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"It'll end," Tommy said. "As your friend, I promise you it will. As your lawyer, I strongly suggest you get your ass back in that restaurant and wait for her."
"She's late."
"She's testing you. She's trying to make you sweat and it's working."
Cody snarled something I couldn't hear.
"Christ, buddy, cool it, okay? I know you're worried about the shipment tonight, but it's all under control. Just go back in that restaurant, and when we're done here, we'll hit Lula's place for a couple of hours." A chuckle. "That'll get your mind off things."
"I'm not going back in the restaurant," Cody said. "I do not give any smart-ass piece of pussy--"
"Hey, guys," I said walking around the front of the SUV. "Sorry I'm late. I didn't have a cell number to call." I held my hand out to Tommy, whom I recognized as the frat brother who'd posted the occult ritual pics on Facebook. "Savannah Levine."
He didn't respond right away, too busy ogling to notice my outstretched hand. Then he took it in a firm shake.
"Thompson Harris. Cody's lawyer."
I grinned. "So I'm already lawyer-worthy? Cool. Let's go inside then. I'm starving."
"HAVE YOU EVER done any modeling?" Tommy asked as I bit into my Big Mac.
It was a line I got a lot. I think every tall, thin, reasonably attractive woman does.
"Not eating like that, she doesn't," Cody muttered, waving a hand at my fries, burger, and milk shake.
"I eat this way because I still can," I said. "After a certain age, my metabolism will hit the brakes and I'll be stuck with that shit." I waved at Cody's salad.
Tommy laughed. "Cody was right. You are feisty."
"Feisty wasn't the word I heard him use. As for modeling, let's just say not in the traditional sense." I flashed a wicked grin. "But a girl's gotta pay the rent somehow."
I bullshitted like a pro, giving Tommy enough hints to send him looking for booty shots online when he should be doing a standard background check. I'm sure he'd tell himself it was business, digging up something to discredit me. Probably even bill Cody for the time he spent porn surfing.
Flirting also kept him distracted enough not to jump in with objections when I questioned Cody. Not that it helped much. Cody knew better than to incriminate himself and I didn't have enough details yet to ask about the fight with Claire. Instead we spent the time circling, each trying to get a peek at the other's cards.
Finally Cody got fed up and went to sulk in the bathroom. He was gone a while, doubtless hoping I'd give up and leave. I flirted some more with Tommy, which seemed to convince him I wasn't anything more than a pretty face. Screwing potential: high. Threat potential: zilch.
I'll admit to being a little nervous when we left. Maybe nervous isn't the right word. Cautious. The back road from here to Columbus was long and empty, and if Cody pulled out right behind me, I'd be tempted to take the highway, rather than play road warrior again with his SUV. But apparently he was taking Tommy up on his offer to visit Lula's. They left in separate vehicles, and headed for the highway.
I was zooming down the empty back road, the wind whistling past, when my bike did a little bump-bump. I glanced in my rearview mirror, thinking I'd hit a pothole. Another bump. Then the rear tire wobbled. I barely had time to think Oh, shit! and the tire blew with a deafening bang.
seventeen
The bike started veering toward the center line. I wrenched it the other way, desperately steering for the side of the road, hitting it, dust and gravel flying up. The bike went into a slide. I held on as tight as I could, bracing myself for that final bone-jarring topple.
I lay in the gravel at the side of the road, bike pinning my leg down, panic arcing through me. Then, slowly, I heaved the bike off me. I braced for a wave of pain, but it didn't come. I felt like I'd been thrown out of a van. Nothing screamed "I'm broken," though.
A clean lay-down, which is the most you can hope for. Still holding the bike up, I slid out from under it and rose, stretching and patting myself down. My leather jacket was scratched to shit. My jeans were studded with pebbles. I was okay, though, which is more than I could say for my bike.
I assessed the damage--dings and scrapes and twisted handlebars--and decided we'd both gotten away pretty damned good. Which wouldn't keep me from kicking Cody Radu's ass when I got hold of him. Sulking in the bathroom? No, he'd been sabotaging my bike and--
A silver vehicle crested the hill. I froze, but it was only a car. I let out a sigh of relief, then a string of curses as the stupid bitches in the front seat gawked at me, not even slowing to see if I needed help.
That made me realize Cody might have more in mind than just sabotaging my ride. I was now stranded on a very empty stretch of road.
I took out my cell phone. It had survived the fall, but it didn't matter. No service.
The back tire was blown, meaning the motorcycle was useless, and I was still two or three miles from town. I started pushing. My left leg seized up. Okay, not as uninjured as I'd thought. Shit.
