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“Who sent you?” Lexi splayed her legs to block his exit. She set the milk carton and bread on the dirty cement floor and set her hands on her hips.
The rider had miscalculated. He’d placed himself backwards in the space, ready for a fast exit. But vehicles had parked on either side of him, and Lexi stood her ground. He revved the throttle, and she allowed the intimidating roar to wash over her. Rage and disappointment gripped her in a fury, its origins buried in confusion.
Perhaps grief at never seeing Delray again.
Maybe anguish Tarant would fall into a relationship with her, but leave when something better presented itself.
Or shock at Lynn’s apology after subjecting Lexi to over two years of her torturous hate campaign.
Her hands shook and her knees threatened to drop her to the floor. The bike revved again, and she took a gargantuan step forward. Her fingers closed around the chrome plate linking the handlebars and her legs straddled the bike’s front wheel. “Do it!” she screamed against the rider’s visor. Her breath caused mist to eke across the black surface like rolling fog. “Just do it!”
The stand-off continued. Lexi noticed the rider’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Bristles covered his neck like a day-old shadow. The feathery edge of a bird tattoo snaked from beneath his jacket. She glanced down at his capable hands. They curved around the grips as though fitting a second skin. As she watched, he shifted his left thumb until it touched her baby finger. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through them both. He jerked his thumb away, dropping his head to stare at his fingers. The light caught his visor, reflecting a mirror image of Lexi’s expression and rigid stance. She resembled a maniac, her dark curls rising in a wind-blown haze. It took her breath away at how crazed she appeared.
She staggered back from the bike. Her body bent with woodenness as she retrieved her groceries from the floor. “Leave me alone.” A begging edge filled her voice. Her hands shook, and the milk splashed against the filmy interior of the container.
The bike roared, but the rider edged it forward with consummate control. Lexi leaned against the vehicle behind her, understanding nothing of the last fifteen minutes.
Lynn wasn’t a monster.
And Tarant would never love Lexi, no matter how much she wanted it.
Her life listed on its starboard edge as though pausing in the storm’s eye before pitching over. And the rider drew alongside her, staring through his visor like a hidden voyeur. She winced as his left hand rose. Work coarsened fingers cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed across her lips, the contact unexpected and shocking. The scent of patchouli filled her eyes and nose.
The caress ended. He dropped his hand and the bike shot forward. The rear light flashed red as he braked for the turn. He rode with care, not as a boy-racer but a responsible motorist. With another throaty roar, he disappeared in the busy car park.
Lexi stumbled to her SUV. She locked herself in and placed the groceries on the passenger seat. Nothing made sense. She lifted her fingers to her cheek and touched the spot where his contact burned her skin. Without words, he’d told her volumes in that brief encounter. He meant her no harm.
Lexi banished the adrenaline shakes which dogged her reflexes. She started the engine and headed for home. When she reached the expressway, a cursory glance in her rear-view mirror revealed the motorbike rider sitting three vehicles behind her. He didn’t care if she saw him. He’d never cared.
Lexi struggled to keep her attention on the road. Familiarity tapped at the back of her brain, elusive and floating like cotton wool. When she almost ran a red light at the intersection with Foreman Road, she ceased her mental wrangling. The cop in the squad car beside her stared up at her with narrowed eyes. He spoke to the driver, perhaps flagging her for observation.
The sense of overwhelm pressed against her temples. Lexi reached out a shaking index finger and selected Tarant’s number from the dashboard. A ring tone filled her vehicle.
“Leon.” He answered in his snippy greeting.
But she choked on the words to recount Lynn’s apology. It didn’t seem to matter as it once had. “I quit,” Lexi said instead. “It’s best for everyone.” She killed the call and leaned her head against the seat. The lights changed, and she crawled the vehicle forward, allowing the cop car to get ahead of her. The speakers trilled Tarant’s protest into the empty silence, but Lexi ignored his call. Relief flooded into her chest cavity like a waterfall. He tried again and again, and she refused to answer.
The motorbike rider stuck close, driving tight to the vehicle behind her. When the plumber’s van joined the outside lane, he slid into place behind Lexi.
She stole glances at him, imprinting his image on her mind. His registration number glinted backwards in her rear-view mirror. ADP 10. It didn’t exist, according to government systems. Tassels fluttered from the sleeves of his jacket, reviving a jarring memory of his enticing patchouli scent. A smile spread across Lexi’s lips. “I know your game,” she breathed. “Gotcha!”
Tall and angular, he’d caught her wrists days earlier in the narrow lane outside Lachlan’s shop. The green-eyed man with the mussed hair and the strong shoulders. How could she have overlooked such an essential detail? Lexi gritted her teeth and drove into town, headed for Books Inc. And the hub of her father’s mysterious crime operation.
