The big question was how was Axe involved? Was he on her side or was he assigned to stop her, or worse?
The big, throaty growl of the motorcycle crescendoed as Axe banked onto a freeway onramp.
“This isn’t the way to the airport,” she shouted, not expecting him to hear over the noise. Her eyes were glued shut by the stiff wind in her face, and her hair had to be a rat’s nest of tangles from being whipped around.
He barely turned his head. “Taking you to my house down in La Honda. Hang on.”
“I don’t have a helmet!” she yelled, pressing her face flat against his leather-jacketed back.
“I said, hang on.” He shot the bike between the lanes of stopped and slow traffic, buffeting them by the air currents trapped between the cars, vans, and trucks.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
Leanna squeezed Axe so hard a man with less muscles would have popped. Why did she get on the motorcycle when he’d ordered her to? Was she a brainless zombie? Too stupid to live?
But then, Axe was a watchful man, observing everything. He might know more than most. She’d give him a chance to explain and then decide whether she needed his help or not.
How was that for a too-smart-to-die heroine?
* * *
The motorcycle turned off the twisty asphalt road into a drive where a neatly painted stucco cottage was hidden underneath a grove of scraggly redwoods. A large, black dog with a large head, upright ears, and strong jaws barked and lunged its greeting.
Axe swung the bike right up to the steps leading up to a covered porch, but it took a few seconds after he shut off the engine before Leanna released her frozen grip.
“You gotta relax if you want to ride with me again,” Axe said in a gruff voice. “Had to take the curves extra slow because you weren’t with me.”
“Seemed too fast to me.” Leanna felt like an arthritic grandmother, too stiff to move.
“Get inside,” Axe growled, helping Leanna off the motorcycle.
Her legs were so wobbly, she could barely get one foot in front of the other. Was there a thing called motorcycle legs?
Leanna blinked in the sudden darkness of Axe’s bachelor pad. There was not a touch of the feminine anywhere. No comfy crocheted afghan on the couch, no macramé hanging flower pots, or any other kind of decoration.
Everything was sleek leather and modern. No fuss. No muss. No frills.
A rifle case lay on the couch, and a couple of camouflage backpacks sat on the glass coffee table.
“Okay, what’s going on? Were you really hired by Jazzy to escort me, and what do you know about this?” Leanna wasn’t going to give Axe any more information than she had to.
“I’ll be completely honest.” He slowly removed his dark glasses and fixed his light-brown eyes on Leanna. “I was there when you called Rex. I know everything you told him, and I was also there when Jazzy spoke to you.”
“Why?” She backed away from him, bumping into a coatrack. It rocked, and she grabbed it before it tumbled to the floor.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m your man.”
Leanna’s heart fluttered at the direct way he claimed to be her man, but of course, he meant he was the man to guard her.
“Jazzy hasn’t called me back,” Leanna said.
“Doesn’t matter. First piece of advice. Go back to the bakery and forget everything. I’ll make a trip to Mexico and scout out what’s going on.”
“Why should I trust you? Why would you care? And don’t say it’s because I’m paying you, or you’ve always wanted to be a Bad Boy for Hire or a Jazzy Gem Escort. No way. You own Club Rachelle. You don’t need the money.”
He shrugged and leaned against the wall, like he hadn’t a care in the world. “You’re stuck with me. How about that? I hired myself to help you, and I’m telling you, you’re in over your head.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Leanna said. “I’m going to visit Ana and find out what she and Eduardo know. I’d go anywhere to find my little girl.”
