More than once, I almost call it off, but I don’t. Partly because he’s riding the 101 through the city and heading northwest, in the direction of Tujunga. Not the way I would’ve gone back to my apartment, but… justifiable. It gives me a perfect excuse to keep going.
But mainly I follow him because my intuition says something is wrong. Perhaps because Kurt asked if I could trust him, or perhaps because he’s only just joined the crew.
It could be because I don’t understand the strength of my feelings, and I want to know who this man is—but I hope that’s not why I’m doing this. It’s a poor justification.
We pass Chinatown, still heading west, and now I have a decision to make. If I stay behind him, my convenient excuse of heading home no longer works. But he hasn’t looked back, he’s riding steadily, zipping between cars and making progress. I want to know what’s pulling him forward like that.
We stay on the 101 into East Hollywood, where he crosses two lanes, taking the exit at the last minute. I’m already on the inside, and it’s easy to follow him off. I slow anyway, giving him a chance to reach the end of the offramp. All I need is to know whichdirection he turns.
Left, down Santa Monica.
Where’s he going?
As soon as he’s out of sight, I open my throttle, racing to the end of the ramp. I have to go heavy on the brakes and my rear wheel comes up. I catch a glimpse of him ahead, riding west, the traffic busier. If I don’t follow, I’ll lose him.
The lights have turned red, but I ignore them, peeling out into the traffic, using my acceleration to take a gap, horns blasting in indignation. I swing between a pickup and a sedan, keeping cars between us, hugging my bike to stay low. Declan sticks out, his lid reflecting the sun, his black-grey Dainese jacket unmistakable. Shoulders that broad, it’s amazing he doesn’t cause accidents wherever he rides.
He takes another left, and as he turns, there’s a brief window where he can look without using his mirrors. Has he seen me? He shows no sign.
Again I accelerate up to that junction, only half an eye on the traffic, trusting my instincts but well aware I’m riding recklessly. He’s two blocks ahead, and I swing after him, letting the distance increase. Three blocks feels like the sweet spot. Plenty of time to race to a corner if he makes a turn—so long as he doesn’t make them in quick succession.
He turns a moment later, down Madison, and again I have to blip the throttle, cutting through the traffic to reach the point he disappeared. I edge to the lights, see him running straight, and take my time making the turn.
He’s riding slower now. Either close to his destination or looking for something. Hopefully not me. I slow too, then ride behind a large SUV that thoughtfully comes between us, letting me see past him when I need to, and hide when I don’t.
Then Declan pulls over, and I hit the brakes. He’s barely two blocks ahead, and he’s getting off his bike. I pull in behind a parked car, barely stopping in time, keeping my head down, my heart pounding.
When I look up a minute later, his bike’s there, but he’s not.
Now what?
If he’s meeting someone, I could be waiting ages. But I don’t think he is. This area is all shops, no restaurants or bars. I kick my bike into neutral, rest an arm on my tank, and peer over the cars in front of me. Waiting.
It doesn’t take long. Declan emerges barely five minutes later, stuffing something inside his jacket. That’s standard carrying for a biker without a bag, so long as the package is small. I didn’t see what he had.
He doesn’t even look my way, merely climbs on his bike and takes off again, and I follow, keeping my distance, more confused than before.
As I pass, I get a good look at the shop he went into. It’s a boutique jewelers.
What’s he doing? More to the point, what the hell amIdoing?
He’s out shopping on a Saturday. People do that. He even bought jewelry. I can think of someone he might want to give that too—even if it is a bit soon.
It’s probably a collar. That would be his style. I can just imagine it around my neck.
And he turns north, almost immediately. Running back up to the 101, yes, but also aiming directly for Tujunga. With jewelry in his jacket.
Shit… is he going to my apartment? He’d expect me to be there by now, except I’m not. Instead, I’m following him around the city.
But he said dinner, this evening. He said he’d be out all day. Has he changed his mind? Is this a spur-of-the-moment romantic gesture?
It doesn’t fit. I don’t understand.
Why would you, Raven? It’s you that’s acting weird.
Fine. I’ll follow him, because there’s nowhere else to go anyway. I’ll stay on his tail until he hits Tujunga—ifhe hits Tujunga—and then I’ll burn down to Kurt’s unit instead, hang out there for a bit. Wait until this evening. Explain I wasn’t home.
And if he doesn’t?
