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“It’s got the stock carburetor,” Sean offered. “I know it needs to be either rebuilt or replaced, but I’ve never known which direction to go.”
Delaney shook herself, like someone who’d bumped into a celebrity and didn’t want to act like an idiot. She walked around the bike, checking the tires first. “These are surely expired and need replacing.” She slid on the Harley and settled in, like she was getting the feel for it. “We can’t fire it up until we drain it. The oil will be like gel at this point, full of particulate, so we have to get fresh oil and gas in here.”
“Yeah,” Sean agreed. “It’s been in storage for ages.”
“And that’s just to start,” Delaney said. “I’d bet money the throttle shaft bushings are worn and are sucking air. Basically, I need to take a closer look at everything.”
Sean wished his mind was actually on the bike, but with Delaney talking shop and straddling the Harley—the only thing in his youth that had given him freedom and made him feel like he could escape the dreary path of his future—all he could think about was last night. His kitchen. That sort-of kiss. There was no question in his mind that if his cat hadn’t been an asshole, things would’ve gone further. It was clear that Delaney was fascinated by the bike, but Sean was fascinated by heronthe bike.
“What he means to say—” Miguel was suddenly right there, standing next to the Harley, filling Sean’s awkward silence “—is you should do whatever it takes to get this bike up and running. He trusts you completely.”
“Right.” Sean pointed at Miguel. “That.”
Delaney’s gaze slipped between the two men as a smile curled her lips. “Okay, gentlemen.” She rubbed her palms together. “I don’t think the detective knows what a gem he’s got on his hands. But I do. I promise to do everything I can to get this Harley in tip-top shape.”
“Sounds great. Now. About your motorcycle.” Sean cleared his throat, hoping to regain his senses, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was pull her against him and taste the morning on her lips. What would that be like? Toothpaste? Coffee? Tea with sugar and cream? “I know you only saw it for a split second, but did you get a look at who was riding it?”
Delaney’s smile fell. “He was completely covered. Dark clothes. Full helmet. Not on the small side or on the big side.” Her eyes closed and she went quiet a moment. “Nothing stands out,” she said, once her eyes opened again. She cursed under her breath. “I can’t believe I was that close and couldn’t ride him down. By the time I made the U-turn—”
“Good news is,” Sean cut her off before she could go down the road of blaming herself, “we know the bike is still in one piece. And apparently still in the area.”
“Weird, right?” Delaney’s eyes narrowed.
“This case has bothered me from the start,” Sean admitted. “There’s just nothing typical about it. And it feels...wrong, somehow.”
Delaney didn’t grill him like he expected. She didn’t ask him to clarify what he meant or make judgment on how so much of his work was based on gut feeling. She just made a clucking sound with her tongue, a sound that indicated she agreed with him. Her gaze went to the photo on the wall of her father sitting on the ’33, her expression helpless, sad. That look reinforced something Sean had known all along: this wasn’t so much about the missing bike.
“Hey.” Sean wanted to reach out, but like so many other times, he quelled the impulse. “I’m on it. This case just got a lot more hopeful. I’m going to try to get footage from the stoplight camera on Prince Boulevard where you saw the bike. Maybe that will show us something you didn’t see in that one split second.”
She stuffed her hands in her back pockets and glowered. “Do you think it’ll show Dick riding around on my dad’s bike? He’s about the right size.”
“Well, if it does, we can arrest him.”
Delaney offered a tentative smile. “I like the sound of that.”
“What else you got going on today?” Sean glanced over his shoulder, to make sure Miguel was far enough away to not eavesdrop.
“Working on bikes all day. Then tomorrow I’m going over to Sunny’s. She promised to let me see Wyatt.”
Sean was a little disappointed that Delaney’s schedule was so full, but so was his. He had a late shift tonight and now that she’d spied the ’33 that’s all he was going to think about. Sean was happy to hear she’d be going to visit the dog who used to randomly show up at her shop, though. He could tell she liked that wandering pittie way more than she let on. “Sounds good,” he said, and watched her eyebrows rise a little, like maybe she was expecting more.
“Alright, then,” was all she said.
“Alright, then.”
By the time Sean rode back to Castillo’s house, got the van and returned home, he found a text waiting for him from Gus, at the station.
Got the hit on the plate you asked for. Bike’s registered to Walter Hanson. See attached deets.
Thanks, Gus.
Old Walt might’ve refrained from giving Sean his last name, but the tag on his Fat Boy had been easy enough to run down. “Now let’s find out exactly who you are, Walter Hanson.”
Delaney watched Sean go. He had a nice walk, because he held himself with confidence but lacked arrogance, which Delaney found unusual for a cop. He looked different to her after last night, making her focus more on his physical attributes than she had before. She found the way his clothing draped over his body pleasing—the way his T-shirt hugged his muscled torso and his jeans hid a good set of legs. His friend Miguel chatted and laughed with Sean all the way to the truck they’d arrived in, like they’d known each other a long time.
When they’d first arrived, Delaney had been busy with the Girls Gone Hog Wild group and then preoccupied with the motorcycle. Now that the shop was quiet, she could still smell Sean faintly in the air, either his shampoo or aftershave. The memory of being pressed up against his body last night, and of the brush of her lips over his, came rushing back in. When she’d given him that small kiss, Delaney hadn’t really had a clear idea of where she was going with it. She’d just gone on impulse. What she hadn’t expected was how quickly she’d lit him up, the way he’d immediately drawn her in.
Delaney was used to being in charge. She’d spent twenty years in the Marine Corps. She’d worked her way up in her field, all the way to motor transport maintenance chief. She’d been on her own since she was seventeen years old and now owned her dream shop. If she wanted something, she went for it. She hadn’t realized until Sean had immediately upped the ante just how nice it felt to be on the receiving end of someone else’s unrestrained desire.
