The idea of calling one of my brothers to explain I’d broken down in the middle of nowhere would mean admitting defeat. Any of them would absolutely come get me, but they’d also drive me straight back home to Chicago, where Alex would have me set up with a whole parade of eligible bachelorettes before I’d even scrubbed all traces of oil from my hands.
A semi finally appeared on the horizon just as the sky started turning orange. I straightened as it pulled into the truck stop, the driver’s door opening to reveal an older man. He climbed down slowly, a sun-faded cap resting on his head but not hiding his weathered face or the concern in his eyes. His jeans had probably seen the moon landing and his shirt was worn, hangingover shoulders way too broad for a guy his age, but at least he seemed to come in peace.
“You okay over there, son?” he called as he slammed the door behind him. “Need some help?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said, rising and dusting off my ass as he approached. “My bike seems to be staging a protest and I’ve tried sweet-talking her, but I think she’s done with me.”
The motorcycle was still coughing the occasional puff of smoke into the air, and the guy turned from me to her, taking a few steps closer and sliding a hand along the metal. Up close, he looked somewhere around sixty, deep lines carved into his face and his heavy boots coated in dust.
Since it looked like he knew how to survive threeseparateapocalypses, I was hopeful he could help me figure out how the bike could survive this. Finally, after a few long seconds of inspecting her, he rocked back on his heels and looked at me again.
“You been ridin’ her hot?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I was on my way east to Phoenix to pick up the supplies I need to fix her up. There’s a specialty store I was aiming for, but she’s sabotaging her own rescue mission.”
He let out a deep chuckle. “Well, you ain’t getting to Phoenix tonight.”
“Nope,” I agreed. “I gave up on that plan about an hour and a half ago when I realized she needed more than just an oil change and some kind words.”
He glanced back at the bike. “Kind words sure won’t be enough to help this old girl anymore. You’re in luck, though. There’s a town about fifty miles north that’s got a mechanic. He’s a good one, too. He can probably fix her up.”
“North?”
“Mm-hmm.”
On instinct, I glanced east, to where Chicago was waiting somewhere far in the distance. I’d been hoping a few days in Phoenix would allow me to fix up the bike before I went home, but no one else had stopped and this guy was going north.
He was, quite literally, my only option. Even if he was going in the wrong direction.
The old man started walking back to his truck. “I’m heading that way now. The tow company can come grab the bike after dark or first thing tomorrow.”
I looked back at the semi as he moved toward it, my mind racing. Statistically speaking, this was how at least thirty percent of true crime documentaries started, a young man getting into stranger’s truck in a remote desert, his family later describing him asfree-spiritedwhile ominous piano music played in the background.
But the way I saw it, one of two things would happen next. I would either become a serial killer’s next victim or I would still get to delay my trip home for a few more days. Just not in Phoenix.
Without consciously having decided to do it, I’d been taking every detour on the map and running my bike into the ground, trying to buy myself more time on the road. Not that Chicago was bad.
It wasn’t. Chicago was family dinners, nieces and nephews climbing all over me, and bantering with Lu. It was coming up with excuses not to go running with Zach every morning and driving Alex to the brink of insanity at the office every day by pretending not to know what I was doing. It was mediating at some points and being the fuel on the fire at others.
In a word, it was home, but at some indeterminable point over the last two months, I’d realized I just wasn’t quite ready to go back yet. I glanced back at my bike sitting next to the pump,but she wasn’t getting me home anytime soon no matter what I decided here.
The old man stopped in the open driver’s door of his truck and jerked his chin toward the passenger side. “You comin’ or not?”
With the sunset bleeding orange and gold across the desert sky, this really was my only option. Well, this or spending the night right here on the curb with no phone, no food, and no water.
Nope. There’s no chance.
“Yeah,” I said finally, grabbing my backpack off the ground. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 2
RAQUEL
When I dropped my purse on the metal workbench, it hit with a dull thud that echoed across the unnatural quiet of the shop. Quartz Pass Autobody & Tire was in a lull, not even the whining of an electrical saw or the telltale buzz of welding in the air.
I glanced around the workshop, usually such a hive of activity but with barely anything in it now. Barely anything, that was, except for the motorcycle sitting in the middle bay.
A motorcycle that definitely didn’t belong in Quartz Pass. Avery, my brother, and two other mechanics were circling it, low whistles escaping from them every so often.
