“Oh, all right, but if you turn into a jerk, I’ll go to the nearest car rental and high-tail it to Key West without you.” I felt like a bitch, but my wariness overwhelmed everything else—not to mention revisiting Cole during my catnap hadn’t helped my mood. “Take it or leave it.”
His schoolboy smile softened my heart to pure putty. He stuck out one pale, long-fingered hand to shake on it.
Chapter Eleven
On the way back to collect my Jeep, Solomon explained he’d met his police pals through a detective who had worked on his sister’s murder case. Minutes later, we arrived back at the truck stop outside of Statesville. He’d thought ahead and had brought a neighbor to drive my Jeep back to the cabin.
The downside was that Solomon had his damn Malamute with him. Thank God we were taking the Excursion and not my Jeep. Otherwise, we would’ve had to tie the mutt on the roof. I didn’t say anything, though. After all, the man had traveled over sixty miles to find me and give me my purse.
Maureen and I waited on the sidewalk as Solomon filled his SUV with gasoline. He motioned to us, indicating he’d park around front when finished. We walked to the entrance. Rounding the corner, I stopped cold. A row of Harley Davidsons sat parked in a line in front of the entrance. I didn’t need to count them to know there were thirteen.
“Ruby? What’s wrong?”
Maureen’s voice sounded like it came from miles away.
“Uhm...nothing.”
My heart jittered so hard I wanted to vomit. What if the bikers saw Solomon too? But what could they really do to us here in front of so many people? And if they did start something, the State Highway Patrol was only a few minutes down the Interstate.
“Let’s go inside,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
Maureen stopped so suddenly I ran into her. She tossed me a skeptical look. “I still say you’re hiding some...” Her head swiveled toward the steel horses. “Something’s not right about those—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Maureen!” I shoved her toward the door, almost pressing her nose against the glass. “Will you quit dawdling and go inside. It’s damn hot out here.”
She sighed. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going!” She opened the door and tippy-tapped inside, her heels loud on the tile.
I hoped Solomon didn’t run into the same thugs who had trashed his museum.
The gas station sold hot submarine sandwiches in a tiny corner deli. We opted for sandwiches instead of waiting for a table at the restaurant next door. As we ate, customers chattered while paying for their gasoline and snacks, and the beeps from the cash register punctuated the store as a young black cashier cussed a string of vivid ebonics whenever he punched the wrong buttons.
Solomon spotted us and slid across the booth’s hard plastic seat.
“I got you a sub sandwich and a Coke,” I said and pushed some condiment packets toward him.
He smiled. “Thanks.”
Maureen ate voraciously, and Solomon said very little as he cast curious glances my way. Every time my gaze met his, I blushed to the roots of my hair. I feigned interest in the racks of snacks, travel kits and a long display of tourist trinkets and toys, but the store’s lighting and garish theme colors only turned up the volume of my headache.
I finished my sandwich, took a sip of pop, and wiped my mouth and hands. Casting nervous looks around the place, I announced, “I’m going to visit the restroom then we should be on our way.”
“I went before we sat to eat,” Maureen stated around a mouthful of bread and lettuce.
“Well, I didn’t.” Solomon scooted out of the booth beside me.
A sign over another glass door pointed to public restrooms. We passed through it where the dinner chatter of the restaurant next door grew louder.
“I’ll wait here for you.” Solomon pushed open the men’s room door.
Inside the women’s, I found the last of six stalls empty. I did my business, flushed and stepped out to come face to face with the redheaded biker chick. She stood at the counter lined with small ceramic sinks and soap dispensers.
I could only stare at her. Where to hide? Back in to the toilet stall? Dread and fear roared through me. I took one step backward, my hand on the edge of the door to draw it shut.
The woman noticed me. Her eyes flashed yellow, and the little flame of fear in me turned into a mushroom cloud of doom.
“You!” she hissed through lips painted fiery red.
My fear didn’t matter because my mouth shot off anyway. “Damn, you’re not only big, but you’re homely too.”
“Bitch!” The chick slung water off her hands and wiped them on her shirt. “I’m going to kick your ass before I take you to Azazel!”
The other stall doors opened one by one. A little girl with her mother and two elderly women hurried out of the restroom.
I asked, “What did I do to you?”
“It’s what you did to us!”
“Well, with your bad breath and body odor, it’s a miracle everyone around you doesn’t drop dead.” Again, I wondered how long I’d live if I kept allowing my mouth free rein.
She let out a shriek that should’ve tripped seismometers all over the country. She swung at me. Although her punch missed my face, I didn’t move fast enough for her to miss all of me. Her fist connected with my collarbone, and a jolt of pain zipped through my shoulder and chest. Spinning around, I pressed my backside against the counter’s edge and gasped at the agony gripping my chest and shoulder.
She lunged for me again. The sensation that I’d just grabbed a live wire shot down my arms, and I threw my hands up to shove her back. The power roared through my body. My skin grew brighter until it looked like someone had switched on a spotlight in the restroom. The energy that shot from my hands sent the biker flying backward. She crashed through the stall door and smacked into the roses-and-vines wallpaper. She fell with one boot in the toilet bowl, her other planted on the floor.
The biker chick let out another piercing scream.
I ran, my sneakers squealing on the tile. I barely got the door open before I smacked into Solomon.
He caught me by the arms. “What’s going on in there?”
“Come on!” I pulled him along. “That biker woman is in there.”
We sprinted down the hall just as the homicidal woman yanked the restroom door open. “After we use you, I’m going to kill you!” she shouted after us.
Throwing open the door to the gas station, we hurried to Maureen. Solomon grabbed her by her upper arm and hoisted her to her feet.
“We’re out of here. Now!”
“I haven’t finished my root beer,” she said, clutching the big cup in one hand.
The hellion stormed into the gas station. “Your ass is mine!”
“Let’s go!” Solomon dragged Maureen along behind him as I veered around the shelves full of tourist junk.
“But, you guys—” In her hurry to keep up with Solomon, Maureen wobbled on her heels. She teetered, took another step around the shelves, losing her right shoe, but somehow managed to hang on to her root beer. “Wait, Solomon. My shoe! I lost my shoe!”
“Now, Maureen!” I held the door open, panic nearly suffocating me.
The cashier yelled, “Hey, no fighting in here or I’ll call the cops!”
Customers stared wide-eyed at us. One woman pulled her two children against her as she gaped at us aghast.
The crazy biker snarled like a rabid animal. She hustled around the racks of chips and snacks, her boots clunking on the floor. She rounded the corner of the tourist gifts, stepped on Maureen’s high heel, slipped, and toppled over backward, arms windmilling.
The woman crashed into the shelving unit. Snow globes smashed on the floor in a shower of water, glass and tiny bits of imitation snow. A box of novelty balls crashed down, and the colorful orbs bounced all over the tile, landing upon shelves and rolling under others.
The cashier shouted a litany of curses that would have sent a priest to confession just
for hearing them. A potato chip stand fell on top of the woman as she thrashed around on the floor. Miniature bags of Lay’s, Snyder’s and Doritos littered the immediate area.
Outside, we pounded down the sidewalk to the Excursion.
“My shoe!” Maureen cried. “Solomon, I lost my shoe back there!”
A herd of Harleys sat parked next to the Excursion. I yanked open the driver’s door where I found the Malamute sitting as if he were the get-away driver. “Maureen, shut up and get in the SUV!”
I slid into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, I put the SUV in gear as Solomon jumped into the backseat next to the dog and Maureen hopped in shotgun.
The biker and his girlfriend burst out of the gas station’s entrance, their boots whacking against the concrete like sacks of wet sand. “Azazel! She’s here!” they both shouted toward a delivery truck parked next to the choppers.
An enormous man in leather chaps and a black t-shirt stepped out from around the truck. Everything in me turned ice cold. He was the thirteenth biker who had stopped at my apartment the other morning, but seeing him in broad daylight, I recognized him from somewhere—but where?
He strode across the sidewalk, his shoulders wide, arms powerful. His tawny eyes stared directly at me, mesmerizing me. Hair as gold as a rising sun brushed his shirt collar.
I couldn’t move. Desire crashed through me, and I gasped. He continued to advance, but I couldn’t break eye contact.
“Ruby!” Maureen’s voice came from a galaxy away.
The guy they called Azazel reached the Excursion, his hand passing through the open window.
The need to have him, to have our bodies straining against one another rendered me powerless.
Cold wetness and crushed ice splashed my face and my shoulder. Snapping out of my fugue, I screamed and stomped the gas. The SUV lurched, and then the engine stalled.
“Ruby! Go!” Maureen shouted. She pounded her palms on the top of the dash. “Go, go, go!”
The Malamute lunged from the backseat. He sank his teeth into the biker’s wrist. The guy cried out and tried to yank his hand back.
“Shunka! Let go!” Solomon yelled.
More bikers spilled out of the sub shop.
Maureen smacked my shoulder, sending pain through the same collarbone again. “Get moving!”
The rational side of my brain kicked in, and I threw the shifter back into PARK and started the engine again. The blond biker stumbled backward with his hand cradled against his chest. Blood transformed the white, laughing skull on his black t-shirt to crimson.
The Excursion’s engine roared to life. I shoved the shifter into DRIVE and stomped the gas. The tires squealed on the hot pavement. Hookers looked up from where they stood conversing with a couple of truckers. A man pumping gas into a Tahoe cranked his head toward the noise.
“Hey!” Maureen yelled, leaning out the window. “That looks like Wayne Blacktree over by the gas pumps!”
I almost side-swiped a rusty Chevy Blazer towing a pop-up camper. The truck’s horn blared, and the driver waved his fist at us. Maureen sucked in air and grabbed the sissy bar as the SUV fishtailed across the asphalt, its tires chirping every few feet.
Solomon yelled a profanity from the backseat.
We shot in between two tractor-trailers lumbering toward the big side lot, and then out onto the two-lane highway. I took the turn for the on-ramp too fast and fought to keep the Excursion from rolling over. It righted itself, and I slowed down to merge with the I-95 traffic. Once I’d driven for half a mile and began to settle down, tremors shook me so hard I could barely grip the steering wheel.
“What happened to you back there?” Solomon asked over the wind rushing through the cab.
“I...I don’t know. I just froze for some reason.”
What had happened to me? How was it possible the biker could control my body by me simply seeing him? If he had touched me, I would’ve been in grave danger. Somehow I had to avoid physical contact with him. If I didn’t...
Dark liquid dripped from my arm, and my hands grew sticky on the steering wheel.
Frowning, I wiped first one palm and then the other on my shirt. “Why am I covered in pop?”
“I dumped my root beer on you,” answered Maureen. “It was the only thing I could think of to snap you out of your daze.” She sighed. “What am I going to do about my other shoe?”
“For God’s sake, Maureen, I’ll buy you another pair of heels if you’ll just shut up about it!” Finally, I managed to meld with the traffic and set the cruise control for seventy. “We could’ve gotten our asses kicked back there, and all you’re worried about is a stupid shoe!”
“They’re my favorite pair!”
“Maureen, Ruby’s right,” Solomon said.
Glancing at him in the rearview mirror, I saw him patting the Malamute. The dog acted as if nothing had happened, but a red stain decorated the white fur around the animal’s mouth.
“What are we going to do about those bikers?” I asked. “They’re not normal.”
“Let’s hope we don’t run into them again after this,” Solomon replied. “Especially now that Shunka took a hunk out of that guy’s hand.”
Chapter Twelve
The time passed as did the miles. We listened to various radio stations, changing to different channels once we drove out of each signal’s range. Tension hung in the SUV. I knew Solomon and Maureen were thinking about the motorcycle gang too. The biker bitch had called the blond man Azazel, and some of them had yelled that name when they’d rushed out of the sandwich shop. Who was Azazel, and why did he have an interest in me? Why did my brain shut down and my libido explode when he was near? And what had the chopper chick meant by saying “what you did to us” when I’d never seen any of them until the morning I left Columbus?
“The past is in the past, Ruby.”
My father’s familiar phrase left me with a sour taste in my mouth. Did he have something to hide? Had he done something years ago, and now these people sought revenge on him through me?
Columbia, South Carolina was behind us, and after a couple more rest stops and a quick top-off of the gas tank, I took I-95 until we reached Walterboro around midnight. There, we found a nice, clean motel with a large pool.
Solomon volunteered to pay for our rooms that night. Gathering our gear, we entered adjoining suites.
“I’m starved,” Maureen said.
“Me too.” Solomon threw me a meaningful look, and I flushed white-hot from head to toe.
To distract myself, I picked up a phonebook and paged to the P section. “How about pizza and a two-liter of pop?”
Solomon nodded as he opened the door to his room and walked in to investigate, his dog obviously torn whether to stay with me or to follow him.
“Pizza sounds yummy, but no anchovies or hot peppers,” Maureen said and tossed her backpack on the bed closest to the bathroom.
“I want extra cheese!” Solomon called from the adjoining rental. He poked his head through the doorway. “I’m shutting the door for now. I need a shower.” Looking at the Malamute, he asked, “Coming or staying?”
The dog let out a disgruntled sigh, made four tight circles on the carpet, and flopped down. Solomon shook his head and closed the door.
My thoughts detoured to Solomon undressing in the next room. Fantasies about his body straining against mine shot a lightning bolt of need to my loins. With a mental shake, I scattered the erotic images in my mind. I was still sticky from the root beer, so I needed a shower too—a cold one.
“I’m so sick of this heat!” Maureen fished in her pack, pulling out various pieces of clothing. She took the lonely, shiny green high heel and tossed it in a trashcan sitting by a long, low dresser.
As I waited for the pizzeria to answer, I studied the room. Tan walls, earthy carpet, two gold-framed pictures with ocean scenes, pressboard furniture, and two double beds with chocolate-brown bedspreads finished the room’s décor. My entire body ached, so I wo
uldn’t have cared if the room had been done in pea green with purple polka dots. Driving for long periods always made my joints and muscles hurt, and all I wanted was a couple gooey pieces of pizza, a bath, and then a soft bed afterward. An image of Solomon naked beneath the shower popped into my mind, but I shoved the thought aside.
No need to complicate matters further by sleeping with him during our trip.
A clerk returned to the line. I placed our delivery order and hung up.
Maureen withdrew an oversized T-shirt, panties, a jar of makeup remover, and toothpaste from her backpack. Of my two companions, I realized I knew more about Solomon than I did Maureen. Curiosity found its way to my tongue.
“Can I ask you a question, Maureen?”
She picked up a brush and looked at me over one shoulder. “Sure.”
“What is it you need to take care of in Florida?”
A peculiar look crossed her face. Unease fluttered through her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
Stretching, I pointed at a bottle of pain reliever that had fallen out of her makeup kit. She tossed it to me, and I shook out three, swallowing them dry.
“I was just thinking that I know more about Solomon than I do you, which seems odd since we’ve been together longer.”
Her brow furrowed as she picked up the items she intended to take into the bathroom with her. “I guess you have a point.” She sighed, leaning against the bathroom’s doorframe. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh? Like a computer romance?”
“No.”
“A relative?”
“Yeah...a relative. One whom I haven’t seen for several years.”
“So you have family in both Indiana and Florida,” I confirmed, rolling onto my side.
Her demeanor switched from perkiness to guardedness. “Well, not really. After my mother died, my Aunt Lula raised me, but she’s not really my aunt.”
I hadn’t meant to touch a nerve. Lord knows I had enough of my own issues that I detested people poking at any of them, but I only wanted a little more information about a companion who I not only shared my transportation and rooms with, but the money in my purse as well.
The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen Page 11
