirely different roles, including a housekeeper, a Victorian brothel owner, and a reporter. They garnered her a few more awards, but her earlier roles were by far his favorite.
“If you want to shower or freshen up before dinner, Jackson knows where the guest suite is,” Roxanne continued, nodding to Lina. “Klaus is making coq au vin tonight. It’s one of his specialties.”
“Drinks?”
Not unfamiliar with Klaus’s techniques, Viper had been listening for the man’s whisper-quiet movements and knew he’d entered the room. Lina, on the other hand, spun, sending her wet ponytail flying, hitting her chest with a soggy thump. She stared for a startled second before whipping her head back and glaring at him with another what-the-fuck expression on her face.
“Klaus, this is Lina. Lina, Klaus,” he said.
Klaus’s dark gaze lingered on him, then drifted to Lina, as if reluctant to look at her.
“Klaus spent twenty years in Hollywood playing creepy butlers. It wasn’t really a character for him,” Viper said. Klaus Van Bulen—yes, his real name—stood at six foot eight inches tall, his frame forbidding, his hair as black as the day he was born, and in possession of the ability to convey his general displeasure about everything without moving a single muscle.
Lina shot Viper another look, half warning him not to be rude but the other half asking if he was serious.
“He’s serious,” Roxanne answered. “Lucky for me, I was the only one who asked him if he’d rather be a butler than play one.” She took a sip of her drink. “He does, if you’re wondering. He’s worked for me for twenty-five years.”
“I’ll take a hot toddy,” Viper said. Klaus acknowledged him by raising one eyebrow two millimeters.
“Um, me, too, please,” Lina said.
He didn’t bother responding but turned and disappeared down the hallway, his shoes suspiciously quiet on the stone for a brand with leather soles.
“He felts his shoes, doesn’t he?” Lina asked, her eyes narrowed in the direction he’d gone.
“I’ve never checked, but I assume so,” Roxanne replied.
“Felts his shoes?” Viper asked.
“Glues felt to the soles, so they don’t make noise,” Lina replied, her eyes still on the hall.
“That’s a thing?” Viper asked. “After all my years in Special Forces, you’d think I’d know if that was a thing.”
Lina waved his comment off and turned back to the fire. “The military is a lot of flash and bang. Not that I’m criticizing, but they aren’t who the government brings in when a situation calls for something…”
“More nuanced,” Roxanne provided. Lina nodded.
“And what do you know about what the government needs?” Viper asked.
Lina didn’t answer. At least not him. Five beats of his heart passed before she turned and met Roxanne’s gaze.
“You asked what we’re running from. The thing is, we don’t actually know.”
Roxanne’s brows raised. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a long nail. “What do you know?”
“My father was murdered and left me a map to a tin box we found in a field today.”
Roxanne’s eyebrows went up again as she held Lina’s gaze. “Klaus,” she hollered over her shoulder. “Make Ms. Kato’s a double.”