“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Yes, it’s secure,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. What about the newsies? They’re on the lookout for more information about my mysterious blonde.”
“If there had been newsies anywhere around here, I would have kept going.” She deliberately took a 360-view around the drive. “I think we’re safe. Plus, I’m a redhead right now,” she said with a toss of windblown curls.
“Because we’re damn lucky.” She didn’t know what it was like. The invasion of privacy. The constant need to be on. He shuddered.
As a teenager, he and Tommy had made a pact to give the newsies the show they wanted. It wasn’t until Portia and Tommy had gotten married that Killian realized he wanted to make changes. Less publicity, not more. “We need to get inside. They might have left a drone.” Most of all, he wanted Dizzie inside where she would be safe.
“Fine,” she said.
Killian reached out to help her off the bike.
An engine roared and they both turned toward the sound.
A shiny silver car pulled into the drive. He groaned. He’d recognize that car anywhere.
“Shit, someone else I wanted to avoid.” Portia had left more than a dozen messages for him while he was with Dizzie. He wasn’t ready to deal with the information about Tommy’s funeral. “I told you we shouldn’t have come here.”
Dizzie looked away from the car. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Portia.”
Her nose wrinkled. “How did she know we were here?”
He shrugged. “No idea.” They were about to find out.
Killian moved toward his guest parking. If he headed Portia off before she reached Dizzie, he might be able to control the confrontation. He wasn’t looking forward to a showdown between the two women. If he had to choose…
Instead of parking, Portia drove past him, cutting it so close he had to jump into the yard to get out of her way.
As soon as he was clear, she gunned the engine and pulled the wheel hard to the right.
Toward Dizzie.
“Portia! Stop!” Killian raced toward her, knowing he wouldn’t get there in time. He watched in horrified slow motion as the car sped toward Dizzie. “Hurry, Dizzie!”
She scrambled to get off the parked bike, but she didn’t move fast enough. Just before Portia hit her, Dizzie managed to get her leg over the seat.
The car slammed into the motorcycle.
A pain-filled scream filled the air and rattled his bones. As long as he lived, he would never forget it.
The impact knocked Dizzie backward and toppled the bike on top of her. She landed in one of the flower beds that lined the driveway and lay there unmoving on crushed flowers.
Portia had stopped just after impact. Killian raced past her car, pausing to look inside. He exhaled in relief. The airbag had deployed and she looked okay—face pale, knuckles white around the steering wheel—but okay. She wasn’t his priority right now. Dizzie was.
He ran and dropped to his knees next to Dizzie. Her face was a grimace of pain. Her head was bleeding. Fuck. Stubborn woman. She should have been wearing the helmet.
“Dizzie. Can you hear me?”
She groaned in response.
After the bombing, he’d hoped to never feel this helpless again. Those feelings flooded back, nearly paralyzing him with their intensity.
He stared at the bike pinning her down and at the leg that was bent in an unusual angle. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
Shit! Shit! Shit!
