Page 3 of Property of Bob

“Also last I checked.”

“Then Ashland lives here. Maybe you know him by Ash.”

“Nope.”

My patience, which hadn’t exactly been thriving before the RV died, started circling the drain. “Okay.” I pulled my phone from my bag again. “Maybe Clint gave me the wrong—” Then I stopped.

Bob.

Right.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that nobody here might actually use Ashland’s real name. Clint had been calling him Bob for so long that I should have figured that out before I drove onto the island and started demanding directions to a man nobody had heard of.

I slowly lowered my phone.

The biker was still watching me. “What?”

“He goes by Bob.”

Silence.

His entire face changed. Not dramatically. He didn’t gasp or clutch his pearls, but his eyes narrowed slightly and his head tipped to one side. “Bob.”

“Yes.”

“Our Bob?”

“How many Bobs do you have?”

“One.”

“Then probably that one.”

His gaze moved over me again, except this time there was a whole lot more suspicion behind it. Wonderful. “Who are you?”

“Ramona.”

“Ramona what?”

“Do I need to provide my Social Security number too?”

“Might help.”

I folded my arms. “Not happening.”

“Then last name.”

“Seriously?”

“Woman shows up after dark asking for one of my brothers by a name nobody around here knows, yeah. Seriously.”

Okay. That was fair. Annoying, but fair.

“Ramona Hill.”

He nodded slowly. “How do you know Bob?”

I let out a breath. “I’ve known Ashland since high school.”