area was remote, and it wasn’t too uncommon to find a car broken down and abandoned by the driver. Only this car wasn’t abandoned, which immediately had every instinct I possessed on high alert.
The hood of the small, red two-door was open and a cloud of white smoke was billowing upward toward the night sky. There was a young woman leaning against the side of the car, looking completely distraught. She was waving her arms frantically in my direction, and I had a feeling if I didn’t stop she was going to run out in the middle of the road and try and force me.
Swearing under my breath, I pulled my bike to the shoulder of the road, the weight of the weapon I was never without heavy against the small of my back as bits and pieces of this particular scenario started to click into place. I rested the bike on its kickstand and climbed off. The woman hurried over to me, red hair flying behind her and green eyes wide and pleading.
I’d seen enough pictures of Ashby Grant to know what she really looked like. She was a stunning woman, blond and blue-eyed, and built in all the right places. It was no guess how she managed to get what she wanted from men. This woman didn’t look anything like the pictures. No, this woman was supposed to look like the centerfold version of Presley. All the best parts of Presley were overdone and made bigger and brighter. This woman was meant to stop traffic and catch the eye. It was as if she was tailor-made to fit my exact type in a way that was impossible to ignore. I had to hand it to Presley’s former friend, she definitely knew how to hide in plain sight.
My fingers itched to reach for the gun tucked into my waistband, but I’d made a promise to Case and Hill that I would play this game by the rules they set out. I was just the bait, not the mousetrap that was supposed to clamp down on the vermin’s neck. However, with the reminder of all this woman had put Presley through swirling through my mind, I was struggling to keep my expression blank.
“Having some trouble?” Each word felt like it sliced across my tongue. I couldn’t recall having the urge to hurt a woman ever before, but for this one, I really wanted to make an exception.
“It just started smoking. I have no idea where I am and the battery on my phone died. I’m so lucky you came by. Can you help me?” Overly done eyelashes fluttered in my direction as she chewed provocatively on her lower lip.
I lifted an eyebrow at her and did my best not to roll my eyes. Her act was highly exaggerated. I wondered if men were really so driven by what was between their legs they couldn’t see that they were being played.
“I can take a look at it.” The smoke was white, so it was a good guess that she’d pulled the radiator hose when she heard my bike coming.
“Oh, the car is a rental. I can just leave it here. Can’t you give me a ride into town? I have a motel room waiting.” The eyelashes flickered beseechingly, and I had to shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans so she couldn’t see them clench into fists. The boys in blue were going to owe me so big for this farce.
“Nope. I’m not headed toward town. I can call Triple-A or the cops for you. I know the sheriff pretty well. I’m sure he’d send a deputy out to give you a lift. Or I can take you to my clubhouse.” And keep her there until Case and Hill showed up to arrest her—that is, if the members didn’t take her apart first.
The woman balked, clearly aghast I hadn’t jumped on the overt invitation to join her in her motel room.
“I can’t go to a motorcycle club in the middle of the night. Do you think I’m stupid?” She smoothed a hand over her skintight shirt and licked her lower lip. “You should come with me instead.”
She wasn’t stupid. She knew enough not to walk into a situation she wasn’t going to be able to walk out of. The clubhouse was pretty much impenetrable and inescapable.
“No thanks.” I barked the word and let out a loud yawn. “Like I said, I can look at it for you or call