Hard Ride (3 page)

Chapter Seven

Katie stared at the screen, ready to stab it with the letter opener. Every fucking business had something similar. Some small, some large, but always inventory
on the automatic ordering schedule, or something easily dismissed.

Her father had been CEO of Parker Enterprises, Inc. A business her great grandfather started during the depression as an attempt to feed his large family. At the age of twenty five, she’d dismantled it, clos
ed it down, because a lot of the execs were too big for their britches and demanding higher bonuses while doing nothing. She’d used the money Dad left, bought ninety-nine percent of the stock, and promptly killed it. There’d been a big bru-ha-ha over the whole thing, her name and face all over financial media for two years. Luckily, Mom left her money in a separate trust fund. She’d started her own company, K.P. Companies, LLC. She employed over one hundred people, paid high wages, made sure none of her employees ever wanted. While she could make millions, instead she loved the much smaller six figure income, and how her employee turnover rate was never above zero-point-two.

Now some fuckwit was
embezzling. Not only from her, but from every person employed by her. They’d better hide, a long damned distance away. Because if she found him, or her, she had a bullet with their name on it.

Printing out several file folders worth of paper, she tapped the stack on the desk, tucked them into an accordion folder and made a call.

Finally done, she looked at the clock. Past ten o’clock. Good thing Houston didn’t wait for her, he’d have been bored out of his mind.

Grabbing the keys to her 1969 GTO Judge, she decided a drive was necessary. The night was hot and humid, meaning a drive at night, down her favorite deserted highway
, was in order to calm the thoughts whiz banging through her head.

The engine roared to life, and she shuddered at the sound. She’d lost her virginity in a GTO, with the engine running. He’d hit the accelerator as she’d orgasmed, and the sound never failed to rev her sex drive.
Putting the car in first gear, she drove outside the fence, got out, locked all six padlocks and left.

Getting to the deserted highway meant driving through town, on a packed Friday night. Noticing she was almost out of gas, she pulled the muscle car into a favorite station. Rolling her eyes, she could see several middle aged men and teenaged boys converge.

“Your husband let you have the car for the night, honey?” One man dared to put his hand on the hood, as if he was going to pop it.

“Get your greasy paws off the car,” she stepped forward. The teen boys moved back, and the man leered at her.
She knew him, had taken a big contract out from under him because she was more honest in her dealings. Couldn’t remember his name off-hand, but did recall he had a huge ego.

“Man don’t like it dirty, huh? I can do better,” he stepped in her direction.

Cursing like an inmate, Katie slid one foot back, and tilted her head. “I doubt you could survive ten minutes, Beer Gut. Now, get away from my car.” She gave him a saccharine sweet smile.

“You don’t have to be a bitch, just admiring.” He gave her the New York State Bird and stalked off.

One brave teenager, who looked about sixteen, stammered, “Um, ma’am, wh-where di-did you g-get the c-c-car?”

She smiled at him, waiting until he relaxed, “Rebuilt this baby myself.”

“Really?” he tried to peek through the windshield.

“Yeah, you can look inside while I fill the tank.” She pointed at the open window.

His smile was wide as he leaned on the window sill, half of his body inside.

She chuckled, and set about letting her wallet bleed. The big tank, and gas guzzling tendencies, meant she didn’t often take the cars out for long drives, much as she wanted to.

Topping off the tank, she waved at the teenagers, all grinning. Sliding into the driver’s seat, and buckling the five points, she pushed the starter button, laughing out loud at the exclamations from the boys.

Leaving in a sedate pace, Katie drove to the abandoned highway, knowing here she could open it up, prove what the engine could do. Headlights followed, rather unusual, but she’d leave them behind in a few moments. It was a truck, judging from the height of the
headlamps, and not a police vehicle, because those rarely left on the fog lamps. The driver was an asshole, knowing all those bright lights would blind anyone in front or driving toward them.

Shifting and accelerating, she drove through the first five turns, the humid air whipping the ponytail around her face. A five mile long straight way was less than a quarter mile ahead. Cranking the radio, bluetoothed to her phone, she flipped through the playlist until she found Billy Squier. Cranking the volume, she pushed the GTO hard,
unable to stop the grin.

The headlights from the truck flashed to bright
as it kept pace, temporarily blinding her. She knew the road well at all speeds, but she slowed a little to get rid of the circles in her vision.

The truck bumped her back end. She grunted at the pain of being thrown against the five point seat belt. Romping on the accelerator, the car jumped and took off, pushing her deep into the wrap around seat. The truck lights became pinpoints in the rearview mirror. Downshifting to take a deep turn, she turned off the headlights and whipped onto a dirt road leading to an abandoned house. It turned and she stopped, shutting off the engine.

She needed to know who was in the truck, and wanted to see the plates. Jogging to the highway, she crouched behind a row of bushes, waiting.

The truck roared past, and she caught the license plate, AR RDNK. It wouldn’t have seen her, and she let it go. Walking to the car, she memorized what she could see of the truck, and the three passengers. Only the interior light of the dashboard illuminated
the interior, and the moron from the gas station was driving.

Chapter Eight

Houston stared at the TV screen, seeing none of the baseball game. His ego was bruised, and he had nothing to soothe it. Glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time, he growled. The digital readout said almost eleven at night, and he’d done nothing except brood.

Rubbing his forehead, he realized the problem. His mother, an anthropologist specializing in the evolution of societies, warned him. Like his father, he had to be the one to ensure the survival of
his
pack and his chosen mate. Katie was part of it, and the damned woman wouldn’t let him do what he was meant to do. Probably because she didn’t see him as more than a friend that now included very pleasurable benefits. His mother had called them The True Alpha Males. Those more intent on the safety, security, and success of the group under their protection. Even if it meant breaking laws, killing, or dying.

If today was just a taste of those benefits, he was never going to leave her alone.

Flipping off the TV, and looking down at the tented boxers, he stood to head into the shower. A very cold one.

It didn’t help until he gave in, remembering the taste of her, how her flesh squeezed him, came around him screaming his name
. Two long strokes and he was done.

Padding through the house, he opened the fridge and stared. Shut it. Opened it. Shut it. Walked away in total disgust at himself. Women did
not
dismiss him. Clenching his jaws, he got dressed and headed to the pub around the corner, aware it was his ego driving him out of the condo.

One pint later, he had seven phone numbers, numerous offers, and one bottle blonde who wouldn’t stop touching his chest. It did nothing. Not even stroke the ego. None of them were Katie.

Standing and tipping the bartender, he stalked out, walking the neighborhood. The cell phone in his pocked vibrated, and he almost sent Katie to voicemail. But something nagged at him.

“What’s up?”
Sound casual, as if it doesn’t bother you either.

“Houston, I hope I’m not interrupting. But can you come bail me out?” her voice tinny.

“Bail you out?” He stood in place, looking around to see if it was a prank.

“Pulaski County, dude, come get me. I’ll pay you back. It’s …” he heard muffled conversation, “only eighty five hundred bucks.”

“What?” he yelled.

“I’ll explain and pay you back tonight. Can you do it?”

“I’ll be there in twenty. You owe me.” He hit the red button, missing the old phones where he could slam the receiver into the cradle.

Stalking to the house, he grabbed the car keys and drove to the county jail.
She had plenty of explaining to do.

Never let it be said bureaucracy
is fast.
He paced the waiting area, glanced at the clock and saw it was past four in the morning. She was going to explain when he could have happily been passed out by now.

The door opened, and Katie walked out. He openly gaped.

She wore jeans, a tank top, her favorite sneakers, and carried the ever-present messenger bag. But that wasn’t what stopped him. It was the bruises lining her neck and collar bone, the shiner around her left eye, the split lip and bloodied knuckles.

Instincts rose, ones
he didn’t know what to do with. Fists clenched, he gulped down the need to kill whoever had harmed her. He didn’t give a damn about laws, or society and justice.

He raised an eyebrow, not wanting to voice his thoughts.

“I’ll explain, but for now, can you take me home?” she whispered, gingerly touching each injury and hissing.

He nodded, refraining from picking her up and carrying her to the car. “You’re staying at my place, where I can keep an eye on you.”
He led the way to his Mustang, a modern beauty in gunmetal gray and black racing stripes. Opening the door, he helped her to sit, noticing she winced with every movement. Buckling her in, he closed the door and got in the driver’s side. He closed his eyes, concentrating on unclenching his fists, and demanding to know what happened. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, wondering if he should take a detour through the ER.

She shrugged, letting her head drop back, and closing her eyes.

The drive was silent. Parking in the garage, he opened the doors, helping her inside. He sat her in the recliner, grabbed a glass of water and a straw, handing them to her. Leaving the room, he made the bed, put extra pillows on the side nearest the bathroom, and stomped into the living room.

“Come on.”
Ignoring her one eyed glare, he easily picked her up and marched into the bedroom.

He
stripped off her clothes, growling at the bruises from the five point seat belts she preferred. “Did you go to the hospital?”

Nodding,
“So did the asshole.” She mumbled, handing over two bottles of medication. “He’s still there.”

Percocet and penicillin.
“Have you had these yet?”

She nodded
groggily, sitting on the bed.

“I want to know what happened.”
I’m going to murder the bastard in cold blood.
He gently laid her out, helping her roll onto a side, and gently tucked the duvet around the steadily relaxing form.

“
Judge, highway, angry,” she mumbled. “He followed, bumped the Judge, I sat and waited.” Her voice lowered until it was barely a whisper, eyes closed, breathing getting deeper. “I turned around, plates, he figured it out. Bumped Judge. Fight, tried to take Judge. Can’t have my Judge. Left. He hit. Off …” She relaxed, body falling deeper into the mattress.

For the first time,
she was completely vulnerable. She shivered, and he grabbed another blanket, pulling it over her hips.

He stood over her sleeping form, growling low in his throat. He wanted a gun, to protect, to ensure she had enough sleep, to make sure nothing like this happened again. Testosterone flooded his brain, short circuiting the carefully laid
pathways to civility. Whoever this person was, he’d fucked with the wrong man’s woman.

Chapter Nine

Katie loved the Percocet. Nothing hurt, and she passed out. Her dreams were filled with a guardian, standing watch, protecting her. She wanted to punch and tell the guardian she could take care of herself. Yet there
was something soft and right about it. Anger rolled off the guardian in heavy waves, but instinct said it wasn’t directed at her.

Sunlight pierced her sleep, and she groaned, wondering how she managed to get the world’s worst hangover
without alcohol. Rolling onto her back, the previous night’s adventures came back with crystal clarity. A moan escaped, and a big hand slid beneath her shoulders, carefully lifting her into a sitting position.

“Easy, Katie
,” Houston’s deep voice whispered. Once stable, he sat on the edge of the bed, arms on either side of her hips. “I made an appointment at your doc’s this morning. He wants to follow up today.”

“Houston,” she licked her lips, “it’s Saturday.”

“I told him why and he’s waiting.”

She wanted the energy to argue at
his high handed manner, give him a good tongue lashing for assuming she wanted him to set the appointment. Unfortunately, she barely had the ability to remember her name. Nodding, she tried to swing her legs off the bed, hissing at the pain.

“Don’t be stubborn, let me help.” He grabbed under her knees, moving by slow inches until her feet dangled off the side. Squatting, he put a shoulder under her arms and lifted. She slid off the bed, hanging onto his broad shoulders for dear life. Once
standing, he pulled her into his side, an arm around his waist, and one hand under the other arm.

He was hot, almost a furnace blast. With the heat came the smell of man and musk. Not thinking, she leaned a little closer, pulling the scent deep into her lungs. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and some of the constant throbbing of her upper body eased.

They shuffled into the bathroom, where a hot bath waited, creating a lazy sauna effect. Without preamble, he lifted and set her in the hot water. He went to the mirror, using a towel to dry the steam clinging to the glass.

She had the perfect view. He was tall, with defined muscles, and just enough bulk. His skin was a light tawny color, and dark hair dusted his muscular thighs. From his belly button down, was a line of fine hair the same dark shade as the hair on his head. He even had handsome feet.

Handsome feet? What the hell?
The thought almost repulsed her until she glanced at them again.
Nope, they’re perfect.
Shaking her head at the thoughts, she slid deeper into the hot water.

She glanced his way often, enjoying the view as he shaved, brushed his teeth, and asked her every two minutes if she needed anything. She could get used to the constant spoiling.

Raising a hand, a giggle escaped at the pruned skin. “I think I’m done.”

He’d stood over the tub, feet shoulder width apart, arms in front, one hand clasping the other. He looked like the perfect bodyguard. “You sure? I can run hot water again.”

“Nah, I have to go and see if Judge can be towed to the garage, and get copies of all the police reports.” She tried to push upwards, but her legs shook and she splashed under. A hand grasped under her shoulders and lifted. Sputtering, she laughed.

“Yeah, you can’t even stand on your own. It’ll wait until Monday.” He scooped her out of the tub, put her on her feet, and wrapped a fluffy towel around her. “You know, even after yesterday, most women would be blushing and trying to hide.”

“Why bother?” she tucked the ends of the towel under her arms. “Okay, Jeebs, next.”

He chuckled.

In bed, dry, and hair wrapped in a towel, she kept testing the wounds. It was going to be a week before going back to work. But her longtime friend, a forensic accountant, was going over the books, and a recent text message said he was logging all the anomalies. He wasn’t happy at the sheer number of them. Someone had been siphoning for six months. She catalogued every employee, sorting out the ones who had access, and making a mental list. There were four names.

Houston, clad only in the royal blue boxers, returned with a tray. “Don’t argue, you have to eat.”

“I’m starving, no argument here.” She wiggled until the headboard took her weight.

“Then we’re heading to the doctor’s.” He set the tray over her thighs and lifted the metal dome.

The jets in her mouth became Niagra Falls. He’d obviously thought she hadn’t eaten in days. The plate was piled high with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, link sausage, toast, a butterscotch scone, a thick slice of what looked like pumpkin bread, a muffin, and off to the side was a glass of milk.

“Um, how much of this am I supposed to eat?” She gave him wide eyes.

“I’ll be over the moon if you eat all of it. But I’ll settle for half.” Hands on hips, he gave her a pointed look.

“You’ll be lucky if I can down half,” she mumbled, settling in for the long haul.

Stomach bloated from the food, she leaned back, rubbing the little bump. She frowned when he smiled. Probably shouldn’t ask. “Do you always watch women make pigs of themselves and smile?” she asked, and raised an eyebrow.

“What is so fucking wrong with a woman who likes to eat? I never understood that. Women have to eat, too. That eating like a bird bullshit isn’t healthy in the least.” He peeked at the plate, nodding his approval. “And I especially like to know you are eating enough.” He turned on his heel and walked into the closet.

She wasn’t sure what to think of the little tirade.

Clothes magically appeared in his arms. The Percocet was setting in, and she was forced to ask for help dressing. He even knelt to tie her shoes.

She limped, leaning heavily into his side, to the car. He’d dressed in two minutes flat, and the view of his ass made her want to bite it, leaving her mark. The thought of another woman viewing the perfect twin globes made her see red.

He drove slow, careful to avoid potholes, or anything imagined that she could see. He swerved around invisible things.

They hobbled into the small office, and were ushered immediately into the exam room.

When Dr. Berins walked in
, he stopped and stared. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Take it the hospital didn’t send over the records.”

“They did, but damn, girl. Start talking while I take a look.” He immediately got in her face, shining a light into her eyes. “Stop blinking, let me see. Tell me what happened.”

She glanced at Houston,
in a corner showing off his bodyguard stance, and watching. It was disconcerting. “I found some issues in the accounting, and got more than angry. So I took the Judge out for a drive on that old highway past Conway. I’d stopped to fill the tank, had a run-in with a moron who insisted it belonged to a boyfriend. Anyway, he followed me, and bumped the back of the car. You know that old road leading to the abandoned plantation of the Bailey’s? Well, I stopped and got his license plate, fully intending to turn him in. Paint from the truck had rubbed off on the bumper.” She moved away when he pushed too hard on her split lip, slapping his hand, “You’re not supposed to reopen it.”

“Okay, I have all that, young lady, but that wouldn’t leave you in this condition.” He lifted her hands, examining the scabbed over knuckles, the area around them flaming red.

“He must have turned around at that old parking area, because he found me heading back to town. He slammed into the back of the Judge. I lost my temper.” She shrugged.

Houston was still and tense. She glanced his way, seeing a tick along his jaw
, eyes bright with rage. Two years and not once had he displayed anger. It looked good on him.

“Go on.”
Berins lifted the back of the t-shirt, gently pushing in several places with the palm of his hand. She winced at one spot. “Sorry, did they tell you bruised ribs?”

“Yeah. So I parked the Judge, and got out. Fat guy stepped out the truck grinning, asking if I couldn’t handle a little backwoods playing. The Judge is worth over fifty grand, and the bastard put dents in the back of it that will take my body guy a week to fix!” She shook her head, lips pursed. “I punched him.”

Through hooded lids, she peeked at Houston. He’d raised an eyebrow, but otherwise hadn’t moved.

“The fight was on. I kicked him in the groin to end it, got in the Judge and raced to the interstate. Unfortunately, I must have really pissed him off. He slammed into the back of the Judge, and I flipped several times.”

Berins finished his examination, and put both hands in the lab coat pockets. “You have several bruised ribs, nothing broken, and frankly, I’m in love with that five point seat belt you insist on. Rest for a week, come back and see me.” He pulled out a prescription pad. “Finish the drugs from the hospital, take these iron pills, and let the big guy take care of you.”

He opened the door, but stopped and turned. “Stop picking fights, Katie. One day your body won’t hold up to the punches.” He left.

“What does he mean, picking fights?” Houston asked in the ensuing silence.

“In case you haven’t figured it out, I don’t like being bullied.” She slid off the table, knees giving out. His arm shot out, gently pulling her back to his front.

“I know, but it isn’t a bad thing to ask for help. What happened that the jerk is in the hospital?” his breath hot on her neck.

“I got out of the Judge, took the crowbar
from the open trunk and beat the shit out of him. What else?”