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One of Hansen’s guys parks my motorcycle under the portico. He smiles at it appreciatively as he dismounts. “She’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And, buddy, when I say bring her around, I don’t mean ride her. I mean walk by her side.”
He shrinks. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Come on knucklehead,” Hansen mumbles as he slaps the guy upside the head.
“I think you scared him,” Carina says when I place my black helmet over her head.
I secure the latch under her chin and check the tightness. “No one rides what belongs to me. And in case you’re wondering, yes, that applies to you.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. “Are you saying I can’t ride anything that belongs to you? Or that I belong to you, and no one else can ride me?”
“Both.”
“Okay. Thank you for the clarification.” She moves to my V-Rod and runs a hand over the soft leather seat. “Do I just get on it?”
“Me first.” I throw my leg over the seat, scoot up a bit, and pat the spot behind me.
She climbs on hesitantly and shifts several times until she seems to find a position she likes.
I put on my helmet, release the kickstand, hold the clutch, and press start. The engine roars to life beneath us, and Carina’s arms swoop around me.
“You’ll have to hold on much tighter than that.” I chuckle as I feel her constrict around me when we take off.
Her nerves don’t last long, as I knew they wouldn’t. By the time we reach the Prospect Expressway, she’s laid her head on my back and relaxed her hold.
There’s something about this moment that touches a part inside me I wasn’t aware of before now. The clear night sky and large full moon, her warmth, the illusion of freedom because I can’t hear the vehicles behind us… I don’t want it to end.
But end it does, and far too soon, when fifty minutes later, we arrive at her father’s home in Brooklyn.
Reluctantly, I come to a stop in front of the old house and unclasp Carina’s hands from my chest.
“Did you enjoy it?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Mmm.” She gets off the bike and stands in front of me so I can remove her helmet. “It was freeing, oddly enough. I was so worried I’d fall off, there was no room to think about any of my other problems.”
“Interesting point,” I admit.
I motion to the men who have just pulled in behind us to wait out here. Then I follow her up the walkway to the house. She fumbles with the key, then pauses and stares at the lock.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“The door was unlocked.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “You said you came before. Did you lock it when you left?”
It’s hard to recall something that happened when I was furious at the fact Gregorio had run.
Pushing her aside, I tug my gun out of the holster. “Wait here.”
As usual, she’s unable to listen.
“Hello,” she calls out when we step inside. “Maybe Daddy came back.”
“I told you, your father is gone.”
She turns on a lamp sitting on a long table in the foyer, then collects the mess of envelopes that litter the floor. “Yeah, I kind of hoped you were lying about that.”
“I’m many things. Unfortunately, a liar isn’t one of them. Wait here.” I search the house, going from room to room, making sure there isn’t an intruder. After finding nothing amiss, I return to her. “It must have been me.”
