Page 20 of Inferno

“Thanks, Juniper.” I meant it too. I didn’t know what was going on with me, but I knew how crazy I sounded.

“I think I should be the one thanking you. I’d be lying if I said your accusations shocked me. Brett was never anything other than psychologically manipulative to me. He never hit me or yelled at me. His abuse was much more subtle, and I’m only now realizing how bad it got. Don’t make me regret trusting you instead of reporting you to the cops.”

“You have my word, Juniper.”

I ended the call and set the phone on the nightstand, then killed the lamp and lay in the dark. I had a couple of hours before I needed to be up. Considering how little sleep I got last night and today, I needed every second I could get. I closed my eyes and didn’t sleep.

Chapter Seven

Juniper

The alarm went off at 2:30 but I was already awake. I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after talking with Inferno. I dressed in the dark because, despite owning a bakery, I hated getting up in the morning. The darker the better.

I slid on jeans and a thermal shirt. My hair went into a tight bun and I wore no makeup. Nobody was going to see me at four in the morning except flour, yeast, and the man who’d called me at two a.m. to, apparently, lay down the law. OK, so that’s not exactly what he’d done, but the longer I thought about it, the more I wondered exactly what he’d been doing.

So, I admit, everything he told me about Brett combined with the way Brett had grabbed me so hard I’d bruised, had me spooked on so many levels I didn’t even know where to begin.

First, I might have a stalker. Second, I wasn’t exactly sure which man was stalking me. Third, I might just a tiny bit like the fact one of them cared enough to stalk me. And fourth, the fact that I might like the idea of Inferno stalking me didn’t terrify me told me all I needed to know about my current mental state. Which was totally fucking stupid. That was my mental state. Totally. Fucking. Stupid.

When I stepped outside at three-fifteen, Inferno sat at the curb on his bike waiting. Just like he’d promised. He nodded when he saw me. I got in my car. The low rumble of his motorcycle followed me all the way to the bakery, always at a respectable distance.

Once inside, I flipped on the lights, turned on the ovens, and got to work. Inferno parked around back and came in behind me.

“Flour’s in the storage closet,” I said. “Would you mind getting me three of the fifty-pound bags, please?”

He nodded. When I opened my mouth to tell him where, he’d already turned and started down the hall to my walk-in pantry storage without comment. He’d been in here once, for ten minutes, and he already had the layout. That should have bothered me. It didn’t.

He hauled the sacks two at a time, one over each shoulder, and gently set them by the mixer. Bastard wasn’t even breathing hard as he went back for the last sack.

“Thanks,” I said, unable to meet his gaze.

He leaned against the counter and watched me while I worked. When the sun came up, pale and thin through the front windows, Inferno straightened.

“I should head out,” he said. “Shop opens at seven?”

I wiped my hands on a towel. “Yes. Late for a bakery, but one day a week I give myself a break. It was my one rebellion against my grandmother’s strict guidance.” I smiled to myself at the memory. “Thanks for the help.”

He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The morning continued like any other. Customers came and went, and I worked decorating cakes in between rushes.

At ten, I’d brought out a fresh batch of blueberry muffins while Georgia, my temp, rang one up for a regular. I glanced out the front window. A motorcycle was parked down the block, chrome catching the sun. Nashville had motorcycles everywhere, so it shouldn’t stand out. I was probably hyper aware now that I’d actually ridden on one. I shrugged it off and finished the transaction, going back to the kitchen.

At noon, I took the trash out to the dumpsters in the alley. The bag split on the way, dropping wet coffee grounds and paper towels at my feet. I swore under my breath before getting a dustpan from just inside the door, scooping up the mess and tossing it into the dumpster.

I noticed a truck parked behind the dumpsters. Normally I wouldn’t have even noticed, but I recognized the truck. I was pretty sure I’d seen it at the Kiss of Death clubhouse. I was half-certain I’d seen the same truck yesterday, now that I thought about it.

When I came back inside, I checked the front window. The motorcycle was still there. Was it the same one? I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected I knew what was happening. Inferno’s interference didn’t really scare me, exactly, but this wasn’t what I wanted.

At two, I told Georgia I was going out for lunch. I walked a block down the sidewalk to my favorite sandwich shop. In the parking lot across the street from the shop, I noticed another motorcycle. A guy sat under a tree, eating a sandwich while he leaned against the seat of his bike with his legs crossed in front of him. He didn’t look my way, but there was no chance all of this together was a coincidence.

I crossed the street. He saw me coming but pretended not to until I was too close for him to pretend any more.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re the bartender at the Kiss of Death place. Right?”

“I’m Zero.” He gave me a friendly smile and held out a bag of crinkle-cut fries he’d been eating with his burger, totally not answering my question. “Fry?”

“No, thank you.” I tried to look stern, but it was really hard. “How long have you been following me?”

Expecting a lie, I formulated what I intended to say to him. Instead, the guy shrugged. “Since yesterday morning.”