Biker Blues

by Dale Mayer

  She frowned at him, then turned her glance to the garage and back. With her chewing on her bottom lip like she was, he immediately started thinking of other things he could be doing with his time.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chapter 2

  Jazz watched as Morgan shook his head, his features hardening in the light of the streetlamp.

  “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” he snapped in a hard tone. “Not happening.”

  “So… instead,” she said slowly, “You’re going to leave me, injured and helpless, out here in the dark alone?”

  He opened his mouth, glanced at the garage, then back at her. “Damn it. That’s not fair.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “No, it’s really not. There are lights on in there. The guy is probably long gone. We can look for the bike and maybe find something to help identify our stalker.” She motioned to the street. “Or I sit here all alone and wait.”

  “I’d rather you stayed here and waited.”

  “And I’d rather not be alone. I am not feeling very good,” she admitted quietly. “What if he’s watching us and comes around from the back while I’m all alone?”

  He groaned and reached out a hand to help her get off. “But you stay close and you follow my orders, do you hear me?”

  She gave him a disgruntled look, but he was adamant. “I’m not going to go in there if you don’t agree. We’ll go straight home instead.”

  “We need to find out everything we can about that bike,” she protested.

  He cocked an eyebrow and waited.

  “Fine.” She stood at his side. “Lead the way.”

  With a curt nod, her hand secure in his, he turned and walked to the secure parking lot. A vehicle was entering. They walked in at the same time and slowly made their way up the curved road. She studied the vehicles. There was everything here from beaters to flashy sporty cars. A cross section of people lived her. Interesting. Kelowna was fairly average in its demographics, but there was a ton of money in the town. Only those people didn’t live at apartments like this. They lived in the waterfront properties and there were other elite properties for the next income bracket. This apartment was the workingman style.

  Morgan pointed out a bike parked on her left. She could see it was a towing bike and not the one they were looking for. His gaze searched in a methodical left to right manner. She was the opposite. Her gaze lit on one vehicle then another and another, her gaze switching direction as her eyes caught and landed on something of interest. Being an artist, she loved detail. Color. Design. And there were nice vehicles here. A few custom paint jobs, but not many.

  In silence, they kept climbing. By the time they were up several more levels, she was feeling it. Her shoulder ached, and so did her feet for that matter. It’s not like she was dressed for a hike. Her sneakers would be perfect for something like this, not the lightweight fashion boots she’d slipped on.

  Morgan stopped suddenly – Silently, he lifted his arm and pointed to the right. She peered around his shoulder. “That’s it,” she whispered, excitement rippling through her. She hadn’t really figured that they’d find it here.

  It sat only a few meters away. In seconds, Morgan was crouched down beside it, his hands stroking the large blue tank.

  “Do you recognize it?” she asked.

  He tapped the reflective stripes on the left side of the bike and nodded. “Yes, it’s the one involved in the shooting at my house. It’s also the one we saw tonight.”

  “Good. The cops can come here and pick the shooter up.”

  With a long stare in her direction, he slowly shook his head. “On our say so? No. They will likely try to find the owner and ask questions, but there’s no way to be sure the owner is the rider we saw.”

  She shook her head. “So we’re no further ahead.”

  “Yes, we are.

  “Right.” She stood up and walked around the bike. There was no license plate attached, but it was sitting on the number 26 parking slot. In the background, she heard Morgan call the cop that he’d been dealing with.

  Were they trespassing? They’d snuck in. She hadn’t considered that in terms of the case, but maybe they were screwing things up for themselves.

  She waited until he was off the phone then stood and stared at him expectantly. “And?”

  “He’s going to come and take a look,” Morgan said in surprise as he stared down at the phone in his hand. “That’s good.”

  “Should we leave?” she whispered, suddenly feeling like they should be out of here as in a long ways away. And fast. She backed up and looked to see if there was a faster way to get to the exit.

  Morgan was studying her.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She wanted to get the hell way. “Let’s leave.”

  He frowned. “It might be better to stay here where we can make sure the bike is still in the same place when the cops arrive.”

  “I want to leave,” she whispered. Instinct had her looking over her shoulder. “It feels wrong to be her. Like we’re being watched.”

  At that, he straightened and searched the gloom around them. “When did it first start?”

  “Few minutes ago.” She wanted to shrug, but her shoulder was really starting to kill her. And Morgan wasn’t moving fast enough for her. “You stay. I’ll go back to the bike.”

  “Whoa, that’s what you didn’t want in the first place, remember? To be out there alone.”

  “Yeah well, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be in here with that bike. Something is wrong. As in something is very wrong with this scenario.”

  And she started to walk to the entrance. When she heard his footsteps fall in behind her, she picked up the pace. Within seconds, she was running down the long winding road to the front entrance with Morgan running easily at her side. She was holding her injured arm tight against her chest and wished she could explain the urgency driving her.

  When there was a weird pinging sound, she instinctively dropped to the ground almost crying out as she banged up her shoulder. She lifted her head and looked around. Morgan was hiding behind a steel support and peering up in the direction where the bike was. An engine roared in the darkness.

  “It’s the bike,” she screamed over the noise.

  But Morgan had raced out from behind his hiding spot and picked her up off the ground and dragged her back to safety. Not that there was such a thing. She trembled in the dark shadows, hoping the biker hadn’t seen her. If he had…

  The bike ripped past them in the darkness.

  She collapsed against Morgan, her breath raspy, hard.

  This was all too much. She wanted her nice calm life back. Her tattoo parlor and regular clients. Instead she was out here was Morgan and no end of shit pissing down on her life.

  Like what the hell.

  “Do we wait for the cops now?”

  Morgan answered, “I’ve just texted him with an update.”

  “Good, then we should be able to go home.”

  He stood undecided for a long moment, then with a big shoulder shrug, he said, “Sure, let’s go.”

  She grinned.

  *

  Morgan helped her back onto his bike. He noted the pale skin and bruising under her eyes, her almost unrecognizable eye color in the poor light. She was fading quickly. This hadn’t been the five-minute trip they’d both envisaged. Still, they knew where the bike was housed, so that was something the cops could work on. His top priority now was to get her back to her house and pick up clothes and toiletries as required. They’d walk through her empty house, lock it up, then bring her back to his house. Where she belonged.

  A cop car pulled up to the side of the bike as Morgan placed his helmet back on his head. He recognized Shaun, and pulled the helmet off again. He quickly explained what had happened while Jazz sat quietly on the bike.

  When they were done, and Shaun had completed his notes, Shaun said to go home and s
tay out of trouble. He’d check out the bike and the owner of the parking spot.

  Morgan drove away carefully with Jazz sitting securely behind him. She sagged against him heavily. Shit, he shouldn’t have let her leave the damn house. She’d be sound asleep if they’d stayed home. And that’s what she needed. Sleep. Not running around in the damn city chasing a stalker. What the hell had he been thinking of?

  Still, she could go get some things now before he dragged her back to his home. And this time, he’d make damn sure she stayed there.

  Chapter 3

  Jazz woke up slowly. Her body was tired. Sore. And her shoulder felt like it was on fire.

  She rolled over, trying to hold back a cry at the sharp pain.

  “Easy.” Morgan said gently against her ear. “It’s morning, but our running around last night would have played havoc with your system.” He shifted and the bed rippled. “I’m getting your pills.”

  She opened her eyes to see daylight streaming across the bedroom. But the pain… she shuddered. It’s as if her healing had gone backwards. So not what she wanted.

  Within minutes Morgan was standing by her side, her pills and a glass of water in his hand. He helped her sit up and take them. “Now lie back and sleep some more,” he instructed gently.

  “Not tired,” she muttered, but it was a faint retort because although she might not be tired, she had no energy or inclination to do anything else. If yesterday had looked bright and cheerful, today was like looking through storm clouds.

  “Any word from the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  Figured. She tucked the sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes, hearing Morgan quietly leave the room. Her mind revolved with the hellish events she’d gone through these last days, and maybe it was because she was so tired, but she did wonder about taking a holiday. Take a drive down the California coast, or fly over to the Maritimes. There had to be something she could do to get away and enjoy life instead of this looking over her shoulder every minute of the day.

  Better would be if this asshole was caught. Then she wouldn’t feel like she had to run away.

  The smell of coffee hit her nostrils, and she moaned at the rich welcoming smell.

  “Hey, I was hoping you were asleep.”

  She opened her eyes to see him standing beside her again with a cup of coffee and a muffin for her. It smelled wonderful. He put them down before turning to help her sit up.

  The pills had started to kick in, making the process easier. With a smile, she accepted the cup of coffee from him and leaned back to relax.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ll go grab mine.” And he disappeared back downstairs.

  She didn’t hear him for a few minutes, aware that she was listening for all sounds to make sure he was okay. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. She tensed. Only realized how foolish it was. Morgan had been here just a minute ago. It would be him again.

  It was just the state of her mind.

  And that sucked.

  Morgan came through the bedroom door a few seconds later. She flashed him a bright smile. He glanced at her then walked to his side of the bed and placed his large cup down.

  “No muffin?”

  “Ate it before I brought yours up,” he said with a smirk. “Was a little hungry.”

  She laughed. “I hear you there. I heard you come up the stairs, but even then my heart jumped, wondering if it was you.”

  His smile dropped away. “I’m sorry. I should have called up.”

  With a shrug, she said, “It’s fine. It’s going to take a while to get used to this.”

  “We don’t want to get used to this, but neither do we want to lose that edge that says we need to be careful right now.”

  “The cops should be able to find the bike and rider. It can’t be that hard,” she said quietly. “I keep expecting the phone to ring and to hear that they’ve picked him up.”

  “Him? Or was that just a general pronoun?”

  She thought about it. “It was general. I feel like it’s a man, but I think that is mostly because I don’t see a woman doing something like this. I don’t want to this to be a woman,” she admitted. “That’s not logical, I know.”

  “We need to keep an open mind. If you think about everything that’s happened, it’s been very hands off so far. Guns from a distance. Not hard for a woman to do at all. Now if I’d had the shit kicked out of me, chances would be we’re talking about a man.”

  “True.” She thought about what he said and realized he was right. There’d been nothing done yet a woman couldn’t have done.

  “We haven’t spoken much about that second picture on the pizza box.”

  She shook her head. “No, we haven’t. I did take a close enough look to identify it as the same tattoo artist.”

  “But it wasn’t yours?”

  “No.” She sipped her coffee, her mind on the image she’d seen last night. “Even if it was mine, why send me the image?”

  “To show you something. Maybe that this person was in their life now. So, it’s a ‘see he’s mine too’ type of thing.”

  “Meaning it had been a lover? So are we back to it being a woman?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. There are many possibilities. Including a gay relationship.”

  “Or maybe not a sexual relationship at all.”

  “True again. There can be bonds of all sorts.” He picked up his coffee. “Or he thinks it’s your lover and wants you to know he branded him.”

  “So they are talking to my lovers?”

  “Not necessarily. It’s just we have to consider all options.”

  She nodded but slid lower on the bed.

  “We need to know who you inked with this design.”

  She scrunched lower. She hated to think of it. Then another consideration crossed her mind. “That means you are in danger.”

  He snorted. “No. I’m not. Don’t try to change the subject. You also said the designs are different – how?”

  “Look, they are just unique. They were never a brand. They were a gift. It’s my art. These people were a major part of my life. I never regretted doing any of them.”

  “So they don’t have a number or anything like that,” he probed.

  “That’s gross. No. It’s like the pattern on the scales might be different. The look in the eyes. Things like that. I think in one case, I have the letter of his name worked into the design.”

  “The first one?”

  She nodded. “How did you know?”

  “It’s something you’d do,” he said a smile on his face.

  She glanced over at him, curious.

  “You’d start with something then decide it needed tweaking and carry on. I guess the male in me would like to know how many have gone before me,” he said carefully. “But at the same time, if it has been 12 or more, I’m not sure I want to know. I’d like to think what we had was special and therefore unique.”

  She stared at him in shock. “And yet you walked away.”

  *

  He winced. Shit. He hadn’t meant the conversation to go in this direction. That it needed to was a given, but surely not right now.

  She snorted. “Right.” She threw back the covers and struggled off the bed. “I need to have a shower.” The bathroom door closed behind her.

  Closing a door between them.

  Something else he hadn’t wanted. He had no way to move forward with this. He had to explain, but there was no good explanation to give. He felt like a fool. A misguided, stupid idiot for walking away. And for not finding a way back to her in all this time. There was no excuse. So there was no reason for her to forgive him.

  Yet he needed to explain and she needed to listen. Hopefully find a way to forgive him. If not, then she’d have to learn to trust him all over again.

  Given that… he stared at the closed bathroom door, hearing the sound of water running in the background. He would start here. If she wouldn’t let him back into her
heart, she’d at least let him back into her bed. He had no plans of losing that advantage. She couldn’t resist him, and he’d damn well take advantage of what little inroads he’d made.

  To that end, he got up and headed to the shower.

  Chapter 4

  Jazz stood under the running water and let the tears pour. How could he even consider asking her about the other men in her life when he’d been the one who’d walked out?

  Especially after that comment of wanting what they had to be special. The pain in her heart hurt more than the pain in her shoulder right now, but both together was a bitch. And she couldn’t get through today if she didn’t find a way to make peace with her past. And his.

  She’d never cared about his past. He’d been a hell of a lover, and that meant he came with a long history of lovers. As long as they stopped when he was with her, she’d been good. It was only fair. She’d had several long-term relationships too. But they all paled in significance to Morgan.

  The tattoos did too. Her skill had increased. Her emotional level of commitment to the man she’d inked had also increased. She knew now that regardless of where her relationship went with Morgan, she’d never do another dragon tattoo on a lover. It’s not that she wouldn’t do another design on the man she loved, but she wouldn’t do it for the same reason, and she’d never do a variation of the same design. It was too hard to see this and realized what had spawned from it…the dead men.

  But who could know who the men were? Roxy? Maybe. Did she know all of them? They’d certainly spent many an hour over a bottle of wine sharing information and experiences. Not private, intimate details, but about the things they’d like and learned from each. But would Roxy have told anyone else? Any other time, Jazz would have sworn that answer was no. She still didn’t believe it.

  So was there anyone else? There might be a few people who knew about her giving lovers a personal tattoo. It had come up a time or two over the years, but never names.

  So how could anyone have known? Unless they had slept with her ex-lovers and he’d told them.