Chapter 23
OCTAVIA FOCUSED hard on the dirt road in front of the wheel of the motorcycle. She was still getting used to the vibration of the engine and was using her feet to walk the bike along slowly. Grim was walking next to her giving her instructions.
“Remember to protect your front brake,” he said. He lifted the first two fingers of his right hand.
Octavia nearly veered into him. He dodged the bike, then grinned. “It’s easy to steer wherever you look.”
She put her fingers on the front brake—too hard. The bike came up short, throwing her forward. The bike tilted sideways, but Grim caught it and her, then righted them both. Frustration billowed in her chest. She reached up to turn off the key, killing the engine. Then she loosened the strap on her helmet and pushed it off.
Grim’s eyebrows climbed. “You’re quitting already?”
She frowned. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I don’t seem to be getting the hang of it.” The only thing she liked about it so far were the clothes—the black leather jacket matched her riding boots and made her feel protected… and cool.
“Bikes aren’t for everyone,” he said. “But you just need practice. Do you remember the first time you got on a horse?”
“Yeah—I fell off.”
He laughed. “Well, you obviously got back on again.”
“I did,” she conceded.
“Look, there’s no rush. You can take as long as you want to get comfortable with the bike. We’ll ride in the dirt and the grass before I put you on pavement.” He averted his gaze, then looked back to her. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She gave him a wry smile. “That’s top of my list, too. Will this jacket protect me if I have an accident?”
“Some,” he said, “but except for the helmet, the gear will only protect you in a superficial spill. Kentucky doesn’t have a helmet law except for minors, but I think it goes without saying you should always wear it.”
Octavia frowned. “It’s a hair-wrecker.”
He laughed again. “Yeah. But it’ll protect your pretty head.”
“Where did you get the bike and the gear?”
“People try to sell me a lot of things in my line of work—cars, bikes, golf carts.”
“You must’ve liked this to have bought it.”
“I meant to sell it, but never got around to it.” He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “But if you don’t want to learn to ride it, that’s fine. You can always drive the Cadillac or the Monte Carlo.”
Octavia scowled, then pulled the helmet back on and fastened the strap. She reached up to turn the key and the bike roared to life. Grim smiled and gave her a thumbs up.
At the end of two hours, she was riding in a large slow circle, with Grim in the center giving her directions.
“Good, let me see you brake… get in the habit of using your front and back brake together. Squeeze that front brake, don’t yank. Good. That’s enough for today. Think you can ride it back to the garage?”
“If you trust me.”
“I do.”
Octavia inhaled deeply, then steered the bike back toward the garage. She was getting used to the feel of the bike under her and around her, and she liked the tactile sensation of driving it. Like most new cars her Jaguar didn’t even have a key—just a start button, and the gear shift was more for looks than functionality.
When she reached the garage she braked slowly, then put her feet down to walk it into its appointed spot, carefully guiding it around the vehicles and Grim’s own bikes. She killed the engine, then put down the kickstand and climbed off. After removing the helmet, she set it on the top shelf of an industrial looking clothing rack. When Grim walked up, she was hanging the jacket on the rack next to other leather jackets and pants with various degrees of wear that were obviously Grim’s.
“You already look like a pro,” he said.
Unable to tamp down her excitement, she smiled wide. “I know I have a lot to learn, but… I like it.”
He grinned. “Good. Next time we’ll go to a parking lot nearby.”
Octavia finger-combed her hair. “Can I ask another favor?”
He angled his head. “You want to borrow the jewels again?”
“No. I mean—yes, someday. But for now, could I borrow your truck?”
He turned to follow her line of sight. “The panel truck? You moving something?”
She squirmed. “I, uh, need to remove some things from my house in Louisville.”
“Ah. Well, sure, but it’s a bit of a bear to drive.”
“It can’t be worse than that dreadful minivan.”
“It is. When do you need it?”
“I was thinking Friday.”
He pulled on his chin. “I’ll go with you if you want. Won’t you need some help loading things?”
She nodded, relieved that he’d offered. “That would be… helpful.”
“That’s me—helpful.”
When the air between them started to feel thick, she said, “I should go. Linda will be wondering where I am. By the way, she doesn’t know about the motorcycle thing, and for now I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Your call,” he said. “I’ll drive the truck to the shop Friday morning—meet you there?”
She nodded, then turned and walked back to the minivan. When she started the engine, she glanced in the side mirror to see Grim lowering the garage door and locking up. She tried to identify the sensation she felt when she was around him. He was… competent. There was something very appealing about a man who was capable, and confident enough not to be showy about it. Richard had needed constant pumping up, which had played into her desire to cheerlead.
But Grim Hollister wasn’t the kind of man who needed a cheerleader.
She frowned. He didn’t need someone like her.
She was halfway home when her phone rang. When she saw “Dominick’s” restaurant on the screen, her pulse shot up.
“Hello, Wally?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Yo, I got another delivery of rolled oysters with the hot beer cheese. You want it?”
“Only if it’s for a different customer.”
“Yeah, different customer… Price.”
She sucked in a sharp breath—it was close to Pierce. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Octavia sped to the restaurant and was in and out—and down a hundred dollars—in record time. The order was just as malodorous as before but going to a nicer part of town. Since Pierce was used to living large, maybe his hideout was equally nice.
When she found the address, she pulled the minivan into the driveway and glanced all around. The houses were bigger and on larger lots—more privacy.
Her heart was clicking as she walked up the steps to the house. Inside the lights were low. The silhouette of a large man walking around was outlined through a front window. She rang the doorbell, then hefted the bag of food in one hand and positioned her camera in the other. This could be it. She was already rehearsing her triumphant phone call to Rogena Everwild.
When the door swung open the man was backlit. He was the right height, the right size.
Then he stepped into the light and her shoulders dropped.
Different race.
“Delivery from Dominick’s,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“Hey, how are you this evening?” the man asked.
“Never better.”
He took the food. “Here you go.” He pushed a ten-dollar bill in her hand.
“Thanks.” At least she could put some gas in the minivan.