The Biker's Wench (14 page)

A woman shrieked just outside the open front door as Burns pulled a gun and leveled it at the man Monica presumed was Nick Benoit. Benoit put his hands up, and Harley's gaze darted to the hall, found her and nodded slightly toward the kitchen. She moved through the doorway, staying close to the wall but the bodyguard spotted her, pointing his own gun her way.

"Hold it right there," he said, the command causing both Benoit and Burns to look in her direction. Harley slammed his body into Burns’ back, catching the man off guard and sending him toppling into Benoit. In turn, Benoit fell into the bodyguard, hard enough to knock him against the hall table. The jumble forced him to lower his hands and the gun to keep from falling, but it was clear he'd recover quickly.

"Head's up," Harley called, tossing her the pillow from the couch as he swept his fingers down into the plant pot to retrieve the camera. In two long strides he was beside her, pulling her through the kitchen and out the back door. A loud pop rang in Monica's ears, and she heard something whizz by, but didn't feel anything and Harley didn't break stride. They reached the car in seconds and hopped in, Harley peeling away from the curb in a squeal of rubber on asphalt.

"Get the recorder out of the pillow," he said, turning left, then right just a few yards later, his eyes constantly darting to the rear view mirror. She did as he asked, tossing the pillow in the back seat and shoving the small audio device into one of her front pockets. She grabbed the camera off the seat and disconnected the cord, putting that in her other pocket, all the while trying to stay upright as Harley tried to lose the car following them.

"Just lay down on the seat," he said, taking another sharp corner. "It will be safer that way. If I can just..."
She ducked down, bracing her feet under the dash as she grasped the seat with both hands. It seemed like forever until he slowed down, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel when he finally brought the car to a stop. He turned the engine off, then breathed for a few seconds before he looked down at her.
"You okay?"
She nodded, pushing herself up on the seat and looking around. They were in an alley of some sort, both sides lined with thick concrete block buildings. "Fine, I think," she said, turning back to him. His face was pale, and she frowned, reaching out to feel his skin. It was cold and clammy. "But you're not. What's --" she finally noticed the red staining the seat beside him. "Oh no. You have to get to a hospital. Let me drive - tell me where to go..." She reached behind her for the door handle, but he caught her other wrist, pulling her back with more strength than she would have expected.
"I'll be fine. You need to get that information to the FBI. Burns probably already has the police out looking for us, and who knows what he's told them by now." He took a deep breath, then let it out, and glanced toward the back seat. "The black bag has a change of clothes and some money. The bus station is just on the other side of this wall. Get on the next bus out of town, and go to the field office in Las Vegas. Tell them everything, and give them the evidence. Bring them back to the ranch."
She shook her head, blinking at the tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't just leave you here - not like this. Not by yourself. I won't. I'm not running away again."
He reached out to cup the side of her face, wincing at the motion. "You're not running away. You'll be back soon, and Burns will go to jail, and you can be free. Just like you wanted." He tugged her forward and she went willingly, his lips meeting hers for a quick, gentle kiss. "Go on now. I'll get this stitched up back at the ranch. It will all work out, trust me."
She nodded, swiping at escaped tears as she caught her breath. "I do," she said, squeezing his hand one last time. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise."
Forcing herself to pull away from Harley's touch, she wished she could see his face his real face - one last time before she left. But there was no time. She grabbed the bag from the back seat and shut the door, hesitating for a few more seconds before finally walking away, her heart tearing in two.
She almost looked back at the corner of the building, but didn't allow herself the luxury. If she was going to do this, she had to just go. Just like every other time. Only it wasn't. Because this time, she was coming back.
Ducking into the restroom she locked herself in the handicapped stall and undid all of Alex's careful work. Most of it she stuffed in the trash, but she carefully rolled the suit and shirt to pack back in the bag, replacing the jeans, sweatshirt and tennis shoes Harley had packed. He must have known all along she'd be going alone, since all the clothing was in her size. The thought made her mad, and as she counted out a few bills to put in her pocket from the cash he'd included, she vowed to give him a piece of her mind about that.
When she got back.
Checking the mirror for any stray bits of faux flesh she might have missed, she rinsed her face, pulled her hair up into a pony tail and went out to the ticket counter. "One for the next bus to Vegas, please. Round trip."

As soon as Monica disappeared from view, Harley eased out of his suit jacket, balling the expensive material up and pressing hard against his side. Reaching up with the other arm, he opened the compartment in the roof for sunglasses and took out his cell phone, punching in the ranch clinic's number for the second time that day.

"Doc? It's Harley. How are your bullet hole skills?" He held the phone away from his ear, the string of curses coming out of the receiver bringing a tight grin to his lips. When it grew quiet, he tried again. "If you're finished, I'll be there in half an hour or so. Meet me in the tunnel." More yelling, and Harley chuckled as he disconnected the call, then winced again at the fire in his side. Ben Martin was a bit rough around the edges, but he was a good doctor, and if anyone could fix this, he could. As long as Harley could get himself back to the ranch.

He checked his watch, but knew he couldn't wait any longer. Securing the jacket tight to his side with the seatbelt, he started the ignition and slowly pulled out of the alley, peering into the station window, his eyes searching the loose crowd. He scanned right past her at first then looked back. There she was, by the vending machine, all cleaned up and looking right at him. She held up her ticket and looked up as if she was listening to something. One last little wave and she turned away, walking toward the boarding area in back.

Good.
She was safe, for a while at least. He breathed a sigh of relief, pulling away from the curb to take a zigzag route to the highway.
By the time he was within a mile of the turnoff for the tunnels, he was struggling hard to stay awake, and decided he'd be better off on foot. Pulling off the road, he drove into the trees far enough the car wouldn't be noticeable, and tied the jacket around his waist to keep the pressure on his wound. Ten minutes later, he wished he'd kept the car as he stopped to rest against a gnarled tree trunk. He dug the phone out of his pocket to check the time. It had been forty minutes since he called Ben. Hopefully the doctor would be worried enough to come looking for him. He stumbled on, stopping every thirty feet or so to rest, and when the tangled vines that marked the tunnel entrance finally came into view, he'd never been so happy in his life. They'd done it. Monica had the evidence, she'd get it to the FBI, and he'd hide out underground until she came back with the cavalry. Limping forward, he pulled the door open, glad to see Ben standing there, waiting with a gurney just behind him.
"Thank god you're here," Harley heard himself say, though it sounded like someone else's voice. "I don't think I could have made it the rest of the way without you."
Strangely quiet, Ben stepped up and slid an arm around him, helping him onto the gurney. When he was strapped in and covered with a blanket, Ben leaned down and mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."
The last thing Harley saw before he passed out was Stephen Burns, grinning down at him.

The next time Harley opened his eyes, he was in one of the small patient rooms at the clinic. Shifting slightly, he winced at the pain in his side. Lifting the blanket, he felt a bandage under the thin gown covering his side where Ben must have stitched him up.

Harley dropped the blanket back in place and looked at the man sitting just inside his door. "I take it you're the warden," he said, pressing a button on the side of his bed to raise himself to a sitting position. It hurt more than he thought it would, and he cringed again as the door opened and Burns walked in, Ben trailing behind.

"Well, well," Burns said, walking right up to the bed. "So it was you under all that makeup. And I suppose that was Monica with you earlier. I should have known." He leaned over the bed rail as Ben came around to the other side. "Where is my daughter, by the way? I thought I asked you to look after her. I have to say, you're doing a piss-poor job, son."

Harley groaned as the heel of Burns’ hand pressed into his wounded side. Ben reached for Burns then stopped as one of the guards released the safety on a gun pointed at his head. Burns rocked back, taking the pressure with him and Harley gulped for air as he fought the pain. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and it was all he could do to stay still.

"I haven't got all day," Burns said, holding his hand out again.
Harley lifted his hands in mock surrender. "She left," he said, coughing lightly. "I don't know where she went, but she's not coming back. Ever." In that moment, he wished

it was true. She shouldn't come back to face this, it was too dangerous. He should have sent her farther away. Looking Burns in the eye, he steeled himself for the pain he knew was coming. "If it's the evidence you want, you're out of luck. I mailed it to the FBI in DC. I bet they'll come looking for you before the weekend comes. And Monica will be far, far away. You lose, Burns."

The attack he was expecting never came. Instead, Burns just stood back and clapped, smiling. "Well done," he said, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. "I was hoping you wouldn't give up too easily. But her intentions are irrelevant." He touched the screen a few times then held the device out for Harley to see. "The first time she ran off, my men had to drug her to bring her back. I had a microchip implanted in her shoulder in case it ever happened again. As you can see, it was a worthwhile investment."

Harley watched a red dot move along a map on the small screen, everything falling into place. Monica had said they always found her, no matter how careful she was. A blue dot appeared at the bottom of the screen, following the same route, and Harley gripping the railing tightly as the dots grew closer together.

"You son of a bitch."
Burns turned the phone to look, and nodded. "That will be Doug," he said, looking back up at Harley. "I must admit, while this little game was fun at first, I've grown weary of chasing my daughter all over the country. It's expensive. Since she refuses to abide by

my wishes, my only option is to punish her in a way that will ensure her future obedience." He put the phone in his pocket and walked to the door, pausing just outside. "I'll let you know when she gets back. I'm sure she'll want to say goodbye."
After he closed the door, Harley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to be ready when Monica got back. No way was that monster going to get away with whatever he had planned. When he opened his eyes, Ben was still at his side. He passed him a couple pills and a glass of water, and then Harley felt him slip something small and metal under the blanket near his thigh. Harley handed him the empty glass, and nodded as Ben took it and left the room.

Monica stretched and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand as she stepped off the bus in Salt Lake City. When she'd bought the ticket, she'd been dismayed that there was no direct route to Las Vegas, and that the one-way trip would take up to twenty hours. She needed to transfer to a different bus, but as she made her way across the dimly lit terminal, a sign on a large bulletin board caught her eye. It was an FBI "Wanted" poster, with the address of a local field office listed on the bottom. Thinking for a moment, she tried to remember if Burns had any connections in Utah, but couldn't think of any that she knew of. The chances were probably just as likely as Vegas, and if she could just hole up somewhere for the rest of the night, she could be at the office first thing in the morning.

The decision made, she punched the address into her cell phone, and brought up directions for how to get there. Of course it would be all the way across the city. She glanced at the time - ten o'clock. All the rental places would be closed by now, which left her either on foot, or in a cab. Easy choice.

Shifting her bag to the other hand, she walked out to the curb, giving several transient-looking people a wide berth. She walked half-a-block down and looked both ways, surprised not to see cabs lined up along the curb. Apparently bus travelers weren't big enough business to warrant a presence. Noting more traffic at one of the cross streets ahead, she hiked up to the corner and looked around, watching at least two cabs go by. When the next one came by, she held up a hand, grateful when it pulled to the curb.

"257 East 200 South please," she said as she got in the back seat. The driver, a man who appeared to be in his late forties frowned over the seat at her.
"Nothing's open over there this time of night. You sure you got the right address?"
She nodded. "I'm sure. Thank you."
He shook his head and faced forward again, muttering something under his breath as he pulled away from the curb. She looked out the window as they drove, wondering where Harley was now. Hopefully he'd gotten to the doctor in time, and was somewhere safe to heal. Tears pricked her eyes as she pushed the other options out of her mind. He had to be okay. She couldn't stand to think that something might have happened to him.
Pulling out her phone, she dialed Harley's number. It was risky, she knew, but she just wanted to know he was okay. To hear his voice again. Holding the phone to her ear, she waited as it rang back at her twice before his voice mail picked up. She left a quick but vague message and hung up. Just in case.
Stifling a yawn, she laid her head back on the seat. Maybe she'd just take a quick nap to refresh herself. Her eyes drifted shut and just as she felt herself dosing off, the car lurched forward, tossing her forward into the Plexiglas window. Her head bounced off the thick plastic and she fell back on the seat, dazed as the car came to an abrupt stop.
She’d barely pushed herself to a seated position when the back door of the cab opened. Strong hands grabbed her arm, yanking her out of the vehicle. She kicked at her would-be captor, punching with her free arm until he threw her to the ground and put one knee in her back. Behind them, an engine roared, and metal squealed against metal. Turning her head to the side, she saw the cab sped away. Cold metal slapped around her wrists as the man cuffed her, hauling her to her feet.
"Your father's been looking for you," he said, his voice softer than she would have imagined. He pulled her to a large black SUV and helped her into the passenger seat. "If you'll just tell me where the recording devices are, we can pick those up on the way back to the ranch."
"They--" Monica stopped, realizing the bag was still in the cab. It was dark, and the bag had been on the floor at her feet. She hadn't thought to grab it while she was being manhandled. Maybe if she could get away, she could find the cab...though the chances of finding the right one in a city this large was practically nil. But it was the only evidence they had. Without it, all of this had been for nothing, and Burns would win.
"Well?"
She looked up into eyes that weren't as cold as those she normally encountered in Burns’ men. "Why do you do it?" she asked. He stepped back, the question appearing to have caught him off guard. "Why do you work for my--Burns, when you could be doing something...else?"
He shrugged, looking off into the distance. "We all make choices. Every choice has a price." Turning back to her, he rested his forearm on the frame above her head. "Your father's heart is in the right place, even if his execution is questionable. You'd do well to remember you might not be alive if it weren't for him. Now tell me where we need to go to get the video, and we'll get going."
She looked down at her knees, as if he'd won. "The bus station," she said, shifting in the seat as though she couldn't get comfortable. "I put them in a locker." There were lots of people at the station all night long. That would be her best bet at getting free so she could find the cab.
"Where's the key?"
Damn.
She shifted again, hoping he'd take the hint and unlock the cuffs. "I hid it in one of the planters outside, so I wouldn't lose it."
He closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel. The automatic locks clicked into place as he pushed a button on his door. "Turn around." She did, relieved when he removed the metal from her wrists.
He started the engine and turned the car around, taking her back toward the depot as she rubbed her wrists. Glancing over at him, she thought about what he'd said. He was right that she might not be alive without Burns...but she just couldn't get around the fact that her father was buying and selling human beings. Surely that was wrong no matter what the motivation behind it. There had to be other, legal means of helping those children. Especially for someone with Burns’ wealth. A way that didn't involve large sums of money changing hands...
Every choice has a price. "
You bought a child, didn't you?" She watched him closely, his grip tightening on the wheel though his expression remained neutral. "And you're working off the cost."