Five more minutes and Mariah would be home. A few minutes here or there in Baltimore could take her from rags to riches; heaven to hell. These two a.m. gigs were great only in theory, except for when she was just about the only soul on Camden Avenue; at least she hoped she was, for that street just won the honors of being the worst and most dangerous in the city. In the wee hours of the morning or night, depending on your attitude, being a lounge singer didn’t appear so adventurous. It seemed dangerous. And maybe a little dumb.

Mariah had been scolded not to drive through bad neighborhoods at night alone. But she preferred to avoid the highway when she could. Though she was wired after gigs, she never knew exactly how tired she was until she got behind the wheel. Driving this late at night made it easy for her to succumb to road hypnosis; not a good thing. It had happened before.

A loud pop, almost like a detonation, jolted her whole being. She was sure the noise, so loud and explosive, was what a gunshot would sound like. Or maybe, she hit a creature with the car. Oh, not someone’s pet, she thought. The sides of the narrow street were packed with a glut of row houses and apartments. It suddenly felt tough to process everything through the fog in her brain. She could have hit someone getting out of their car.

The car clunked along at the back end; it was unmistakably a flat tire, a blow-out. But the dragging metal sound, was that normal? Did that happen with flats? Mariah was able to steer the car to a halt.

Shit! Shit! Shit! She called her roadside service and got a recording. She double-checked that the doors were locked, and tried to figure out what to do. Calling the police seemed her next option. Getting out didn’t seem like a possibility in this neighborhood, not with her show clothes still on.

Mariah groped beneath the front seats for the crowbar she kept there just in case she had to fend off a carjacker or an ax murderer. A low, rumbling noise caught her attention, and she tilted her head, trying to figure out if her car was making it as it idled.

No, it was a friggin’ motorcycle.

Mariah was livid. It had better not be Nelson Primeaux, the biker captain of the Robinson Street Bikers. Everyone, even if they didn’t know anything about bikers or gangs, knew the Robinsons were really a gang and not a biker association. Robinson Street was voted the next dangerous street in Baltimore, right after the street she was currently stuck on.

Nelson Primeaux was an avid fan of Mariah’s band, Gravel. Actually, he was more of a fan of Mariah – turned stalker. He was broadsided by the fact he would have to take no for an answer. Apparently, as the captain of a dangerous biker street gang, no was not part of his repertoire, unless he was the one saying it.

When Mariah had given Nelson no for an answer, stuff started happening. Her painstakingly-planted flowers in the front of her very modest row house in the poor part of Baltimore were dug up. She drove to work on what had been a full tank of gas and nearly ran out because she was empty; really on empty, like running on fumes. The gas station attendant had told her that someone had to have gotten underneath and drained the fuel, syphoned it somehow.

Stupid, bad boy biker Nelson had to be behind it all, and probably literally parked behind her now as well. Like a doofus, Mariah had forgotten to kill the lights. So, despite the locked doors and heavy steel of the crowbar now in her hands, she was a sitting duck. He could clearly see that someone was stranded.

She huddled more tightly anyway and scrunched her eyes closed. The sound of boots crunching toward her on the roadside gravel was followed by the tap of a ring against the side window.

“Hey,” a low, rumbling voice called out.

It was not Nelson. Now she kind of wished it was. At least with someone she knew, even though a disgruntled stalker type, she had a fifty-fifty chance of not being murdered. This guy could also be someone working for Nelson. Nelson was good for that. When he was barred from a place for being a pest, he liked to send his biker buddies in to give Mariah and her band grief while they performed.

“Hey,” the biker repeated; his voice low and sexy. “Are you okay? Your axle’s busted.”

Mariah didn’t move. It was a shame she really liked the sound of his voice, because this was not a good situation.

“Hello, lady? Hey, if you’re playing possum, I’m totally safe. If you don’t move, though, I’m calling an ambulance,” he said, the sound of a chuckle catching in his voice.

She spied at him through cracked lids. She watched as he lifted his visor. Nice face… damn. She was going to be killed by a good-looking biker with a great voice. Sexy-ass biker.

“Okay,” he said, “have it your way.”

She listened as he placed the call. Still could be a ruse. While he was distracted, she grabbed her phone.

While Sexy-ass Biker was calling for an ambulance, Mariah called the police.

“Hello,” she rasped into her cell phone. “My car’s broken down on Camden. You can’t miss me; I’m blocking the road… a black Passat, and I think my stalker’s outside my car. He’s driving a motorcycle. Please hurry.”

“I see you in there,” Sexy Biker said while he then finished his call. “Bring a tow truck. The car has a busted axle.”

The quiet night was rent with the screams of sirens rushing down the otherwise-empty highway to the scene.

“What the hell?” muttered Sexy Biker.

By this time, he had removed his helmet. Damn, he’s gorgeous. She sat up in her seat and peeked out the window at the drama unfolding before her: Cops exiting their car, with guns drawn.

“Hands in the air where we can see them!” one of the officers shouted, approaching her car.

Mariah finally got out of her car as well, her hands in the air

“I knew you were playing possum,” Sexy Biker accused.

“We got a report that this woman was being harassed by a stalker,” said one cop as he patted the biker down.

“I’ve never seen her before in my life. My name’s Cody Dallas,” he said, patiently letting the cop check him for weapons.

“Cody Dallas,” said the cop. “Want to try a real name?”

The cop removed Sexy Biker’s wallet from his back pocket.

“Fine. Matches your identification,” snapped the cop. “You can relax, but keep your hands where we can see them, and don’t make any quick movements.”

“Is this your stalker, ma’am?” asked the cop.

“No, but I think he works for the dipstick stalking me,” said Mariah as she eyed Cody with distrust, but also something else that seemed to suddenly wake her body and warm it from the inside.

“Hey! You’re the singer at Harry’s!” Cody raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Mariah made a face at the cop, like See?

“Thought you said you’ve never seen her before,” said the cop.

“I just came from Harry’s. I saw her car broken down and was just trying to help. I promise you that the last thing I want to do is stalk her,” he said, clearly annoyed. “In fact, if I never see her again that’s fine with me.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t know Nelson Primeaux,” said Mariah.

Cody stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Of course I know of him. Every- freakin’-body does. Do I know him personally? No. Do I associate with him? Hell no!”

“So you’re not a Club boy?” the cop almost sounded like he was taunting Cody.

“Do I belong to a bike club that’s not a fuckin’ gang? Yes. I belong to the Dark Riders,” Cody huffed and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. His eyes blazed and Mariah tried to catch if they were blue or something else in the darkness around them with only car lights to see. “I really was just stopping to help.” He turned his attention back to Mariah. “You’ve a broken axle. I could see it as I pulled up behind you. The lights in the car were on. I figured it had to happen within the last few minutes, ‘cause you still had juice. That’s it,” said Cody firmly.

He was telling the truth. She knew it. But hell, he was gorgeous, especially when agitated. She wanted to kiss him to make him feel better. Really? Now that’s what you’re thinking? “Hey,” she said softly, “I’m really sorry I took this all the wrong way. I appreciate your stopping.”

“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes.

He was still angry, but she could see he was cooling off.

“This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood. I’ve got a dumb-ass stalker.” She shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. “A girl’s gotta protect herself.”

“Wasn’t cool having guns pointed at my face. I get that you have a reason to be afraid,” he said, and then turned to the cop still standing by them. “Why the hell is it that you guys aren’t around this street when the real shit goes down, but you’re suddenly available when a Good Samaritan tries to help?”

The cop shrugged. “Your lucky day?” he laughed and then signaled to the tow truck pulling up. They watched as the big lug of a driver got out of the truck and began hooking up Mariah’s car. Cody sank to his haunches and started snapping pictures of the broken axle.

He and an officer were looking it over.

“Looks tampered with,” said Cody to the cop.

“I was thinking the same,” replied the cop.

“Can you give me a ride home?” Mariah asked the cop.

“Where do you live?” he asked her.

“I live over on Queen Anne,” she said.

“Ordinarily we would, but since the riots we have to do everything by the book,” he said. “We can call you a cab.”

Cody rolled his eyes again and lightly stomped the ground. “Can you ride on the back of the bike?”

“It’s only a few minutes from here,” said Mariah. “I can pay you.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t want your money,” he said, as though she’d insulted him.

“I really am sorry about calling the cops,” she sighed. “I’m not full of myself. Honest. Nelson Primeaux really does bother me. A girl’s gotta protect herself somehow.”

“It’s fine,” he said and waved his hand. “No worries. Better get what you need out of your car; it’s about to go bye-bye.”

But it was too late. The tow truck was already pulling out.

“My purse! Damn it!” she shouted.

“Quick! Put this on and go get him. I think I know where he’s going.” Cody handed her a helmet.

“I don’t need a helmet,” she said waving it away.

“I should beat you,” he said facetiously, “for arguing with me right now. Put it on.”

Mariah put the helmet on and stood cooperatively while he adjusted it. He mounted his bike and she climbed on right behind him. Her cocktail dress hiked up vulnerably high. Cody looked over his shoulder at her black-stockinged legs gripping his thighs. He had to touch her to position her safely. She didn’t mind.

His bike roared to life and he pulled back out onto the road, leaving the police behind. Cody’s body heat and the rumble beneath her weren’t unpleasant. Instantly, Mariah was turned on. The hum of the bike, the adrenaline of the moment, not to mention the beautiful man chasing down her car. . . Mariah couldn’t believe she was on some stranger’s bike in the wee hours of the morning.

It didn’t take long before Cody caught up the tow truck driver. He shadowed him the quick drive to the tow yard.

“Hey,” said Cody to the driver as soon as he parked. “We forgot her stuff. We’ll just be a sec.”

Mariah had to dismount so Cody could load his side bags with her stuff. As she watched him, this stranger who didn’t know her from Eve, taking care of all the details, she realized that the short ride on the back of his bike was the most fun she had had in a long time.

“Thank you,” she said with a shiver.

It was late June so it didn’t make sense she was cold, except that she was long overdue for bed. And when she as exhausted, she tended to have a tough time staying warm.

Cody removed his bomber jacket, revealing a powerful upper body. He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. His extraordinarily ripped guns were beautifully showcased. Mariah estimated his biceps were nearly as big around as her waist.

“No, that’s okay,” she said, refusing the jacket. She eyed his arms appreciatively. She joked, “What do you do? Eat dumbbells for breakfast?”

“I wouldn’t call you a dumbbell,” he replied and winked.

Damn, he was sexy.

He insisted on her wearing his coat. He gently took hold of her arm, turned her around, and slipped the jacket on her. It was heavy and had a wonderful smell that was a blend of sweet leather and musk, like him.

“Better?” he asked gently.

“Much,” she said, soaking in the coat’s comfort. She shivered, but not from cold. “I want to go to bed right now.”

Mariah caught Cody’s gaze. He was studying her. His expression didn’t alter at her suggestive choice of words, even though they were an accident. She suddenly meant them the way that they’d sounded.

“Let’s get you home,” he said softly.

“Okay,” she said.

“What do you know? She didn’t argue this time.” He smiled.