“All I know is that her name is Nikki,” Callie told Seth. She slapped the single key into his palm. He’d waited along the path that twisted around from the cinderblock cabin back to the main structure while she visited with the woman, alternating between standing with his legs planted and arms crossed and fidgeting like an idiot.

He frowned. “Nikki? Nikki what?”

“I don’t know, Seth. She’s pretty tightlipped about everything. Maybe she’s still in shock. Maybe she’s been intimidated or threatened. I did find out one other bit of information, but I don’t know if it’ll help you much.”

“What?”

“She’s from Albuquerque.” Callie frowned and glanced over her shoulder to the cabin before turning back to Seth. “I can’t imagine how horrible it is, to be kidnapped. When are you going to let her go?”

The question was a logical one, expected even, but Seth still didn’t know how to answer. “What’s to say the Jokers won’t be waiting for her to show up? For that matter, how is she going to get back to Albuquerque?”

Callie made a face. “You might want to consider dropping her off at the police station. They can take it from there. Or the bus station. Or a plane ticket. Or—”

“Enough already,” he sighed, shaking his head. “We’re already involved, and we don’t need the law coming around here. You know how Levi feels about that. And Grady.”

“Then what are you going to do? Keep her locked up in that stuffy cabin of yours? By the way, you might want to consider opening a window. You can hardly breathe in there!”

Seth ignored the comment. Keeping her invited a whole host of problems, including frustrating the fuck out of him having to keep his hands to himself, but at the same time he didn’t want to release her and put her at risk that the Jokers would find her again. The second time around would not be pretty. He didn’t want blood on his hands. But he didn’t trust her, and maybe that was the bottom line. He just couldn’t figure out why.

“What’s your impression?”

Callie looked up at him and shrugged. “I think she’s scared, and she has every reason to be. I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep her here against her will. She was kidnapped, Seth. And now you’ve pretty much kidnapped her from the Jokers. Do you think that’s fair?”

He scowled. “So you think I should just turn her loose?”

“What other option do you have? Is she your captive?”

His arms crossed over his chest again without him consciously moving. “Is she tied up? Is she dead? Have I stuck her in a box with a lock on it?”

“Just because you haven’t hurt her doesn’t mean she’s not being hurt.”

Every muscle in his body tightened at her words. Why the hell was he so mad at Grady’s girl? He’d been thinking exactly the same thing himself while pacing the path, waiting for Callie to emerge. And yet to have someone else think he was doing wrong by Nikki. That made him mad as hell. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.” With a shake of her head, she continued down the path, then veered into the parking lot toward her car. She unlocked the door and climbed in, gave him one more pointed look, and then started the engine. Without another look, she pulled away, only the sound of crunching gravel and the low rumble of her car engine echoing in the stillness of the night.

He stared after her until the red brake lights disappeared over a rise and then turned to look back at the cabin. No, he couldn’t keep her against her will. That would make him no better than a Joker. But he had to know more before he let her go. Why? He wasn’t sure. He should go up to talk to Levi, ask him for advice, but this was something he had to do on his own. With firm resolve, he made his way toward his cabin and placed his hand on the old metal doorknob. It felt cold, the night air chilling as the ground relinquished its heat from the day.

He slid the key into the lock and turned the knob, taking a deep breath before he stepped into the cabin. The woman—Nikki—sat at his makeshift kitchen table, Callie’s plastic bag and supplies scattered on top of it. A brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, several cotton balls, a couple of sterile pads were still in their paper wrappers. Nikki didn’t turn when he entered.

“Nikki?”

She finally deigned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Seth?”

Her tone was definitely not friendly. More sarcastic than anything else. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I’m not.”

He frowned, hesitant. Was it too late to get Callie back? “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She placed extra emphasis on the last word and then offered a humorless and short-lived laugh. “Let me see. I was kidnapped by a motorcycle gang, rescued, barely survived a gunfight at some warehouse in the middle of nowhere, and then another motorcycle gang—excuse me, club—supposedly rescued me from them, and yet now I find myself held against my will by them too.” She shook her head, placed a finger on her chin, and looked at him, eyebrows raised again. “Does that sound about right? What’s wrong? What the hell do you think?”

Seth almost took a physical step back at the barrage of words. Why the smartass attitude all of a sudden? Then he realized. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore, if she had been at all. What the fuck had Callie told her? Nikki was wrong. She had every reason to be afraid. Her smartass comment was her first mistake.

He straightened and stared at her until she shifted uncomfortably in her metal chair, her gaze flicking away from his. She surreptitiously bit her bottom lip and stared pointedly down at the saturated cotton ball, her fingernail making small dents in the cover of the card table. He leaned over her, hands resting on his knees until his eyes were on a level with hers, silently insisting that she look at him. She did. Her pupils dilated, her cheeks flushed, and the pulse in her throat throbbed. She looked wary. But not afraid.

“Are you trying to intimidate me, Seth?” She offered a small shake of her head. “Because I’m telling you, I don’t think I have any fear in me left. I used it all up already.” A short pause. “I want to go home.”

“Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

“And what is that?”

“Why do you think the Jokers kidnapped you?”

“How should I know? They’re all crazy.”

Now that was odd. She’s been kidnapped by that “crazy” motorcycle club, one that had the reputation of having fingers in a number of seriously illegal, dangerous, and often deadly enterprises, and yet she now acted like it was nothing. Why? She had to be afraid. She had to be, so why . . . maybe she figured if she put on a brave front, he’d think twice about hurting her. Not that he’d planned to, but she didn’t know that. Maybe it was time for him to kick things up a bit.

Without warning, he stepped forward and grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to turn to face him, then grabbed her chin, bringing her gaze up to meet his, their faces close. He screwed his face into the most threatening glower he could manage with his lips inches from hers. The color drained from her face. She swallowed and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Surprised by his action. “I’m not fucking around, Nikki. You need to tell me.”

“And why should I?” she snapped, trying to yank herself from his grasp. “You’re asking me to trust you. Why should I?” Despite his grip on her arm, she swung her hand around, gesturing around the inside of the cabin. “You’re keeping me locked up in here. Why the hell should I trust you? Tell me that.”

Seth took a slow, even breath. How could he convince her that she could trust him, and even more importantly, why was it important for her to believe that? Confusion twisted his thoughts. What the hell did he care what happened to her? He should just take her to Oklahoma City, drop her off at the bus station, give her a few bucks, and send her on her merry way. At the same time, he already didn’t want to. He gazed down at her pretty though pale features. There was something more. That he was sure of. “You shouldn’t trust me, Nikki. You shouldn’t trust anybody. But I’ll tell you one thing: you’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re safe. I don’t need your blood on my hands.”

She didn’t answer but pointedly glanced down at his large, strong hand clutching her upper arms. She looked back up at his face with a raised eyebrow. Sighing, Seth released her, and she sat down on the metal chair. He took the chair that Callie had vacated and waited.

“I saw a chop shop.”

He frowned. That was it? She saw a chop shop?

“You wanted to know. That’s all I know. I saw a chop shop. Now let me go.”

He shook his head, trying to clear it of cobwebs that suddenly seemed to have gathered there. “What do you mean, you saw a chop shop? Explain.”

She glanced around the cabin, anywhere but at him, licking her lips. He had trouble pulling his gaze away from that tongue, her soft and now glistening lips, the flush of color returning to her cheeks.

“My old clunker of a car had broken down. I took it to an auto shop of a guy I knew. When I went to pick it up, it wasn’t quite ready.”

“The mechanic told you that?”

She shook her head. “The owner told me that. But when I looked into the bay or whatever they call it, my car wasn’t up on the lift. It was sitting out back. But inside the bay . . . I saw three or four cars. They were missing parts that weren’t typical.”

“Explain,” he said again.

“Fenders stacked up in front of one wall, door panels missing from another couple, tires gone, but again, nothing up on racks like they were fixing anything from the undercarriage.”

Seth couldn’t figure it out. Chop shops were all over the place. Why would her seeing one put her in any kind of serious risk? “You think you were kidnapped because you saw a chop shop, and whoever ran it was afraid that you would go to the cops?” He shook his head. “There are easier ways to deal with that. They could simply move. Places like that are a dime a dozen in the Southwest.”

She stared at him. “What the hell do you expect me to say that that kind of statement? All I know is that’s the only thing that I saw that I can think of that might be in any way dangerous.”

“What do you do for a living? Work at a bank? Callie told me you’re from Albuquerque. What brings you to Oklahoma?”

She made a small fist and pounded on the card table, causing the bottle of hydrogen peroxide to tip. He calmly reached for it, replaced the pop-up cap, and moved it farther away. “How the hell am I supposed to know?” she replied, her tone laced with protest. “I don’t have any dealings or experience with . . . with bad people. I don’t know what exactly I saw that I shouldn’t have, what could have prompted anyone to kidnap me.” She choked back a tear. “All I know is that I want this to be over. I want to go home.” She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Please. I just want to go back home.”

Fuck. He wasn’t sure what to think. Why kidnap her over witnessing activity in a chop shop? She hadn’t said anything about the owner of the auto shop threatening her to keep her mouth shut or else. No, if the Jokers were behind it, they’d gone right from reacting to a potential witness to kidnapping. Why? There had to be something more to her story. There had to be. This just didn’t make sense. Did the Jokers run the chop shop? Did they manufacture drugs there? Hide weapons? Other women?

“Not until you tell me the truth,” he said. “Then, if I’m satisfied, you can take a shower. You stink of gas, sweat, and pot.”

“Screw you,” she snapped.

“Look, I didn’t . . . that came out wrong. I just meant you could take a shower and clean up. I can borrow some clothes from . . . well, I can ask Callie. She’s about your size.”

“I don’t need any favors from you.”

He stared at her recalcitrant, stubborn expression, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows low, an almost-pout on her lips. He shrugged. “You don’t want to take a shower, don’t. No skin off my nose.”

She finally caved.

“Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair, arms still crossed over her chest though the angry expression on her face now morphed into worry. “I already told you, I went to the auto shop—”

“What’s the name of it? Who runs it?”

She sighed again. “TJ’s Garage. The guy who manages it . . . his name is Roger.”

“Last name?”

She frowned again. “I don’t know. If I ever did, I can’t remember. My brains are all scrambled.”

“This is the first time you took your car there?” Her tapping foot and the way she pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingertips made it obvious to him that she’d grown impatient with his line of questioning, but her story still didn’t make any sense. The Jokers were bad news, no doubt about it, but to risk a kidnapping just because she’d seen a chop shop?

She hesitated and shook her head. “No, I can’t remember his last name. I’ve only taken my car there a few times. Just for oil changes and stuff like that. Nothing major. As a matter of fact, I never really went inside the bay, just a small office part in the front.”

“Have you never noticed anything odd going on in there?”

“No,” she shook her head. “But I wasn’t exactly looking, either.”

Her shoulders suddenly slumped and her head tilted forward as she stared at the table. He figured if he pushed anymore now, she’d shut down. Maybe a shower would make her feel better. He gestured.

“You can go take a shower. Leave the door open.” That got her attention back on him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“Are you serious? You expect me to take a shower and leave the door open so you can spy on me? My brains might be scrambled right now, but I’m not stupid.”

He shook his head in annoyance. What kind of guy did she think he was? He didn’t need to take free peeks at vulnerable women in his shower. He had all the willing tits and ass he could want hanging around in the main clubhouse. And yet, ever since Nikki’s appearance, Seth hadn’t wanted any of the chicks than hung around the club, even for a second. The woman was making him lose his damn mind. “I’m not going to attack you. I’m going to sit right there on the couch.” He pointed to the leather sofa. She pulled her gaze from him, glanced at the couch, then at the bathroom door and back again. She actually got up, stepped to the couch, sat down, and looked toward the bathroom door. He almost laughed.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “But if I so much as see you hovering in the doorway . . .”

She didn’t finish her threat, and he certainly didn’t take it seriously. She’d do what? Throw a wet loofah at him? He moved into his bedroom, pulled open a dresser drawer, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, and tossed them over his shoulder. He shut that drawer and pulled open another, retrieving a dark green T-shirt, which also got tossed over his shoulder. He stepped to the tiny closet and reached in for a short-sleeved button-down shirt on a hanger before returning to the living room and extending the clothes toward her.

She grimaced in distaste, as if wearing his clothes was the most awful thing she’d ever been asked to do. He shrugged. “Go on. Take them to put on after your shower. They’ll do.” His nostrils flared as he got a whiff of her clothes again. “Those are toast.”

She glanced at the clothes in his hand and reluctantly extended her own and took them, albeit reluctantly. “Thanks.”

She stared at him, and for a moment they stood close to one another, both staring. What was she—then he realized. She waited for him to sit down on the couch before she stepped into the bathroom. He did, sitting down exactly where he had said he’d sit. From his vantage point, all he could see was a part of the bathroom doorway and beyond a glimpse of the edge of the sink, part of the toilet, and a smidgen of the shower, the part where the showerhead connected to the old tiles.

She gazed at him as if trying to judge his honesty, and with a dismissive sniff stepped stiffly into the bathroom and closed the door halfway. He said nothing. He saw exactly what he’d been able to see before, just a little less of a shower. Whatever. In a few seconds, he heard the rustle of clothes, then one by one, her pants, her top, and her boots landed on the floor in front of the toilet. She stepped into the shower behind the door. The squeak of the faucets as she turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, the patter of the water pounding against the old porcelain bathtub, and then the sound of the curtain pulling shut, the rings clanking softly against the rod.

He sat there waiting for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, before curiosity got the best of him. Damn, he was an asshole. He leaned to the right, ever so slowly in case she watched the doorway from inside the shower, not that she could see him, but still . . . behind the pale-yellow shower curtain was her shadowy profile, her pert breasts obvious, a nice rounded ass, flat stomach, and long legs as she stepped forward, tilted her head back, and allowed the water to drip down her well-proportioned body. His dick approved and came to life. He shifted as he quickly grew uncomfortable, the blood pounding through his veins as he imagined her slick, wet skin glistening with soap, and how easy it would be to just step into the shower with her. To slide his alert and full cock into her pussy, take her from behind then and there, but he didn’t move. Well, most of him didn’t move. As his cock blossomed to full attention, he shifted and reached down to unzip his pants. He stroked his junk and took matters into his own hand. Release came in minutes and was brief and didn’t do a thing to abate his arousal or the fire that she’d stoked inside of him, but it would have to do. For now.