Chapter 3
Even before she took the turnoff, she could feel the shiver of apprehension running up and down her spine.
Instinct was warning her to turn back, but it was too late.
The engine check light came on just as she drove past a sad-looking and very deserted gas station and what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse building with spooky broken windows and a door gaping open.
“All right, girl,” she muttered. “Get it together. This is not some horror movie where a screaming madman wearing a grisly smile is going to come dashing out in front of the vehicle.” As soon as she said it, she saw the check engine light and wondered if it was a sign.
Her GPS told her that she had thirty minutes to go, and then she started praying.
“I’m a woman of faith and God will—” She was not yet finished with the sentence when the car sputtered and then died. Right in front of— Leaning forward, she peered out at the dingy sign on the building announcing the ‘Biker’s Retreat.’
With her heart already pounding inside her chest, she pushed the start button, and the usually faithful car, not even a year old at that, just stayed silent.
She was going to die right here in this deserted part of town with a broken streetlight and — oh God!
Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she witnessed two rough-looking men swaggering towards the vehicle.
They were going to rape and murder her. She was a virgin who was going to be raped right here in this seedy part of town.
“Hey there, little lady—” One of them peered into the vehicle, a wide smile showing yellowed teeth and a grisly-looking scar on his left cheek. “Seems you have trouble.”
“No. I’m—” She could make a run for it. She had on sensible pumps and could make a run for it.
And she had mace and a taser. In her bag — if she could only inch towards it without them noticing.
She bit off a scream as the other man leaned against the passenger door and peered in.
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? What is the problem?”
Just as she was deciding whether to make a run for it or dive for her briefcase to get her mace, another voice entered the mix. This one was deep and cultured and slightly amused.
“All right, boys, you’ve had your fun and you’re scaring the lady.
Why don’t we show her some biker’s hospitality by trying to be of assistance?
” Zane had been taking a breather from all the smoke and sweat inside the bar and was enjoying a cigarette when he saw the car and witnessed the entire interaction from his vantage point.
He could all but see the nerves quaking along the woman’s face.
The two men hesitated briefly, looking at her longingly, before easing away from the vehicle.
The resentment was there, but it would not do to rile up Zane Stanhope.
Not while he was tight with their leader, ‘Big Thunder.’ It would be a death wish to do so.
And Zane was as mean as a snake and certainly no pushover, something he had proven time and again.
Shrugging their shoulders, they slunk away and made room.
Not certain if she had been granted a reprieve, Kara stayed where she was, fingers gripping the steering wheel.
At least this one looked less murderous and — Good God!
Whereas the other two were creepy-looking and not the least bit attractive, this one was drop dead gorgeous.
Black hair, messy, streamed past his shoulders.
His tanned face could have been carved by angels, and he had the most intense and beautiful tawny eyes she had ever seen, like a predatory panther.
And the tattoo — what she realized was a lightning bolt — snaked up the left side of his neck.
While she was busy taking him in, he was also doing the same.
Zane made his measure in one sweeping glance.
“Lost?” he murmured, leaning in. Her perfume — subtle and floral — assailed his nostrils.
“No. I— My car — it just died.” She bit down on her bottom lip and had his gaze shifting. Her face was narrow, chin pointed, and her black hair was cut in a very chic style, short on the sides and longer at the front with a heavy lock curling over her forehead and hiding one tapered brow.
“Died?” Forcing himself to look away from what was a very appealing face, he met her mahogany brown eyes.
“The check engine light came on.”
“Pop the hood.” Easing off the door, he rounded the hood and waited until she did just that.
“It’s smoking,” he called out.
“What?”
“The engine’s smoking. I think you’re going to need some coolant, and your gas cap is loose. Yo, Red!” His shout had her jolting.
“Yo!”
“Go inside and grab a coolant, will you?”
“Yo.”
“I’ll just tighten the cap. I’m going to pour some coolant in and that should keep you until you reach—” He had come back around to lean in at her window. He smelled of expensive tobacco and a whiff of cologne. And there was also a tattoo on his bulging left arm. “How far are you going?”
“Er—” She cleared her throat and forced herself to remain calm. “Another thirty minutes.”
“I suggest you get it checked out in the morning. What the hell are you doing out here anyway?”
She had to clear her throat twice. “Road work.”
“That would do it.” Easing off, he nodded as the man he had called ‘Red’ handed him the bottle of coolant.
Kara sat there waiting while he did what he could to the engine and slammed down the hood.
Tossing the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, he came back around.
This time, he hunkered down so he could see inside better.
“All done. Give it a few minutes and then try starting it again.” His tawny eyes wandered over her face. “The name is Zane.”
“Kara. And I cannot thank you enough.”
He inclined his head, the hair sweeping his shoulders. “My pleasure.” His eyes lit on the briefcase on the passenger seat and the law books spilling out. “Lawyer?”
“What?” She swiveled around to see what had caught his attention.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” An amused smile touched his lips. “Mind if I have one of your cards?”
“Cards?” She wanted to ask him what for, but her innate sense of politeness had her reaching into her briefcase for her cardholder. And besides, the man had come to her rescue and saved her from certain assault and possibly roadkill. She owed him.
“Here you go, Mr.—”
“Just Zane,” he murmured, taking the card and studying it. “Assistant district attorney. Impressive.”
“Thank you. I should—” She edged towards the start button and gave him an enquiring look.
“Go right ahead.”
When she pushed the button and heard the engine roar to life, relief swamped her.
“I cannot thank you enough,” she told him sincerely.
“I’ll think of something.” He pushed away from the vehicle, sliding her card into the pocket of his faded denims. “Drive safe.”
He stood watching until the taillights had disappeared, a thoughtful expression on his face.
The package was prim and proper and should not have interested him one bit, but the face, Christ!
The face told a different story altogether.
A bloody lawyer at that, and one that had fired a response in him that he had never felt before. The irony didn’t escape him.
*****
She made it home and parked at the base of the porch steps and had to sit there for a little bit to shake off the nerves.
She was still shaking when she alighted and went inside. Putting away her things, she marched straight into the kitchen and poured herself a hefty glass of wine. She was going to drink it all and take two painkillers for the low-grade headache brewing at her temple.
After swallowing the pills, she kicked off her shoes and went out to sit on the porch swing.
The scare was over and she was still alive and not lying in her car or on the side of the road or even in the abandoned warehouse, raped — with her throat slit.
She was home — sitting on her porch and enjoying a glass of wine.
A biker had helped her — a gorgeous biker with yards of raven black hair and intense golden eyes — a biker with tattoos who for some reason had looked vaguely familiar and seemed out of place because of his deep, cultured voice and mannerisms. He had saved her.
She was sure of it. Certain that if he hadn’t intervened, those two seedy-looking characters would have assaulted her.
Taking a fortifying sip of her wine, she closed her eyes briefly.
But she was home and she was going to concentrate on that.
She was safe and had gotten through the experience unscathed, except for the nerves still dancing up and down her spine.
*****
Zane wasn’t having a good night. After she had left, he had gone through the motions of the pleasures he usually enjoyed — shooting pool, exchanging dirty jokes, and talking legal strategies with Big Thunder.
But his heart had not been in the various activities.
He had shoved off after pleading that he was tired.
Now he was home and sleep eluded him. He was bloody wide awake and thinking about some prissy and buttoned-down ADA, with inviting lips and a face that was superimposed on his bloody brain. He could even smell her perfume. What the hell!
Shoving to his feet, he paced the length of the small porch, the drink in his hand ignored.
He had gone straight inside to take a shower to try and clear his mind, but he kept seeing her.
The thick lock of hair covering her forehead, the fear in those mahogany eyes and his instinct to jump to her defense and protect her — from what exactly?
Mo and Harry were harmless and had just been messing with her.
The guys he hung around were not vicious killers.
They protected their territories, yes, and were not opposed to a good, rousing fight, but they did not harm innocent people.