CHAPTER FOUR

Dr. AJ Carter sat in the passenger seat of Catherine Randall’s car and stared out the windshield. She took in the MC logo on the door of the building they’d just pulled up to. “You have got to be kidding me.”

The stockade walls around the place suddenly made sense.

“Please, just come inside and talk to Holly. No one will bother you. I promise,” Cat begged.

AJ didn’t have the heart to turn her down. “Once. I’ll meet her here once. But if she wants my help, she’s going to have to come to my office after this.”

“Deal.” Cat gave her a grateful smile and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on.”

AJ eyed the building again as she unbuckled and climbed from the car. She hoped she wasn’t making a fool’s mistake by walking inside. God only knew what went on in a place like this, and how in the hell had Cat gotten mixed up with this bunch?

Well, she was here. She’d just have to buck up and do what she could for Holly. But, by God, if this girl weren’t Cat’s sister, she would have had nothing to do with this situation.

She gestured for Cat to precede her inside. “Lead the way.”

When the door swung open, she’d half expected to be bowled over by a cloud of cigarette smoke and blasting music, but the cavernous place was quiet and empty except for a couple of guys at the far end of the bar. They glanced over but didn’t pay her much mind as she trailed behind Cat, her briefcase in hand and her heels clicking on the polished cement.

Cat led her up to a second floor and tapped on one of the doors halfway down a long hallway. “Holly? It’s me.”

A moment later, the door swung open and a younger version of Cat stood staring back at her.

“Who is she?” Holly asked defensively, her eyes on AJ.

“This is Dr. Carter. She’s here to help you.”

“I’m fine,” Holly bit out.

“Baby, you’re not fine. I just want you to talk to her. She can help.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Her chin lifted.

“Well, you need to talk, so it’s happening.”

AJ liked the way Cat let Holly know that enough was enough and she was going to have to give it a chance.

“Do you mind waiting out in the hall while I talk with her privately?” AJ asked Cat.

Cat met her gaze. “Of course not. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you. We won’t be too long.”

***

Undertaker sat at the bar, his eyes on the staircase. He’d seen Cat walk in, and he’d seen the person who had trailed behind her, and it wasn’t a man. By God… the good doctor, it seemed, was a woman. He wasn’t sure why he had assumed a man…

Dr. AJ Carter. He supposed she used initials for just such reactions.

“The doctor’s a chick.” Mooch stated the obvious.

“Seems so.”

“She’s a looker, huh?”

She sure as hell was. Hell, it was hard not to notice with all that flaming auburn hair. It hung in a glossy sheet of thick waves to just past her shoulder blades. The dark suit fit like a glove with its short jacket buttoned primly at her tiny waist. Undertaker was sure she did it to appear professional, but all it did was accentuate her curves. The tight skirt had fallen demurely to her knee, but the sexy high-heeled pumps showed off her shapely legs. And yes, he’d noticed every inch of their length as she’d strut across his clubhouse, those sexy heels clicking away.

He wondered if she even noticed the stripper pole she’d walked past. The corner of his mouth pulled up at the thought of her blushing and wide-eyed when she caught a glimpse of it. Or maybe, if the red hair were any indication, her temper would flare.

Damn, he suddenly realized he’d like to see that. He bet she could be a real firecracker.

He took a drink of his beer. Something else about her nagged at his brain; something about her seemed familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine when they could have possibly met. He certainly didn’t travel in the same circles as a woman like her. They would never have crossed paths at any of the places she probably frequented.

So where in the hell could he have conceivably met her?

He nursed his beer, turning it over in his head as he waited patiently for her meeting with Holly to finish. He hoped Dr. AJ Carter was good at her job. Holly needed help, and she needed someone who knew what the fuck they were doing.

He had never put much stock in therapy; perhaps that was because he chose to bury any problems he had in a dark hole, locked away in the deepest recesses of his mind rather than bring them out into the light of day and deal with them.

What was the point? Bad shit happened to everyone—best to just put it behind you and get on with your life. You couldn’t change the past if you wanted to, so dwelling on it was pointless.

He supposed that theory didn’t relate half as well to a sensitive young girl as it did to his club brothers.

Whatever it took, he wanted Holly to get better, to get back to the carefree, happy girl he imagined she’d been. Although he hadn’t known her back then, that was how he saw her. Before that night he’d had to coax her from the bedroom of that burning building with soft-spoken words and a small stuffed teddy bear of hers that he’d tucked in his vest. He’d held it out to her as a sign that he was who he said he was, and he truly was sent by her sister to rescue her.

He couldn’t blame her for her distrust and terror that night.

When she’d finally put her trust in him and reached out her shaking, tentative hand to him, it had touched something in him. Then she’d latched on and didn’t let go. When he’d gotten her safely away and back to the clubhouse, she’d been afraid to let him out of her sight. He knew the absurdity of it—him, the President of an MC, being anyone’s hero, least of all to a girl like her.

He was distracted from his thoughts by footsteps on the stairs. He glanced up to see Cat and Dr. Carter descending. His eyes followed every move as they crossed the clubhouse and went out the door.

Goddamn, she did look familiar. And fuck if it wasn’t going to drive him crazy until he figured it out.

“Damn, she’s got a nice ass,” Mooch commented low. “Wouldn’t mind doin’ her.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Undertaker snapped, shutting that down. “I don’t give a shit how fine she is; I don’t want you running her off.”

“Party pooper.”

Undertaker’s eyes returned to the staircase, and he wondered how Holly was doing. He prayed their first meeting had gone well and more would follow.

Getting up, he pushed away the beer he’d been nursing.

“You leaving?” Mooch asked.

“Gonna check on Holly. See if she’s okay.”

Mooch nodded, saying nothing, but Undertaker felt his eyes on him.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“That look means you’ve got something to say. You’re just not sayin’ it.”

“You ever gonna pull the trigger on that?” When Undertaker stared at him with a blank expression, Mooch added, “Seriously, you ever think about givin’ it a shot?”

“Giving what a shot?”

“With her.” Mooch jerked his head toward the stairs.

Undertaker’s eyes drifted that way before returning to Mooch. “Nah.”

“You’ve been alone a long time.”

“I’ve been alone too long. I’m set in my ways.”

“That’s not it, and you know it.”

Undertaker huffed out a laugh. “We’re from completely different generations. What would we talk about?”

“You don’t seem to have much problem talking with her now.”

“That’s different. That’s me taking care of her, comforting her. It’s not the kind of talking a man does with a woman late at night in bed at the end of a long day.”

The corner of Mooch’s mouth tugged up. “Didn’t know you were a fan of pillow talk. Didn’t figure the two of you would be doing much talkin’ if you ever got her there.”

“The total of what you know about women ain’t much, you know that?”

Mooch chuckled and took a hit off his beer. “You’re probably right.”

“Oh, there ain’t no probably about it.” Undertaker leaned on the bar and grinned at Mooch. “Come on, you and Carol Ann don’t talk in bed? You don’t sometimes need to unload all the stress from your day?”

“Nope.”

“Bullshit.”

Mooch grinned, but made no comment.

Undertaker turned and stared down at the scarred wooden bar top. “Nah, me and her?” He shook his head. “That’d never work out. Not long term. She’s too vulnerable and fragile right now. There’s no way in hell she could handle being an ol’ lady to an MC President. Least not the kind of ol’ lady I’d need.”

“You say so.”

Undertaker pushed off the bar, slapped Mooch on the back, and headed upstairs. Reaching Holly’s door, he tapped on the wood.

“Who is it?”

“Undertaker.”

The door opened, but he wasn’t greeted with the smile he expected. She stood with one hip thrown out and accused, “You sent for her, didn’t you?”

Well, shit. He blew out a breath. “We gonna talk or are you gonna have an attitude?”

She folded her arms and looked away.

Attitude. Great. He closed the door and stared at her for a moment. “Didn’t you like her?”

Her shoulders lifted. “She was okay.”

“Was she any good? Did you talk?”

“Of course we talked.”

Undertaker drew in a long breath. If he wanted to know anything, he was gonna have to draw every answer out of her. He had a better idea. “How about that ride?”

That changed her attitude like the flip of a light switch. She turned to him with a bright smile and nodded.

He stepped back and jerked his head toward the door. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

***

An hour later they were sitting side by side on the cement breakwater at the end of Lakeview Drive, overlooking the Pontchartrain. They were just west of the I-10 Twin Span Bridge.

Undertaker dipped his head and cupped his hands to light a cigarette, the breeze off the water picking up as nightfall approached. He flicked his silver Zippo lighter closed and squinted up at the headlights passing by on the bridge. He exhaled a lungful of smoke and felt the nicotine do its magic.

“Can I have one?” Holly asked.

He eyed her doubtfully. “You don’t smoke.”

“Maybe I should start. It looked like that cigarette felt good going into your lungs.”

He glanced down at his cigarette. “It’s a bad habit. One I can’t seem to quit.”

“Have you tried?”

He grinned. “Many times. I get irritable. You wouldn’t want to be around me.”

She gave him a smile and bumped his shoulder. “Oh, I think I’d manage.”

He stared out over the water. “Tell me about the doctor. Did you like her?”

“She’s okay.”

He turned back to her. “And?”

“She wants to meet with me again, in her office next time.” She glanced over at him. “She doesn’t want to come back to the clubhouse.”

He huffed out a laugh and eyed the horizon. “No surprise there.”

“Will you take me?”

His eyes swung back to her. “You wouldn’t rather your sister take you?”

She glanced away, shaking her head.

“Then, yeah, sure. If you want me to, I’ll take you.”

She turned a big smile to him. He knew it was more about having his attention than anything else, but he didn’t bring that up. If it was what it took to get her to go to therapy, then he would make the time. “When?”

“Tomorrow at four p.m.”

“I suppose I can swing that.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He slapped at a mosquito and flung his smoke in the water. “Let’s get out of here, babe, before they eat us alive.”