Chapter 13
When Nick saw Joey's gaze jump just before she got to her feet, he knew the surgeon had finally come out of the O.R. of the tiny Community Memorial Hospital in the town of Hamilton. It was a good hospital. Nick had checked. And the guy was a good surgeon. He'd checked on that, too. He'd had little else to do in the four hours since they'd rushed Toni through the double doors with the signs proclaiming Absolutely No Admittance Beyond This Point. He got his rib cage wrapped, his lacerations stitched, his thigh re-bandaged, then he sat in anguish trying not to think of Toni as he’d last seen her; pale and limp and so damn weak.
She'd told him she loved him. He still wasn't over the shock of it. She'd meant it, too; it showed in her eyes. She loved him. It was a miracle—the only one he'd had in his life. Maybe you were only entitled to one. He'd damn well like another one. He wanted her to be all right. He couldn't lose her now.
“Miss Bradshaw, Mr. Manelli?”
He snapped to attention. The surgeon stood in front of him. Nick didn't know when he'd stood up. He looked at the man's blue pouffy paper hat and at the mask he'd tugged down so it hung around his neck. He couldn't seem to meet the man's eyes. His fear of seeing the worst there kept his gaze darting around the waiting room. The smell began to get to him. He felt it must have permeated his body by now. He felt as if he'd still smell it even if he burned his clothes and took ten scalding showers. He felt—
“Thank God,” Joey whispered. She turned to Nick, hugged his neck, wobbled very slightly, and Nick put his arms around her shoulders to steady her. “She’s okay, Nick. She’s gonna be okay.”
Nick could’ve sworn every muscle in his body melted in relief. “When can I—can we—see her?” he managed.
“She's in recovery,” the doctor said. “She lost a lot of blood, won’t wake for several hours. I'd advise you to get some rest, something to eat. Someone will let you know the minute she starts to come around.”
“She's going to be okay,” Nick muttered, almost in disbelief as the doctor strode away from them.
Joey straightened and looked up at him. “Yeah, but are you?”
He shook his head. “Two miracles in one day. It's hard to swallow.” She was all right. She loved him and she was all right. Suddenly, he grinned, feeling like a small boy on Christmas morning. “I've never been better!” He grabbed Toni’s sister and hugged her hard enough to force the air from her lungs. “I’ve gotta go out, but I won't be long. Text me the second you hear anything.”
He walked on air through the corridors, and managed to commandeer a local cop's car for his purposes. Then he drove away from the neat, low brick building, through the college town and into the rural countryside. He left the windows down so that wonderful fresh-cut-grass fragrance could waft over him, and he tried to imagine what on earth he'd done to deserve to be loved by a woman like Toni.
As he drove, the houses grew farther apart. He passed green meadows, fenced fields and herds of lazy fat cows. He drove by a huge rambling Victorian house and he smiled, remembering the way Toni had confided her secret dreams to him, afraid he'd think they were silly.
He didn't. He couldn't for the life of him imagine a better way to spend his life than with Toni in some big old house. They'd fix it up together, and she'd have an office with lots of light. She could work on those warm, uplifting books she wanted to write. He'd join the local P.D. When he came home at night, she'd be there. She wouldn't walk out. She loved him.
He smiled, suddenly knowing exactly what he wanted to get for her. The doctor had said several hours. Would he have time to find what he needed?
The afternoon sun slanted in through a window and heated Toni’s face and eyelids. The smells around her were clean and familiar. Hospital smells, she realized. Her throat hurt. It felt dry and as if something had scraped it raw. There was no pain in her shoulder. Somehow she thought there should be.
She opened her eyes. Nick sat beside the bed in a chair. He held her hand tightly, she realized. He looked better than he had. His cheek was still swollen and purple, but not as bad as it had been. The blood had all been washed away from his bruised face.
He looked relieved when she met his eyes, but nervous, too. “Hey, sleepyhead. Feel up to a five-mile run?”
She smiled at him and her heart swelled when she thought of how much she loved him. She'd told him so, hadn't she? When they'd been in the forest, and she'd thought she might die, she'd decided to tell him exactly how she felt, in case she never had another chance. Maybe that was why he seemed nervous. She'd scared him with the intensity of her feelings.
He smiled back at her. “You don't know how good it is to see that smile of yours, Toni.” He leaned close and kissed her with exquisite tenderness. When he straightened, he studied her face as if he was drinking it in.
She lifted one hand—the only one she seemed able to move—and ran it through her hair. “I'm a mess,” she said.
“You're gorgeous.”
“My hair—”
“You'd be gorgeous bald, lady.”
That remark elicited a giggle, but Nick wasn't smiling. His face was serious. “You remember what happened?”
Her smile faded. She nodded and glanced down at her arm. Her shoulder was heavily bandaged, her arm in a sling. “I was shot.”
“The arm will be fine, Toni. No complications. A few weeks and you'll be as good as new.”
She frowned. “Was my sister there? Where is she? Is she okay?”
He nodded. “She fell asleep in the other chair, woke up looking like she’d seen a ghost, and said she had to go. Something about her other sister being in trouble.”
She lifted her brows. “Caroline. Joey’s real sister. Well, the one she was raised with, anyway. She’s sweet, even if she doesn’t like me very much. I think I’m a reminder that their sainted mother had an affair. But then, so is Joey.” She blinked slowly. “I hope she’s all right.”
He frowned. “You have any reason to think she’s not?”
“Joey...she knows things sometimes. Sees things. In her mind.” She sighed. “I’ll call her later, find out what’s up.” The frown left her brows and she gazed at his face. “How are you, Nick? Are you okay?”
“Physically, yeah. The rest...kind of depends on you.” He cleared his throat, lowered his eyes. “Do—um—you remember what you told me out there in the woods?”
She drew a deep breath. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I wanted you to know—”
“Then you meant it?”
He seemed so uncertain all of a sudden, and kind of vulnerable. Frowning, she looked into his eyes. “I'm in love with you, Nick. Maybe I shouldn't have said it so soon, but I'm not going to take it back now.”
“I'm glad you said it.” He looked at her, and for a moment she thought there was a bit more moisture in his eyes than usual. “No one's ever said it to me before.”
“Then you don't mind?” He shook his head. Toni sighed. “I love you,” she told him. “I love you enough to make up for all the people who didn't. More than enough...if you'll let me.”
He pressed his palms gently to either side of her face and kissed her again. “I love you so much I would have died if I had lost you.” He carefully gathered her to him and kissed her even more deeply, letting his feelings rush over her and through her. She felt the lack of reservation and restraint and she gloried in it.
When he eased her down onto her pillows, she felt caught in a whirlwind. “I'm not sure what this means. Where do we go from here?”
“Anywhere we want, that's the icing on the cake. Toni, do you realize how well our dreams mesh? Your big rural house, my small-town beat...and....” He bent low and scooped something from the floor. “And this,” he whispered.
She frowned as he set a small basket in her lap, then lifted the lid and peered inside. A furry white head popped out and a tiny tongue bathed her in puppy kisses. Her breath caught in her throat, and the tears she'd been holding b
ack spilled over. She reached her good hand inside and pulled the tiny gray-and-white fur ball out, held him close to her, and the puppy nuzzled her neck. “He’s a sheepdog! I can’t believe you did this, Nick.”
“I'm calling him Ralph,” he told her. “If that's okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay with me. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
“I wasn’t,” he said. “I was missing a piece before. But then I found you. I love you, Toni Rio. I’m gonna love you for a long, long time.”
“I’m counting on it,” she whispered.
–THE END–
Don’t miss the rest of the SHATTERED SISTERS SERIES.
Continue Reading for an excerpt from FORGOTTEN.
Forgotten
He was the key.
Joey Bradshaw shifted in the hard little chair and studied him. It was the first time she'd seen him...with her eyes. Everything was the same, though. The square, cruel jawline, the thick, dark lashes that tried to soften its effect, the tiny, crescent-shaped scar amid the curling black hairs at his wrist. His hair seemed blue black against the stiff, white linens. The only difference was that, at the moment, he was breathing. Even his scent was exactly as she’d imagined it. A blend of blatant male virility and some spicy shaving cream. Such a potent mix was a pleasant distraction from the disinfectant aroma of the hospital.
She’d left her half sister Toni in a hospital not far from this one only a few weeks ago. Toni was fine. All wrapped up in testifying against a drug kingpin, promoting her brand new true crime book, and house hunting with the man who’d won her heart and got her a puppy instead of an engagement ring.
Joey’s other sister, Caroline, might not be so fine. And that was why Joey was here.
The handsome man’s eyes opened, blinked into focus and narrowed as he studied her. Beyond his curious expression she saw nothing. They were empty, those deep brown eyes. Vacant, just as the doctors had warned her they would be. It was cruel, what she had to do to him. It might not even work. But what choice did she have, really? She'd foreseen her sister Caroline’s murder. It was going to happen right after the murder of the man in the bed.
"Do I know you?" He sat up slightly as he spoke and the sheet slipped down to his waist. He wore no hospital gown. The sight of his tanned skin, stretched taut over a broad chest sent a little shiver of pure appreciation up her spine. In answer to his question, she nodded.
He shook his head, frustration showing in the way his gaze intensified. "Bad enough I couldn't remember my own name. I can't believe any blow to the head would make me forget you, lady, whoever you are."
Heat crept up her neck and yet another round of doubt came with it, She wasn't sure if his lighthearted flirting would make this easier or harder. Especially since the attraction was mutual. She'd prepared herself for the sexual magnetism that drew her to him. She'd sensed it before she'd ever come here—and decided she could handle it. But if it was a two-way street, traveling it might get damned complicated. For a moment she seriously considered getting out of her chair, walking out the door and never turning back. She’d spent too much time in hospitals lately. She’d almost lost one sister to the mob. Now another sister was in the sites of a serial killer.
No rest for the gifted, she supposed.
Then she glanced at his chest again, and in a flash that left her dizzy, she saw it bloody; pale skin between splashes of crimson. She felt the stillness of once-powerful lungs, and the deadening silence of a magnificent heart.
"Hey. Are you okay?"
Joey forced her white-knuckled grip on the chair arms to ease and dragged her gaze from his chest, back up to his milk-chocolate eyes. Numbly she nodded. She shifted in the chair, leather creaking against vinyl.
"You gonna tell me who you are, or am I supposed to guess?"
"You'd never guess in a million years," she said softly to the man she'd never met until today. "I'm your wife."
"My...what?"
"Your wife."
He shook his head slowly and she could feel how badly it ached. A white bandage at the back of his skull stood like a banner of surrender amid his soft, sooty hair. The car accident that had put him here had caused no other injury. Only that one blow to the head, and the resulting memory loss. For Joey's purposes, it was the perfect opportunity to intervene in a deadly situation.
"My wife." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, studying her with poorly disguised skepticism.
"You don't believe me."
He shrugged, eyes narrow, almost mocking. What had happened to the emptiness? Her mind was wide open. The problem was, she had no control over what she "picked up," and what she didn't. The images, the feelings, were random. God knew there were some things she'd rather not feel at all. Sickening, horrible things.
"I don't believe much of anything until I see proof," he told her. "That's just the way I am."
She frowned. "And how do you know what way you are?"
The sardonic smile died and the clouds returned to his eyes. "I don't know. That just came out." He shook his head slowly.
Joey felt a rush of sympathy for him, followed quickly by a rush of guilt. Her presence here wouldn't make things any easier. "It must be pretty lousy, forgetting your entire life." Worse yet, with what she was doing to him.
He searched her face. "I've talked to the people I work with—"
"At the Chronicle," she inserted, just to show him she knew.
He nodded, his gaze intensifying, never wavering from hers. "They filled in a lot of the blanks for me. But no one mentioned a wife. How do you explain that?"
She wasn't unprepared. She'd known which bases would need covering, and she'd covered them. He had no family, or none she'd been able to trace. There would be no doubting in-laws to contend with. She called to mind the lines she'd rehearsed for this moment and cleared her throat. "Did they tell you about your weekend in Vegas?"
He nodded, his face wary. "I went there to follow up a lead on...a story.”
"The Syracuse Slasher." His eyes widened, but he hid his surprise quickly. "Your lead was a dead end. But the trip wasn't entirely wasted." She reached down to the backpack on the floor beside her and pulled out the rolled, ribboned document. The scent of fresh ink worried her, but she doubted he'd notice that. She handed it to him, kept talking as he unrolled it. "When you asked me to go along, I had no idea what you were planning, Ash."
He frowned over the marriage certificate that proclaimed Ashville Allan Coye and Josephine Belinda Bradshaw were husband and wife. For what she’d paid for the thing, he’d better not find a single flaw.
Finally he shook his head. “So I have a wife. It's so odd. It's like I've never seen you before in my life. I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings too badly."
"I knew what to expect." She swallowed, failing to remove the hard lump in her throat
"So we were just married on Saturday?” he asked. “And no one else knew about it?"
"That's right. We arrived back on Sunday night. I went to my house and you went back to your apartment...to pack a few things, you said. When you didn't come back, I didn't know what to think."
"And now that you know?"
She drew a bracing breath and steadied her jangling nerves. It was necessary, she reminded herself. If she let him out of her sight for a minute, it could mean disaster. And this was the only way. She couldn't very well go to the police. They'd laugh her right out of the building. They'd never believe her. Very few people ever had. It was sickeningly ironic that she could get people to accept lies more easily than the truth. The super at the building where Ash lived, for example. He'd bought this same story, hook, line and sinker, and unlocked the apartment for her. If she'd told him the truth, he'd have dialed 911 to report a woman having an obvious psychotic break.
Except with her dad. The one who’d raise her, not the one who’d sired her, He’d never doubted her gift. He'd never accused her of having an overactive imagination. But he
was nothing to her now. Less than nothing.
"Well?" Ash prompted, reminding her he'd asked a question.
She straightened her spine, met his velvety brown gaze. "I’m hoping we can pick up where we left off." She let her eyes search his face, tried to put longing into her expression. It was easier than it ought to be. "That is...if you still want to."
Ash felt his eyebrows arch. So she wanted to play house with him. Well, that would require some serious consideration. He studied her again. Her hair was a mixture of honey gold and strawberry blond. It was wild and long. His gaze lingered on her exotically slanted, emerald green eyes and the black velvet forest surrounding them. She was small, no more than five feet tall, and she had incredible legs. No contour was hidden beneath the skintight leather pants she wore. The rest of her shape was concealed by her matching jacket. She smelled like fresh air and leather, and she looked at him like she was trying to see right through him.
"Can we do that, Ash? Pick up where we left off?”
He licked his lips. "I'm thinking." Who the hell was she, anyway? What was her game?
She rose, scooping her backpack from the floor and dropping it on the chair. Then, turning her back to him, she bent over it. He heard the rasp of the zipper, watched her rummage around in the bag. Watching the subtle movements of her black-leather-encased, perfectly round backside, he felt himself inclined to go along with her scheme, whatever it was.
When she turned, she held a pair of jeans—his jeans—and a pale gray button-down dress shirt. Holy shit, she’d been in his apartment.
"These are for when you're released." She opened the narrow closet opposite the bed and busied herself hanging the clothes. She'd brought socks, too, underwear, his cross trainers. He noticed that her hands trembled just slightly as she stowed each item in the closet. "I wasn't sure what kind of shape your other clothes were in, after the accident."
He just watched her. She was obviously nervous, seemingly making things up as she went along. She couldn't seem to hold his gaze or sit still or stop filling the tense silence. "Is there anything else I can bring you? Magazines or books or—"
"No." He was baffled. "Look, um..." He glanced down at the marriage certificate in his hand. "Josephine—" She grimaced and her nose wrinkled. Damn. When she wasn't outrageously sexy, she was unbearably cute.
"It's Joey, and I'll only forgive that mistake once, amnesia or no amnesia.”
He couldn't help but smile as he tapped the paper in his hand. "That's not what it says here. Josephine Belinda Bradshaw."
"Well, regardless of what it says there, my name is Joey." Her lashes lowered over those impossibly green eyes and she added, "Joey Coye."
He shook his head. He'd have to resist the cries of his body that were telling him to go along with her scam, whatever it was, just in case she planned to let him exercise a few husbandly prerogatives. He reminded himself that women like her were not his type. And that this was a serious game she was playing. She was up to something.
"Okay. Joey, then. Do you mind me asking how you got into my apartment?"
Her eyes focused on his, filled with enough innocence to fool the devil himself. "You gave me a key, Ash."
"Oh."
The investigative reporter inside jumped with questions. His libido was making noises of surrender. Loud noises. But the still-small voice of self-preservation squeaked its dissent.
Because, after all, the accident had been no accident. Someone was trying very hard to kill him.
Then again, forewarned was forearmed, right? And what better way to find out what she was up to than to play this out? She certainly looked harmless enough.
“Ash? Is anything wrong?"
He sighed. "No. As a matter of fact, you couldn't have come at a better time. They’re springing me today."
Her eyes doubled in size at that instant. "T-today?"
"Yeah. Got the news ten minutes before you got here. So if you'll hand me those clothes, I'll be ready to leave by the time they bring in my discharge papers.”
"Leave?"
"You are taking me home, aren't you?" He was enjoying her panic, but he was careful not to show it. He kept his expression blank, trusting.
"Home? I don't—"
"No." He stopped her before she could say anything else. Eyes downcast, he bit his lower lip to keep from grinning. "It's okay, I understand. I thought when you said you wanted to pick up where we left off..." He swallowed an imaginary lump. "It's all right. What kind of a husband would I be, like this?”
He'd called her bluff. He'd watched her squirm, and now he was giving her a way out. Obviously whatever scam she was pulling wasn't meant to extend beyond this hospital room. He could wait until later to do a background check on her, figure out what this fiasco had been all about.
But wait a minute. Oh, hell no! She marched to that closet, gathered up his clothes, brought them to the bed, then perched on the mattress and gripped his shoulders. Her eyes stabbed into his with unmistakable sincerity and some kind of raw power.
No eyes had ever been that green. She had to be wearing tinted contacts. Didn’t she?
"Don't ever let me hear you talk that way again,” she told him. “I was just taken by surprise. I didn't realize they'd let you go so soon with a head injury this serious. I figured..." She shook her head fast and her crazy curls swung back and forth over her face. "Of course I'm taking you home. I wouldn't have it any other way."
He frowned, wondering how she managed to seem so genuine when she was lying though her teeth. Damn, she was good. "Are you sure?"
Her shoulders squared and her spine stiffened. Determination lit her eyes. "Get dressed, Ash. I'll go and see about getting your release forms and we'll get out of here."
He nodded and watched the sway of her hips, as mesmerizing as a hypnotist's pocket watch, as she turned and left. When the door closed, he shook himself, got out of the bed, went to the door and cracked it, just to be sure she wasn't standing outside. Then he grabbed his phone.
When he heard his editor's voice on the line, he didn't waste time with preamble. "There's a drop-dead gorgeous woman here claiming to be my wife, Rad. She wants to take me home. I'm going."
Radley Ketchum chortled. "You? Married? Ash, maybe they’d better x-ray your head one more time, huh? What's going on?"
"I'm serious." Ash darted a glance toward the door and rushed on. “She has a certificate that says I married her in Vegas on Saturday."
"And she expects you to buy it? You? The most dedicated bachelor in the state of New York?"
"Well, she probably figures I don't know that, don't you think?"
Rad was silent for a long moment. "Look, you better not go with her. This whole deal was supposed to keep you alive, not get you killed."
He thought about the look in Joey Bradshaw’s eyes when he'd pretended emotional agony. "I don't think it's her."
"Oh, no? What makes you so sure?"
Ash shook his head. "I don't know. Gut feeling, maybe."
"Does she smoke?"
"How the hell do I know if she smokes? Look, I'll let you know where I am when I get there, okay?"
"She lights up a cigarette, my friend, you get the hell out. You have any urge to stick around, you just think about those butts with the coral-frost lipstick stains on them that the cops found at the scenes of all three murders."
"Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not suicidal."
"One more thing. Get her address on record somewhere before you leave the hospital, just in case you can't call with it later. Phone number, too. Give me her name right now and I'll see what I can find out about her."
"Her name, she says, is Mrs. Ashville Coye."
"Very funny."
"The marriage certificate reads Josephine Belinda Bradshaw. Calls herself Joey."
"Got it. Take care of yourself. And, Ash?"
"Yeah?"
"Just in case she is our slasher, you be real careful not to let on that the amnesia is just a cover."
&nb
sp; He disconnected and got dressed just in time. She was back at the speed of sound and, moments later, pushing him through the corridors in a wheelchair that was completely unnecessary, but required. Probably by the hospital’s lawyers. She seemed nervous. Her eyes darted around, seemingly watching everyone. Ash steered himself toward the nurse’s desk, taking her with him. He asked the nurse on duty for a pad and a pen and turned toward his "wife."
"What's your address?"
"Eight twenty-nine Gaskin, in Clay. Why?"
He jotted it down. "Just in case anyone tries to reach me here, I want to let them know where I am."
Her eyes widened. She reached past him to rip the top page from the notepad and then crumpled it in her fist. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Ash got up out of the wheelchair and leaned negligently against the desk so he could see every expression that crossed her face, eye to eye. There was heightened color to her cheeks. Her full lips were parted slightly in agitation. She was one hell of an attractive woman. "Why not?" he asked.
"I just...I don't like my home address being...readily available to any nut case who happens to ask for it, that's all." She tugged the pen from his hand, leaned over the pad and wrote something down. She shoved it across the desk to the nurse. "If anyone tries to reach Mister—my husband—give them this number."
"So during my sentence, will I be allowed visitors?"
She whirled to face him, her hair flying. God, she was jumpy. He smiled so she'd know he was kidding. He wasn't, but it wouldn't pay to let too much show. His "wife's" expression eased slightly, and she picked up a large zippered bag from the desk, offered him a shaky smile, and started for the elevators.
Ash caught up within a second or two, waving off the nurse who started yelling about the mandatory wheelchair. "What’ve you got there, Joey?”
"What?" She thumped the down arrow repeatedly, gaze raking the halls.
"The bag."
Her brows lifted, but she handed him the bag. "Your personal effects. The stuff they took off you when you were admitted. You know, wallet, loose change." She averted her eyes. "Wedding ring."
Oh, man, she didn't miss a trick, this phony wife of his. If there was a ring in that bag, she’d put it there, just now. And he hadn’t seen a thing.
"Wouldn't want to go too long not wearing that," he muttered. "Feel naked without it."
"Are you being sarcastic or making a joke?" She searched his face, her own worried, wary. He shrugged. The doors slid open and she shot a nervous glance at the people inside. It took her a few ticks, as if she had to study each face individually before she made up her mind. About what, he had no idea. Ash caught the doors before they slid closed again.
"We're holding people up, Joey. And here comes that wheelchair Nazi nurse,” he said, nodding toward the nurse pushing the ridiculous chair their way. “Something wrong?"
Shaking her head, she stepped into the elevator. She stood very close to him as the doors slid closed, he noticed. Her attitude was damned strange. Not like someone who was pulling a scam just to get him in the sack—if that was what she was up to. God knew, it wasn't necessary. He'd have obliged her in a New York minute if she'd simply asked. One time and one time only, of course. She was not his type. She was his anti-type, in fact. Qualification number one for the future Mrs. Ashville Coye was that she not be promiscuous enough to have sex on the first date. He'd prefer she not be promiscuous at all.
But looking at her, all tight fitting leather and centerfold hair, he thought she was a walking advertisement for a good time. That’s why he figured he'd have known Joey Bradshaw was no wife of his, even if the amnesia had been real. It was in those bedroom eyes that seemed to look right through him, to his hidden fantasies. And it was in those luscious lips, so full and plump that they made a man want to taste them.
He scoffed at his own train of thought. Probably collagen.
The doors slid open and she was the first to step out. She gave a quick glance around the lobby, following it with one over her shoulder to be sure he was right behind her. Then she started for the exit. No less than seven male heads turned as she passed, he noted.
She didn't seem to notice, just strode purposefully across the parking lot while Ash followed. The July sun rebounded from the pavement, making the asphalt feel like an oven. There was no hint of a breeze, and the air was heavy and stifling. She stopped beside a monster-size, glistening black motorcycle. Grabbing a black helmet with an angular, tinted face shield, she pulled it over her head. When he stopped right behind her, she held out one that matched.
"You're kidding, right?"
She thumbed her visor back, tilted her head to one side. "If I'd known you were being released today, I'd have brought the car."
"That's not what I—"
"Look, why don't you go back to that coffee shop off the lobby? I'll ride home and get the car." She frowned, and rushed on. “No, no, that won’t work. Can’t leave you alone.” Then she she snapped her fingers. "I know, we'll call a cab and leave the bike–"
"You talk too much, you know that?" He grabbed the helmet and pulled it on, wincing as it slid past the bandaged wound on his head. The amnesia might be phony, but the damned concussion was real enough. "I'm fine. I was just wondering about you." He looked doubtfully at the bike as he fastened the strap under his chin. "Looks like a lot for a little thing like you to handle. Mind if I drive?"
"The last time you drove, you wound up in the back of an ambulance." She flipped her visor back down with a snap and swung one leg over the seat. Well, he'd managed to tweak her temper. He'd been wondering if her concern for his health and happiness would have any bounds.
The Harley was low slung despite its size. Still, her feet barely reached the pavement. She kicked the motor to life and revved it. Ash caught a whiff of gasoline and exhaust, sighed in resignation and climbed on behind her. He slid forward on the slanting seat until he was pressed to her backside. Putting his arms around her waist, he decided he might not mind the ride so much.
She caught his hands in hers and moved them until they just rested on her sides, above her hips. Again the visor was thumbed up. She twisted her head and shouted above the roar of the motor. "Move 'em and lose 'em...darling."
He thumbed his visor back, too, and tried for a pained expression. "I'm sorry."
Her anger vanished. Her huge eyes softened and she almost pouted. "It's just less distracting this way, Ash. That's all."
He nodded, a little surprised at how easily he could skirt her anger by acting hurt. A con artist centerfold with a heart of gold. He could hardly wait to find out what she was up to.
And whether it had anything to do with the Slasher murders.
He pushed his visor down. She did likewise. A second later they lurched forward and shot into traffic.
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The Rhiannon Chronicles
Edge of Darkness
And MAGGIE’S NON-FICTION
Shayne On You
Magick and the Law of Attraction: A User’s Guide
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Maggie Shayne has published more than 60 novels and 23 novellas. She has written for 7 publishers and 2 soap operas, has racked up 15 Rita Award nominations and actually, finally, won the damn thing in 2005.
Maggie lives in a beautiful, century old, happily haunted farmhouse named “Serenity” in the wildest wilds of Cortland County, NY, with her husband and soul mate, Lance. They share a pair of English Mastiffs, Dozer & Daisy, and a little English Bulldog, Niblet, and the wise guardian and guru of them all, the feline Glory, who keeps the dogs firmly in their places. Maggie’s a Wiccan high priestess (legal clergy even) and an avid follower of the Law of Attraction
Connect with Maggie
Maggie’s Website
WingsInTheNight.com
Maggie’s Bliss Blog
Maggie’s Coffee House Blog
Twitter
Facebook
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