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“It’s fine Daddy,” she said, gulping back with a bit of pain cracking her voice. “I’m okay.”
Running his hand over her static fueled hair as the sound of gears shifting and bits of gravel from the edges of the parking lot kicking up pinged the trailer.
“We got a small audience,” Buchanan warned. “Not exactly your cleanest escape there Major.”
“What can I say,” Mike called back as Connell slid into the passenger seat while the truck rolled out of the parking lot and onto the on ramp with little regard for the stop sign as he did. “I needed to make sure you were awake for the ride.”
“Next time spike my coffee with an eight ball of coke, I’d probably be less wired.”
Heart thundering in his chest he buried his face in his hands and prayed none of the truckers decided to play vigilante and give chase. While the unmarked, unregistered truck got passes from the highway patrol, that didn’t mean a Big Wheeler wouldn’t give chase. Try to block them in and force either a crash or submission.
Unlike most trucks that have a governor that caps their top speed, the US Military complex wasn’t as safety conscious as the others. If people were trying to take down or over these trucks the last thing they wanted was to lose in a footrace. All eighteen wheels were run flats, the engine may appear standard, but there were a few bells and whistles. The Bandit had nothing on what this bad boy could do if necessary.
Connell was messing with the CB, listening for chatter from an escape that was too close for comfort. The Amber alert was blaring across most channels and it would be for days unless he got Sassy to call it off, which would give her access to his location.
They were a few miles down the road before Mike remembered the whole breathing part of living. Good thing about right before dawn, traffic was light and most people weren’t awake even with the harsh tone blasting from their phones in the ever expanding search for Sydney. If only Sassy had cared about her well-being more than the twisted relationship with Mitch.
“Come on Sydney let's get you comfy and watching movies,” he said, flipping on the TV in the sleeper cab and passing her a set of headphones. A few beeps from the microwave signaled breakfast was ready as he passed her a serving of scrambled eggs and sausage.
“That was too close for comfort.” Connell glanced over his shoulder once Mike returned to the curtain. “We can’t stop until we get you to Montana.”
Mike nodded, making sure Sydney was lost in cartoons as an eight-year-old should be.
“I checked the news,” Connell said. “Tracked back on the Amber alert, says there was a body left at the house.”
“Couldn’t exactly toss him in the bed of the pick-up and find a pit to toss him in.”
“How bad?” Buchanan asked and Mike’s gut clenched.
They were on the hook, government protection or not, they already crossed a line by allowing him in the vehicle, the least he owed them was the truth. For Sydney’s sake he had to set a boundary he knew the men would never cross.
* * *
With Amber on board now Porsche needed to talk to Topaz and the other girls. While the idea of having their men strip wouldn’t upset them in the least, teaching the men the basics would range between annoying, irritating and hilarious.
On Sunday morning she woke after finally finding sleep thanks to the melatonin lacedZzzQuil. Nowhere near the recommended eight hours, but for her a few hours was equal to a two week vacation for most. At some point she would have to get her meds refilled, but it could wait. With a ton of other things to do today, the optional suppressor of her overdrive loving brain would be a hindrance not a blessing.
Besides, when it came down to it she had to get Red’s approval. No man with a patch would get on stage without Red’s approval. Not even Chief who would spearhead the project. Like most men there was always a weakness. Porsche’s plan was to go to the wife, Roadkill, and get her on board to help with Red. After eating a bagel with cream cheese in the smallish kitchen the apartments had, she snagged her purse and walked to her car.
On a nicer day she might have walked. The ranch was huge, over a thousand acres at least, what did she know about acreage, but since they weren’t raising sheep Red was creating a smaller community. Homes, apartments and the clubhouse. Allowing rescues to crash in a safe environment and those from the club who weren’t going back and forth between town. Steel had set up a similar situation down in New Mexico only there Porsche shared a space instead of having her own area. Driving the short distance to Roadkill and Red’s house she found the contact in her phone and called up her friend.
“Hey, sorry to bum rush you, but I’m outside in the car and I was wondering if I can run an idea by you? You are home, right?”
“Sure am, I’m just hanging out with Harlow and doing my best to not topple over.”
The woman was sporting the cutest baby bump on the ranch now since Preacher Girl popped a few weeks ago. A second surprise both mom and dad were refusing to share the sex of, not that it mattered, the next prince or princess of the Luke home was sure to be spoiled just like the first one.
“Okay coming in.” Throwing the phone first in the cup holder, she put the car in park and gathered her purse. Scanning the area she wondered if Red was home. Hoping to have Roadkill to herself she couldn’t locate Red’s bike which meant there was a good chance this would be like her stop the day before, productive, with little to no push back.
Scanning the car her mental checklist might as well be scrabble tiles tossed on the floor to distract vampires due to their incessant need to count objects. At least that’s what it said in a book she’d put down months ago only to move on to the next. This was a project she needed to finish she told herself, retrieving her phone from the cupholder and trying to center on the project at hand. This wasn’t a singular task she could get done. It would take patience because it couldn’t be done in a few hours. Manic episodes could be productive or could send her into a ball of overwhelming tasks making her come to a hard stop.
Cataloging the appointments with Doc she spun out, the soft, steady tone of Doc Olsen walking her through calming techniques. Spinning out, pushing through, letting the world overtake her was easy. Sitting calmly and allowing the world to go silent, wasn’t. Even when she did her best there was always a voice chasing her. Telling her it wasn’t done, there was more to do even if she didn’t know what it was. In her mind she knew she was never finished.
Knocking on the door, warning barks from Creature would have sent anyone back a few steps, but Porsche wasn’t a stranger to the beastly pit who went from attacker to demander of belly rubs when she saw Porsche on the other side of the screen door. Rolling on her back, the eighty pound mutt whined and twisted herself from side to side. Setting off a round of toddler giggles from Harlow, the near three year old standing by her mother’s side.
“Hi Porsche. Come on in.”
“Porsche wanna see my babies?” Harlow beamed. Her bright red hair no longer a flop of baby curls, instead what they’d hoped would be ringlets had become stick straight and was in a set of pigtails.
