Bulldog must have come to a similar conclusion, because with a final obscenity, he yelled, “All right!” and pushed out of the van.
Cool wind rushed into the vehicle, blowing away the smell of the biker and replacing it with the scent of car exhaust and hot metal. Two police cruisers arrived on the scene, lights swirling, sirens cutting off. Traffic was now stalled in all directions as gawkers took in the drama. Despite this, Ozzie remained cool, calm, and collected as he continued to draw down on Bulldog. As if having a human head lined up in his sights was something he encountered on a daily basis.
Samantha didn’t realize she was echoing Bulldog’s question when she murmured, “Who are you, Ozzie?”
* * *
Black Knights Inc. Headquarters
“I’ve seen some frickin’ bad shit in my time,” Samantha heard Becky Knight whisper. “But this is a whole new level of suck.”
“I have faith in you,” Ozzie replied, settling an arm around Becky’s shoulders and twanging the lollipop stick protruding from between her pursed lips.
Samantha sat on the leather sofa pushed against the stairwell in BKI’s bottom-floor shop, a bag of frozen peas pressed to the knot on her head and Peanut curled beside her. The tomcat purred so loudly that she was having trouble hearing the conversation by the bike lift. Becky, Ozzie, and Michelle were all standing around the mangled body of Ozzie’s beloved bike, talking in hushed tones, as if in church…or at a graveside.
She felt just awful about his motorcycle. And at the same time, so grateful. Because if he hadn’t acted so quickly, there was no telling where she might be right now. Visions of a shallow grave and worms crawling out of her eye sockets drifted through her head. But even that didn’t dampen her desire to walk over to Ozzie so she could hug him and kiss him and…bone his brains out! You know, to express her gratitude.
It’d been five hours since Bulldog had been shoved into the police cruiser. Four and a half hours since the paramedics who had arrived at the scene, checked her head wound, and gave her a clean bill of health. No concussion. Just a bit of swelling and some pain. And four hours since she’d been driven to the local precinct where organized chaos had ensued.
She’d had to give her statement to no fewer than five different policemen on five separate occasions. She’d written a lengthy, four-page transcript of the entire abduction. Which, given the whole thing had lasted a little over five minutes, was a testament to her skill as a reporter who prided herself on being a stickler for details.
At some point, Washington had returned her purse and phone to her, and she’d made a quick call to Charlie, letting him know she was okay. She’d texted the same thing to Donny, who had quickly texted back: Thank heavens! I want all the deets when you get a minute. P.S. Love your funny face. Then she’d been fingerprinted—apparently they needed her prints on file so they could rule them out when collecting other prints from the van—her injury photographed, and the CPD had ended the day by generally poking and prodding her for any additional information she might have forgotten. Finally, she’d been pronounced drained of all pertinent details, and she’d been taken back to collect her car.
And the whole time, where was Ozzie? Well, right beside her. Still not touching her.
It was beginning to make her paranoid. They’d gone over this, hadn’t they? She had admitted to wanting to be more than just friends, and he had admitted that the whole reason he hadn’t touched her before was that he’d been afraid once he started, he’d never want to stop. When she replayed his words in her head, they thrilled her as much now as they had then. But he had touched her last night, touched her so good. And then this morning…nada.
I mean, what the hell?
Then it occurred to her…
What if he was having second thoughts? What if, between last night and this morning, he’d come to realize the extent of her feelings for him, come to understand that when she said she wanted to be more than friends, that wasn’t limited to a quick game of hide the salami, and then buh-bye? And what if he was trying to ease back, create some distance between them, because he didn’t feel the same way about her? After all, he may be a Casanova, but he was also a nice guy and her friend. If he thought his usual MO of Love ’em and leave ’em would hurt her, he’d do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.
Shit!
So, then, where did that put them? Back at square one? Him not touching her and her pretending that all she wanted was to be a pal who met him for the occasional drink?
Screw that! She couldn’t go back. Not after that scene in the kitchen. Not after—
“Shove over,” Christian said, coming to stand in front of her. He had a jelly-filled doughnut in one hand and a copy of Car and Driver magazine in the other.
She scooted to make room, and he plopped down beside her. “Ruddy hell,” he said as Peanut lifted his head and meowed his displeasure at being jostled. Then the cat caught wind of the food and sat up, yellow eyes keen, crooked tail flicking side to side.
“Ruddy hell what?” Samantha mimicked Christian’s accent as Peanut transferred his furry, rotund self to the back of the sofa.
“I’m surprised smoke isn’t pouring from your ears, given how fast your gears are spinning.” He motioned to her head with the doughnut. Peanut’s eyes followed the movement with intense concentration.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Only to someone with eyes,” he admitted unhelpfully. “So what are you going on about? Anything I can help you sort out?”
As a matter of fact… “Has Ozzie ever had a steady girlfriend?”
Christian blinked, the doughnut halfway to his mouth. He swallowed and lowered the pastry. “Well now, this is an eight-point-nine on the awkward scale, yeah?”
“I’m serious.” Samantha frowned.
“As am I.” Christian’s expression was the same one he would have worn had he been sucking on a lemon. “And because I’m his friend, and because I know the two of you held a dance-off with your pants off last night, I feel obliged to remain mute on the subject of his past relationships.”
