All Jacked Up (16 page)

“Tiny runs the best motorcycle repair shop in the city,” Jack said.

“In the state,” Tiny rumbled from behind her. “Was a time you wouldn’t see a foreign bike here, but there just ain’t enough Harley riders around anymore to keep me in business. Had to start taking trade from the rice-burner crowd.”

“Midlife-crisis yuppies who ride Japanese bikes.”

“I know what rice-burners are,” she told Jack. “And Hawgs and crotch rockets and—”

“We get the idea.”

“They’re not all Japanese anyway.”

“Girl’s got a good eye,” Tiny said, exchanging a look with Jack. “Every now and then I get a German or Italian model. Those are a pure pleasure to work on, but mostly it’s Jap bikes.” He heaved a windy sigh, seemed to ponder that regretfully for a second, then gestured them forward again. “C’mon, I’ll take you inside to meet the family.”

Aubrey scooted forward, heading for a door in the brick wall to the right before Tiny could steer her the way he had the last time. She might not have wanted to tick him off, but there was no sense encouraging him, either.

“How’d you know it was that door?” Tiny asked her.

She heard the suspicion in his voice and decided nonchalance was the best response. “Made sense,” she said with a shrug. “The broken motorcycles are near the door in the front, so I figured that’s the shop, and this must be your . . .”

“Home,” Tiny finished for her. “And this is the family. Come on in.”

Aubrey followed him in, but she stayed in the doorway because Jack was behind her and he wouldn’t let her back out. When Tiny said family, she’d just naturally assumed he meant wife, kids, maybe an elderly relative. What she got was about a dozen people, all adults, all dressed in denim accessorized with leather and grease—and she wasn’t just talking about their clothing. They were all staring at her, and the stares were suspicious, unwelcoming, or downright hostile.

“Most of you remember Jack,” Tiny announced. “And this is his friend, Aubrey. They need a place to stay for the night.”

Jack nudged her the rest of the way inside and stepped in behind her. Aubrey wanted to crowd back against him again, but she had a feeling these people would see it as a sign of weakness and be on her like a pack of dogs. So she held her ground, relaxing a bit as most of them waved or mumbled a “how’s it going” to Jack like he hadn’t been gone for ten years, then went back to what they were doing. Except one tall, beautiful woman who sauntered up, jammed her fists on her hips and gave Tiny the kind of look that would have left icicles on Satan.

“My daughter, Harley,” Tiny said.

Harley stood about five-ten, had jet black hair that hung straight to her waist, and looked like a cross between Catherine Zeta-Jones and Vampira, beautiful but deadly.

Aubrey offered her hand. Harley ignored it and her father, homing in on Jack.

She stopped just short of brushing her truly impressive, leather-haltered breasts against his chest. “The last time I saw you, you were going out for a morning ride.” Her eyes cut to Aubrey. “Although you’d just had one hell of a ride, even if I have to say it myself.”

“If I said it,” Jack told her, “your old man would crush my skull.”

Tiny snorted. “I stopped worrying about Harley’s men a long time ago, Jack. She knows what she wants, and she knows how to take care of herself—although I learned the hard way to confiscate her switchblade when she’s here. I never could stand a mess, and blood is damned hard to get out of upholstery.”

Aubrey thought they might be teasing her, and then Harley caught her gaze, held it, eyes as dark and deep and cold as a grave, and Aubrey decided maybe she’d overestimated the level of sarcasm. But there was a definite attempt at intimidation. She bumped her chin up and stared right back, irritated when Harley’s eyebrow inched up and a slight smile curved her mouth.

“You can stay,” Harley said, her eyes going to Jack then returning, filled with triumph, to Aubrey. “She can’t.”

Harley swung away from Jack, going toe-to-toe with her father. Even though he had her by at least a head, Aubrey would’ve put her money on the daughter. Their voices notched up to deafening as they argued, vocabulary spiraling down to vulgar. Aubrey eased back toward the door, figuring even if Tiny won, she wouldn’t be able to sleep under the same roof as a woman who looked at her like she ought to have a chalk outline.

Jack closed his hand around her arm and leaned over, whispering in her ear, “You make the mistake of showing fear now, she’ll never respect you.”

Aubrey reared back, looked at him like he was crazy—which he was. “Respect?” she managed to squeak out.

“It’s the only way to get her off your back.”

“I’ll tell you what, Jack. You keep her on her back and that’ll keep her off mine.”

“What are you two whispering about?”

“This is all really entertaining,” Jack said to Harley, “but we’re tired and hungry, and we could use to be outfitted.”

The thought of sleep, food, of being clean, made Aubrey forget about the very real possibility of death. “Do you think they have anything that would fit me?”

“I’m not talking about clothes,” Jack said.

Harley snatched something out of her father’s belt, did some intricate twisty thing with her hand, and whipped her arm out. A split second, a whiff of a breeze, and a good, solid thunk later a knife sprouted out of the wall behind Aubrey.

“He’s talking about that,” Harley said while Aubrey stared, mouth open, eyes so wide they hurt.

Jack pinched her on the butt, and when her eyes cut to his, shook his head the least little bit.

What the hell did that mean, she wondered hysterically? Did he want her to keep quiet? Because that didn’t seem to be a problem. Her feet weren’t moving but her wits were long gone, cowering in a corner somewhere.

Jack looked at the knife sticking out of the wall and tipped his head toward it, again the gesture so subtle she wondered whether she’d imagined it. He looked at the knife again, at the room in general, then back at her.

Aubrey risked a glance around, saw everyone staring at her, waiting to see what she was going to do. Including Harley. She wasn’t sure where the inspiration came from, and she sure as heck didn’t know where she found the courage or how she made it even two steps with her knees knocking, but she found herself standing in front of the knife. She realized it was her hand reaching up to pull it from the wall—and when it took both hands it kind of ticked her off. Then she had to fumble with it a few seconds before she figured out how to close it. That and the one or two snickers made her even madder.

She was cold and tired and
dirty
, and she wanted to be someplace where people didn’t want anything from her. Especially her life. She was tired of being scared all the time, she was sick of being suspicious of everyone she ran across, and she didn’t particularly appreciate being dragged by Jack to yet another place she could have happily lived her entire life without ever seeing. And she was more than willing to take it all out on Harley.

She turned around, the knife still in her hand, and instantly decided that venting her spleen on a woman who was a least a foot taller than her and spoiling for a fight would be lunacy. And probably suicide. She slipped the knife in her pocket and said, “Thanks.”

She held the other woman’s eyes for a second, not breathing until Harley decided to be amused. “Nothing’s too good for a friend of Jack’s,” she said, giving him a look that would have scorched asbestos. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Clean underwear would be really nice.”

Harley smiled, but the look in her eyes told Aubrey she’d gone far enough.

“Just take ’em off,” one of the men called out.

Aubrey made a big show of stepping closer to Jack, thinking if the present company was all the world had to offer, she’d become a lesbian. Then she looked at the women and thought, okay, celibacy might work. Or at least a good, strong shower massage. “Are you sure they won’t go straight to Corona?” she whispered into his ear.

“The brotherhood is stronger,” Jack said.

Yeah, but it looked like the sisterhood had murder on its collective mind.

“You’ll be safe,” Jack said, seeing the direction of her gaze, “as long as you’re with me.”

Aubrey glanced over at him, noticed he’d directed that last comment to Harley. She shot Aubrey a look, raised eyebrows and a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, then draped herself over Jack in a way that ensured maximum surface-to-surface contact, completing the effect by sticking her tongue down his throat. Jack didn’t show any overt enthusiasm, but he didn’t shove Harley away, either.

“A man kisses me like that,” Harley said when she came up for air, “I’m liable to think there’s unfinished business between us. Even if he’s with another woman.”

“We finished our business ten years ago,” Jack said.

“Doesn’t look finished to me,” Aubrey put in.

“Jealous?” Jack asked her.

“Relieved.” Okay, there was a bit of a sting, but nobody else needed to know that. Especially not Harley. “You’re welcome to pick right up where you left off,” Aubrey said to her, “but if you could point me toward the shower first, I’d be grateful.”

Harley stared at her for a beat, then threw her head back and laughed. “If there’s a god, Jack Mitchell, I’d say she’s playing a joke on you. C’mon,” she said to Aubrey, and she walked off, still chuckling, toward a door at the far side of the common room.

Aubrey followed and found herself in a small, dingy stairwell. Sighing, she started up the worn and creaking wooden risers. “Does Tiny own this building?” she asked when they made the second landing and Harley headed up the next flight.

“Best you don’t ask questions.”

“I was going to suggest he install an elevator.”

Harley glanced back at her as they hit the second-floor landing and went through a door that led onto a hallway. “I’ll pass it along, but Tiny thinks you can never get too much exercise.”

“He should spend a couple of days with Jack.”

“Amen to that.”

Aubrey had a feeling they weren’t talking about the same kind of exercise.

“This is kind of a catchall room,” Harley said, opening an unlocked door at the far end of the hallway. The room beyond was clean but stark, lit by a bare bulb suspended by a bare wire from the ceiling. Harley was searching through an old sixties-era birch dresser as she talked, opening one drawer after the other. “Women come and go around here, usually in that order and sometimes without hanging around long enough to make sure they take everything they brought in.” She sized Aubrey up, sorted again through the drawer she currently had open, then handed Aubrey a pile of clothes. “Some of the guys around here like their women scrawny,” she said. “Jack’s not one of them.”

For which Aubrey was eternally grateful.

“It’s not much,” Harley continued, leading the way back down the hallway, opening the door to a room that looked out over the courtyard full of motorcycles, “but it’s clean and it’s available.”

“As long as it has a bed.”

“And that shower you wanted. Bathroom’s through there.”

“Perfect.” But it was the phone that held Aubrey’s attention, an old-fashioned, black, heavy, still-used-clicks desk phone, so ancient the dirt in the creases of it had gone gray.

“Make sure you clean up after yourself. Tiny likes it that way. I insist on it.” Harley walked out before she could answer, which was fine with Aubrey.

She should have called Tom, but the lure of hot water and clean clothes was too strong to resist. She turned on the water as hot as she could bear and stood underneath it until her skin wrinkled and even her brain felt like it had been steamed clean. She took her time with the rest of it, too, digging creams and lotions out of her backpack, adding some mascara and lip gloss.

The bra was a surprisingly good fit, even if it was one of the expensive push-up types that made the most of what she had while managing to be as uncomfortable as possible. The matching panties weren’t a whole lot better—or even whole, for that matter, three strings and a triangle of lace in front. The alternatives—her own, which she’d been wearing for four days, or none at all—were even less appealing.

She pulled on a pair of khaki slacks, half zipping them, but it was too sticky in the bathroom to wrestle into the V-necked T-shirt. She toweled her hair and settled for a quick comb and a halfhearted attempt to slick it flat. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know it was already curling around her ears and turning up at the nape of her neck.

Her spirits were pretty high by the time she pulled open the bathroom door. And there was Jack to drag her right back down to reality.

He ran his gaze over her, from her newly acquired cleavage to the triangle of skin edged in zipper metal and lace. Knowing Jack, he probably got the biggest rush out of the metal. “Nice outfit.”

“I’d’ve thought this was too much clothing for your taste.”

“Not on you.”

Right, she thought, which was why his voice sounded like it had dropped into his crotch. She felt an insane urge to cover up before he asked her to help him find it. “You could have spared us both and knocked before you came in,” she said, slipping into the shirt and zipping the pants.

“I thought you’d be done by now,” he said, eying the phone.

“It took me a bit longer, seeing as how I called everyone I could think of and told them where we are.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“If you’re done grilling me, I’d like to take a nap. I’d think you’d want to do the same.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Aubrey rolled her eyes. “I was asking you, politely, to get out of my room.”

“Politeness is wasted on me. And we’re sharing this room.” He glanced at the bed. “All of it.”

Cursing her memory every step of the way, Aubrey flashed back to the previous morning, waking up with Jack wrapped around her, his hand full—okay, half full of breast. She’d felt like a romance novel cliché, nerves throbbing, womanhood burning, basic urges overriding common sense. And it wasn’t just her anatomy in the game. Apparently Jack woke
up
in the morning, regardless of who he woke up with. And she wasn’t exactly immune to him. They had that much in common, rampant physical attraction, chemical concurrence without any meeting of the minds. Good thing she had too much self-control to do anything stupid.

So why did the thought of sharing a narrow double bed with him make her feel all tingly and nervous? She’d slept beside him in the car, slept against him in the cave. But that was necessity. So was sharing this room in the biker hangout, but there was a bed and that made it feel different. A bed felt like . . . something else. Something she preferred not to be feeling when Jack was the other half of the equation.

“Nobody gets their own room here,” Jack said. “It’s either me or one of those other guys.” He waited a half a minute or so, but she just kept staring at the door. “Well?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, only half teasing.

“Do it outside. I want to change my clothes.”

“You mean I should go out there? Alone?”

“Yeah. And if you decide you don’t want to come back in, you can spend the time considering which one of them you might want to spend the night with.”

“Just one?”

It felt good, for once, to have a door to close on Jack when he made that face.

If there’d been even a ghost of a chance Aubrey would hook up with a territorial, armed-to-the-teeth biker, Jack would have gone after her, if only to spare himself the hassle. But there was a much bigger possibility she’d do something to piss off or maim one of them. Tiny would intervene before there was any retribution, so Aubrey was probably safe. Jack was pretty sure of it. Sure enough to put Aubrey and her affinity for trouble out of his mind.

Or maybe the exhaustion did that. He shifted his attention from the closed door to the phone and stared at it a while before he remembered why it was important. He needed to call Mike. He needed to take a shower, too. And he could use something to eat, except he’d have to get up to do any of that stuff because somehow he was lying on the bed. And since he was already down there it made sense to rest his eyes. Just fifteen minutes, that’s all he needed and he’d be back in fighting form again. He’d gone longer than this without sleep. But then he hadn’t been the victim of a jinxed librarian . . .

He woke up four hours later and found himself staring at the phone again, no idea why he found it so engrossing—unless maybe because the thing was barely a step up from Bell’s original model. And then reality snuck into his brain. Being on the run, Tiny’s place in Charlotte, calling Mike. Aubrey. All in all he preferred the confusion. Except for one thing. Confusion wouldn’t keep them alive.

He heaved himself off the bed and dragged himself into the bathroom. He wasn’t calling Mike while his brain was too foggy to make sense of the conversation. The best thing for unfogging would be about ten more hours of sleep. What he’d have to make do with was ten minutes in the shower.

The bathroom was utilitarian: a plain white toilet, a bathtub with the top layer of porcelain completely scrubbed off, a small white sink sitting in the midst of a gold-veined, white Formica counter. The place was spotless, except the counter, which was crowded with stuff. Female stuff. Bottles and tubes and little flat, round things with miniature brushes sticking out of them. And Harley’s switchblade. That was a girl thing, too—depending on the girl.