for doing its job. Jeremiah wore a t-shirt with a low scooped neck and no arms. On him… holy moly, the things that shirt did to his chest and abs defied logic. He’d applied sunscreen too because he didn’t want his tattoos to fade.
They’d spent a lazy morning in bed last weekend talking about each of his tattoos. They were personal memorials to his grandparents, and the one that snaked around his arm and claimed a spot on his neck was a reminder. He’d downplayed the incident. She leaned against his back and recalled the conversation.
“What is this guy all about? He’s pretty in a scaly reptile kind of way.” Eden traced her finger over the snake’s scales.
“He is my reminder, my warning to myself.” Jeremiah shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“A reminder of what?” She lifted onto her elbow and stared down at him.
He drew a deep breath and let it out before he looked at her and answered, “A handful of years back, an inmate attempted to kill me and an FBI agent while we were questioning him. That was a wake-up call for me, and this guy is my reminder that there are dangers lurking and I need to protect myself and those I care about.”
“He’s important then.”
“Very.”
“What have you done to make sure you’re never in that position again?” She laid down and he rolled to face her.
“Lots of things. I wasn’t a ninety-pound weakling, but I put on about fifty pounds of muscle. I found an MMA gym and I’ve advanced enough that no one wants to spar with me.” He smiled. “That is an accomplishment.”
“So, you can kick butt and take names, huh?”
“I can. I won’t be a victim again.” He leaned in and kissed her. “But I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”
She sighed. He was a master at diverting her questions about his time working at the prison. And he usually diverted her with sex. She needed to stop letting him do that.
The ride into the small city had the usual problems such as idiot drivers that didn’t look before they merged lanes, but Jeremiah handled the incursions with ease, although her heart still landed in her throat. She loved to ride, but she also knew it was a dangerous pastime, especially in the city.
They pulled into a business. A motorcycle repair shop. She got off the bike and took off her helmet as Jeremiah did the same. “Is something wrong with your bike?”
He nodded. “I thought I heard it missing.” She frowned. She had noticed nothing, but then again, she’d been daydreaming and enjoying the scenery until they entered city traffic. “Why don’t you go look at the bikes and I’ll be right back.” He motioned to the display room off to the right. She ran her hand through her hair and shrugged. Why not, she didn’t know anyone here, who cared that she had helmet head?
Jeremiah headed to the maintenance bay where he’d seen Tank sitting beside a Harley Panhead. He stood beside the man and looked at the bike. “I haven’t seen a Panhead in this condition in a long time.”
Tank glanced over at him. “She’s my son’s. Complete rebuild.”
Jeremiah took in the lines of the bike. There was a simple, elegant beauty to the machine, nothing modified, no personal enhancements, just the Harley the way they built it. “Excellent craftsmanship. Looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor.”
“That’s the plan. I got what you wanted, but let’s talk payment.” Tank crossed his arms over his chest and glanced around.
“You got it.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
Tank shook his head and held up a hand. “You weren’t joking about being a shrink?”
Well, hell, where did that come from? He nodded. “I’m a psychiatrist, yes.”
“Can you see patients?” Tank rubbed the back of his neck. The cheeks under his silver beard turned a ruddy color.
Jeremiah glanced around, too, to make sure they were alone. “I can. Are you having problems?”
Tank shook his head in a sharp movement. “Not for me. My boy. He came back from the service fucked up physically. He got hooked on pain pills, you know, but he’s kicked it.”
“Okay…” Jeremiah prompted.
“Derek needs help. He ain’t caved into the pills again, but he’s been going to more and more NA meetings. Something’s riding him hard. Won’t talk about it to me or the old lady. Could you talk with him? You know bikes. You don’t look like no button-down prep