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“I had a very good reason,” she said earnestly as they stopped at the bike. “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Please, I have to—”
“You can tell me later,” he said impatiently, cutting her off as he swung his leg over and settled into the seat.
She was about to protest, but realizing persistence would only make him angrier, she climbed on behind him. As he started the bike, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned wearily against his back.
But as the minutes ticked by, the ache in her shoulder grew worse, and a shooting pain blazed through her ankle. Every bump seemed to aggravate her injuries. By the time they left the back roads, she was feeling lightheaded and near tears.
Though the main road was smoother and offered some relief, reaching the freeway seemed to take forever. When it finally came into view, she squeezed her eyes shut and said a prayer of thanks. It would only be fifteen minutes before they’d be home. Hoping it wouldn’t be under siege and Marco would listen, she clung to him with her one good arm.
* * *
As the miles whipped past, Marco tried to make sense of the evening’s whirlwind events. It had never occurred to him the Zeppelin brothers would be interested in his art collection. They were known for peddling narcotics, protection rackets, human trafficking, and arms dealing. But he knew why they tried to assassinate him. They didn’t want him chasing them down.
Then he had a sudden thought.
It was possible they believed he was now toast—literally—and would make their move on the compound. He might still have a chance to turn the tables and bring them down, then abruptly realized Liam would have heard the explosion and raced to the scene. The brothers may have been apprehended.
Then there was Max.
Marco couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t heard from him since their brief communication verifying Liam’s arrival at the farmhouse.
There were too many unanswered questions, and following Brent off the freeway, Marco’s thoughts turned to Steph.
He was flabbergasted.
Not only had she broken her promise, she’d posed as Stu, joined Brent, and ridden out to the dangerous scene. He knew she was a risk taker, but he’d never imagined she’d do anything so outrageous.
It was incomprehensible.
But entering his exclusive neighborhood, his attention switched gears. It was time to focus on his home.
* * *
As Marco rolled the bike to a stop beneath a large oak tree, a block from the compound, Brent’s taillight continued down the street. Dropping her right arm from Marco’s waist, Steph cringed as she tried to lower the left. He was pulling off his helmet, and though she tried to move it out of the way, he bumped it. Letting out a squeal, she grabbed her shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked sharply, climbing off and facing her.
“My shoulder,” she whimpered, lifting her visor, “it’s killing me, but Marco, I need to tell you something. It’s important, really important. Could you please help me with my helmet?” she added, struggling with the clasp. “I can’t do it with only one hand.”
He hesitated, then unfastened it and lifted it off her head.
“You’re lucky to be alive after pulling that crazy stunt,” he muttered angrily, placing it on the saddle, then reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his cell phone.
“Marco, please,” she begged, carefully clambering off. “I must tell you about—”
“Hold on. I need to call Benny.”
Lunging forward, she swiped the phone from his hand with her good arm, but searing pain blasted through her ankle, and with a loud wail she toppled to the ground.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Marco demanded, picking up his phone and leaning over her. “Have you lost your mind?”
“My ankle, I think I’ve sprained it,” she bleated, unable to stop the tears, “but you have to listen. Stu—I locked him in the wine cellar.”
“What?”
“He’s working for… for…”
Before she could finish her head began to spin.
