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“I’m not trying to be! But I think I’m going to sleep in my camper tonight.”
“Take the spare room.”
She glared at me. “No thanks.” Vivi yanked her shirt over her head and tucked her shoes under her arm before storming out. Even though she was mad as hell at me, all I could think about was how beautiful she looked when she got all pissy.
I could see Vivi’s point and how this all looked, but it was nothing like that and tomorrow over breakfast I would make her see that. I couldn’t sleep for shit, wondering how in the hell I went from being wrapped around a gorgeous woman to alone in the same bed in the span of an hour.
She’d been so damn snarky lately, but there were these moments when I got a glimpse of the girl she used to be. A certain word said with a smile and I could remember a thousand conversations when I’d heard that smile. I hated to think what events had conspired to make her so mistrustful and jumpy, bu
t every day I spent with her made me wonder. Eventually, I fell asleep with the scent of Vivi all around me. I’d clear up the misunderstanding in the morning.
After I’d slept for a few hours, I made a pot of coffee and went to the camper to apologize but it was locked. Even the windows and the top emergency hatch were locked up tight and through the slivers between the blinds I saw no signs of life.
Vivi was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Vivi
I used to think people who drove around in Priuses were pretentious assholes, and then I rode in a Tesla and I loved it so much I’d been thinking about moving out of the city to someplace where I could actually drive a car to the market or the movie theater.
When the bored kid with the Bieber haircut behind the counter at the car rental agency offered it up, I balked at first. But on day two of spying on Roadkill MC I could appreciate the silence of the engine and the plain blue color that meant the world that worshipped luxury vehicles and alpha dog motorcycles would look right past me. And that allowed me to get up close. Really close.
I’d worked out the hierarchy based on photos, and maybe there was a little bit of cell phone hackery, but not much. I just wanted to hear what they were talking about, like if they were in search of a blue-haired woman with a hit on her. I hadn’t heard anything like that, but I’d gotten a few names of the guys in charge because they ran their shit like a combination between a board of trustees and military chain of command. It was damn confusing and on top of all that, no one had normal fucking names.
I was close to the converted artist’s loft building that belonged to the Roadkill MC because I wanted to get a look inside. Since I wasn’t dumb enough to try and walk right in, I decided to hack their security feed. It was pitiful, really. Then again, maybe not all biker gangs had a tech expert like Jag on their payroll.
There were plenty of women in short skirts and tight pants, every single one of their belly buttons on display. Nearly all of them seemed to be in their twenties—maybe early thirties—but every single one of them looked…haggard. Everyone had a drink in hand, some guys also had a girl or two in hand while others played pool or cards. It was just after noon and the party was in full swing.
Maybe the outlaw life wasn’t so bad.
When a black haired dude with a goatee shouted, “Hey Rizzoli,” that got my attention because that name had been an earwig of the worst type. I held my breath and watched the screen, waiting for Rizzoli to enter the frame and hoping like hell it was the guy from the photo. It wasn’t him, but this guy was clearly his brother. Maybe even his twin.
“What’s up, man?” Other Rizzoli had a wide grin as he greeted everyone with an overeager hug and handshake.
“Where’s Big Rizzoli?”
Other Rizzoli frowned but it only lasted a nanosecond. I knew they couldn’t show emotions in this kind of toxic, excessively masculine, environment. It was actually quite sad. “He’ll be here soon, said he had some business to take care of.”
“Yeah, probably meeting with the Feds,” I said to the screen, in the silent, air conditioned-comfort of my rental. I listened and made notes on everything I thought I might need to know about these guys. But mostly I was biding my time until the real Rizzoli showed up, the one from the pictures.
More than an hour had passed and the blonde wig I wore was starting to make me sweat even with the A/C on but finally the real Rizzoli appeared on the scene. Not in a red pickup truck but I didn’t expect it to be quite that easy. I was hopeful but definitely not expectant. I snapped a few photos of the car, the plates and the man. Lots of close ups in hopes that maybe Peaches could work her magic. He didn’t stay long, just long enough to take a duffel bag to a room in the back, drink a beer, grope a few girls and then he was gone.
There was a knock at my window and I jumped. I had a feeling I knew who it was, so I schooled my emotions and opened the window halfway. “Yes?”
Jag leaned down, forearms resting on the window’s edge. “What are you doing here? And what’s with the wig?”
“I’m doing recon. And Barbara has blonde hair.” He smirked and then slid into the passenger seat.
“Why are you doing recon here?”
I shrugged, staring off in the distance because I still didn’t know if the beef between Roadkill MC and Reckless Bastards was legitimate or for show. “Why not?”
“Come on, Vivi. You don’t really think Slauson sent me to kill you, do you?”
No, I didn’t. But Jag didn’t need to know that. “I don’t know, Jag. All I know is that I’ve been trying to get in touch with her and she hasn’t called me back.”
“And those two things equal me being a contract killer?” He was trying not to smile. I could hear it even though I wasn’t looking at him.
