Beauty & the Biker (18 page)

“Yeah.” Professing otherwise would be a lie. Bella was more than curious about Savage’s past. Especially the portions he refused to talk about which seemed to encompass the whole of his career with the CPD.
How could he turn his back on fourteen years of noble service? What compelled him to be a recluse? What fed his haunted aura?

Mind racing, Bella swiped her forearms across her moist brow. “Leave it to me to pick the hottest day of the summer to relocate. Anyone for chilled lemonade?”

Angel pushed her frizzing curls from her face. “Sounds like heaven.”

“You could always ask him straight out,” Chrissy said, still focused on Savage and his past.

“He warned me there are things he won’t talk about. I’m guessing his reason for resigning is one of them.”

“One way to find out,” Angel said.

“Ask,” Emma said.

“Actually,” Bella said as she led her friends back into the house, “at some point, I’m hoping he’ll feel comfortable enough to offer the information. Meanwhile I’m going to focus on enticing him to collaborate.”

Emma snorted. “Never heard it called that before.”

“Ha. I’m talking about his art and my stories,” Bella said as they assembled in the kitchen. “According to Impossible Dream, Joe Savage is my Dream Partner. Together we can make magic. I know it.”

“Because an internet company told you so?” Emma asked.

She thought about the winged fairy he’d drawn for Melody and the story it had prompted—a tale Bella had committed to page last night. She palmed her chest. “Because I feel it in my heart.”

“I could argue that,” Georgie said with a sigh. “But I won’t. Just because I’ve given up on true love, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. If anyone deserves a Prince Charming, it’s Bella.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Chrissy said as she nabbed plastic tumblers from the cupboard.

“Ten minutes ago,” Emma said as they settled around the kitchen table, “you were against Bella moving in with Savage.”

“Ten minutes ago,” Georgie said. “I was miserable and envious and, color me embarrassed, cranky.”

“Envious of me?” Bella asked while pouring fresh lemonade. “I didn’t realize you were interested in Savage.”

“I’m not,” Georgie said, much to Bella’s relief. “Not sexually. I’m envious because I’m in a rut, spinning my wheels, watching life whoosh by with no prospects, wallowing in my crapola love life, bemoaning unemployment—”

“We get the picture,” Chrissy said.

“And here you are,” Georgie said to Bella, “the most circumspect Inseparable, except maybe Angel, going balls out and taking life by the horns.”

“Derring-do,” Angel said.

“Bold action,” Emma said.

“As suggested by Impossible Dream,” Bella said. “They provided the magic—the identity of my Dream Partner—but it’s up to me to follow through.”

“Gotta admire your determination and commitment,” Chrissy said to Bella then turned to Georgie. “Maybe you should apply to ID-dot-com.”

“I would,” Georgie said, “if I knew what to apply for.”

“What about your dream job?”

“Or dream man?”

“Shoot for winning a million bucks,” Emma said. “Then you won’t have to work and men will fall at your feet.”

Georgie smirked. “Obviously this requires deep and thorough consideration.”

“What about the rest of you?” Bella asked, encouraged by her friends’ surprising interest in a company that perpetuated dreams. Usually they were more grounded, cynical even. Although it hadn’t always been like that.

Emma pushed her sunglasses on top of her head then leaned back in the blue chair that had been hand painted by Bella’s mom, and shrugged. “I don’t know that I have dreams. I have goals. Attainable goals, I think. I just need to broaden my horizons.”

“Which would entail what?” Georgie asked while stirring sugar into her already sweetened drink.

Emma raised her chin a notch, but shifted her gaze to the kitchen window and the lavender fields beyond. “Leaving Nowhere.”

Everyone stared.

Bella fell back against the fridge and gawked. “For good?”

“For a while,” Emma said, still focused on the purple fields. “Maybe forever. I’m not sure.”

“What about our pact?” Chrissy asked.

“You mean the starry-eyed promise we made to one another when we were ten, eleven years old?”

“Promises don’t have expiration dates,” Bella said. “But I can see where our pact might have been unrealistic. Things happen. Things beyond our control. Sinjun was an Inseparable.”

“Still is as far as I’m concerned,” Georgie said. “In spirit if not in Nowhere. True friendship isn’t measured by mile markers.”

“We’d still be inseparable even if Emma globetrotted in search of spine-tingling adventures,” Angel said. “So far as keeping the town of Nowhere alive by not relocating and, instead, infusing the community with young blood and revitalizing enterprise… Our efforts have been lackluster at best. We didn’t move away after graduating high school, true, and we do serve the community in our own way.”

“Absolutely,” Emma said. “Thanks to you, locals can get a stylish cut and color at Heavenly Hair rather than driving several miles for something other than a basic buzz at Elroy’s Cut & Shave.”

“Chrissy’s stellar baking skills help to keep people hooked on Buzz-Bees,” Bella said.

“And Emma supports and stimulates tourism with her hiking tours and her work at the historical museum,” Angel said then nodded toward Bella. “You entertain the kids via story hour and encourage locals to utilize the library which helps to keep that cultural venue alive. Georgie—”

“Leave my work record out of this, please.”

“Point is,” Angel continued, “we’re all contributing to local commerce, giving people a reason to shop and circulate in Nowhere instead of driving to a bigger more thriving town, but is that the best we can do?”

“Do you have something in mind?” Bella asked.

“Not specifically,” Angel said. “But I’m simmering on a couple of notions. One thing’s for certain, population and tourism continue to dwindle with each passing year. Empty stores and defunct businesses are at an all-time high.”

“Tell me about it,” Georgie said. “I just applied for two jobs in Whitney because there are zilch opportunities in Nowhere. Not looking forward to the daily commute, but a girl’s gotta work.”

“Encouraging Savage to reopen Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland is a step in the right direction,” Angel said to Bella. “Who knows? Maybe that would result in a job opportunity for Georgie.”

“I could help with the books or hawk tickets or dress up like an engineer and operate that kiddie train,” Georgie said with a droll smile. “You know me. Jack-of-all-trades. Anything for a dime. Well, almost anything,” she said, and they all knew she was referring to the embarrassing not-to-be-discussed stint as a lingerie model.

“Except Savage shut me down as soon as I brought up the possibility of rebuilding Funland,” Bella said.

“Maybe it’s a financial thing,” Georgie said. “Those rides and concessions are in pretty sad shape.”

“Baxter left me a lot of money,” Angel said. “Maybe I could invest. Be a backer.”

“That’s generous of you,” Bella said. “But I think there’s more to Savage’s resistance. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not very sociable. Running the park would require a lot of interaction with crowds. And kids. He doesn’t seem all that keen on children.”

“He was fine with Mel,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah. He was. Still…” He’d been tense during his brief appearance at her story circle. Plus she couldn’t shake his aversion to all the kiddie photos Mike had collected in those boxes. Bella shrugged while rinsing out her glass. “Yet another mystery to solve. Once we’re living in the same house, surely it will be easier to crack his tough shell.”

“I say we attack as a team,” Emma said while rinsing her own glass. “After we move your things into Savage’s house we can shift to the barn and go through the boxes of Funland collectables. While we’re hanging and sorting we can casually pick Savage’s brain.”

“He may have shut you down on the subject,” Chrissy said, “but he doesn’t stand a chance against all of us.”

“Even if the discussion veers off, at least we’ll…he’ll
be talking,” Angel said.

Chrissy gave Bella a good-natured nudge. “We’ll get to know, and like, biker dude if it kills us. But if he ever makes you cry—”

“I know,” Bella said with a crooked smile. “You’ll have his gingamabobs.”

Chapter Fifteen

Joe wasn’t a slob. Just the opposite. He was somewhat of a neat freak. He’d been a bachelor for several years. No wife. No housekeeper. Although on occasion he had hired a professional crew to deep clean his condo in Chicago. Who had the time or patience to scrub grout and steam clean curtains and carpets?

Meanwhile, he kept his place tidy and free of dust, mildew, and cobwebs. Sometimes friends—there was a time when he’d actually had a few—would drop by for a game of poker or to watch a big game on his big-ass plasma. Sometimes a lady friend would sleep over. Once in a blue moon—when she’d still been alive—his mom would visit. Keeping a relatively clean home saved him from kicking empty beer cans and dirty underwear and socks under the sofa or bed when someone knocked on the door.

He kept the house he’d inherited from his uncle as tidy as his former condo. There’d been no need to dust, polish, vacuum or scrub last night or again this morning in preparation for Bella’s arrival. Nevertheless he’d done so, attacking the kitchen, the upstairs and downstairs washrooms, and her designated bedroom ad nauseam.

He’d never had a roommate—male or female. He’d never lived with a girlfriend. His home had always been a sanctuary. A place to escape. To crash and sleep. To recover and forget. To brood or vent—mostly the first—due to a particularly brutal day or on-going case. He was used to watching whatever he wanted on television and eating whatever and whenever he chose. He enjoyed the luxury of losing himself in his art without being interrupted or having to make conversation.

Yet he’d invited Bella to breach his sanctuary for an undetermined amount of time.

One of two things would happen. He’d want to kick her out after day one. Or he’d never want her to leave. Neither scenario sat well. But it was what it was and, according to her last text, she’d be arriving in ten to fifteen minutes.

His phone chimed just as he stowed a plastic bin of cleaning products beneath the kitchen sink. He answered without checking the caller ID, assuming it was Bella. “Problem?”

“No problem,” came a female voice. “Can’t a girl call just to say hello?”

Not Bella. And he was pretty sure he’d never thought of his former teammate as a “girl”. Valerie Petrie, one of Chicago’s finest, had always been one of the guys. As tough and sharp as they come. Her feminine side tightly contained, even when she let loose.

“Good to hear your voice, Val.”

“If you’d return my calls, you’d hear it more often.”

“I respond.”

“By email or text. Short and to the point. Or crisp and vague. God forbid we have an actual conversation.”

“What do you call this?”

“I’ll reserve judgment until after we disconnect. So,” she paused and he imagined her dropping into a seat and propping up her feet. “Still coming this weekend?”

“Said I’d be there.”

“Mitzi will be crushed if you bail.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“And I’d be pissed.”

“That I believe.” Joe smiled a little, reminded of the easy banter he used to share with Val. Touched that she still wanted him at her niece’s wedding. Val and her husband, Bennie, had stepped in as Mitzi’s guardians ten years back, after Val’s sister lost her life in a car accident. Over time Joe had formed an easy relationship with Mitzi, just as he had with Bennie. Tender-hearted, Mitzi had been the only one to actually tear up when Joe had kissed his job and Chicago goodbye.

After a tense moment, Joe added, “I know how important this wedding is to you, Val.”

“Receiving national recognition for our work with the joint task force was important to me, too. You sure as hell blew that off.”

“You know my reasons.”

“One moment of insanity does not negate years of noble service.”

“Matter of opinion.”

“Excuse me if I refuse to allow your outburst to tarnish—”

“Outburst?” Joe barked a humorless laugh. “For chrissake, Val, I almost killed a man with my bare hands.”

“Almost.”

“I would have finished the job if you hadn’t tased me.”

“I didn’t call to rehash—”

“Why did you call? I know I’ve mangled your faith in me as a partner, but you have to trust I’d never hurt you or your family. Is this really about the wedding?”

“Just double checking. I know Chicago holds bad memories. Speaking of… You’ve got a reporter on your tail.”

Joe blinked.

“Someone from your new neck of the woods. A man named Jones. Said he’s writing a piece for the Dawes County Tribune.”

“On me?”

“On heroes living locally. He didn’t seem to know much about you beyond your service record and the award you didn’t show to accept here in Chi Town.”