Chapter 10

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Clara and Gracie, identical twins, sat beside each other on the couch. Heidi sat on the edge of the chair across from them. Uncomfortable and embarrassed, she had no idea who the women were when Glen dropped her off inside and disappeared into the attached garage without any explanation.

"Where do you work?" asked the twin on the right.

Heidi picked at a hangnail. "Pauly's Peddlers."

"Oh, that's the shop across from the bar." The woman smiled and pointed at her chest and over at her sister. "We own Vavoom's."

"I haven't been there, yet." Heidi swallowed. "I've only worked at Pauly's for a week."

Out of practice at holding a normal conversation, she had no idea what else to say. She had no home, no experience working, no social life, no common thread to the two women in the room.

They were both beautiful women with long hair and makeup wearing clothes that were exciting and in style. Totally the opposite, Heidi sat in baggy second-hand clothes with a shaved head and no makeup feeling ugly and sorry for herself. A feeling she hated.

"I bet you love working there. Pauly has always been friendly to us the few times we've talked with him. He cracks me up. Like a hippy from the seventies that refuses to grow up." The woman looked at her sister. "We've actually talked about renting bicycles and riding around St. John's, but we haven't had a chance yet."

"Maybe next summer," said her sister, who appeared to be the quieter of the two.

"There's an asphalted path along the Willamette River that goes north to the Columbia River." She inhaled her first comfortable breath since entering the house. "That's the most popular path for tourists or those new to bicycling. There's no traffic to worry about, except other bicyclists and walkers, of course."

She'd learned a lot from listening to Pauly work with the customers, and she was an expert at staying away from the public. Under the St. John's bridge and around the port, clear down to Swan Island, were popular places to go when homeless.

"I keep trying to convince Wayne we need a boat. We've lived here a year and haven't taken advantage of having the river close by like we should. Between the bar and Wayne's schedule with Notus, there's just never any time." The talkative one was Clara, who lived with Wayne, the president of Notus Motorcycle Club. She was also the twin on the right.

Heidi would never remember who was who if they both stood.

While nice, the twins were people she'd normally be friends with in her old life. They were sincere, hardworking women, and business owners.

Warmth filled her face. She had no idea if they knew she was the woman who Glen caught trying to sleep in the alley behind their bar.

A door opened in the house. Heidi looked across the living room where Glen had disappeared and found him walking back into the room. He caught her gaze. She stood too fast and got dizzy. Something was wrong.

His eyes were narrowed in anger, and he held his arms stiff.

Wayne passed Glen, and walked to the twins, putting his arm around Clara and whispering in her ear. The intimacy that passed between them afterward with one look left Heidi floundering. It was rare to witness a connection so intimate and strong, she suddenly felt more out of place.

Glen reached her side and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

She held on tight. Not wanting to be rude, she looked at the twins. "It was nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you, too, Heidi." The twins had stood while she joined Glen, and now she had no idea which one of them spoke.

So, she smiled and then turned around and walked out the door with Glen. He squeezed her hand, pulling her along. She tugged, unable to escape his hold.

"You're hurting my fingers." She stopped and nearly toppled forward because he wasn't listening and took another step. "Glen, what's wrong?"

"It's time to go home." He loosened his grip without letting go of her.

His whistling came sharp and fast as he hooked the helmet under her chin. She took the time to study his puckered lips practically hidden in his whiskers. A white line became visible on his upper lip in the sunshine. She raised her hand before thinking about what she was doing and touched the scar.

He instantly stopped whistling.

She'd noticed that he had the habit to whistle when he wasn't talking. It wasn't odd or neon-sign noticeable. It was a part of him. A quirk.

Concentrating on his lips, she blurted, "You have a scar."

He stilled. She raised her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, shocked that he was frowning at her.

She hadn't been aware she was projecting her surprise onto her face for him to see. The whistling and his scar, well she'd connected the dots, and was curious.

"What happened?" She ran her finger against his lip. It was an old scar. Soft and unnoticeable when his mouth relaxed. It was only when he puckered to whistle could she see the repair of an old injury in the bright light.

"I had surgery to fix a cleft lip when I was a couple of years old." He rubbed his lips together. "It fixed the lip and fucked up the muscle in my upper lip. It spasms with any sort of tension or movement from my mouth."

"Except you don't have spasms when you whistle." The tension in her shoulders eased.

"No," he said softly. "If I move my mouth, it stops the muscle."

That little insight into the man named Glen Steele impacted her. He was not a normal man. Rough, physical rather than verbal, and conflicting. He was part of a motorcycle club and yet searched for missing persons. He was a paradox.

Glen put on his helmet, sat the bike, and started the engine. She followed his instructions from earlier, and climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Maybe it was because she was proud of herself for surviving a visit without making a fool of herself, or Glen's kisses from earlier still heated her skin, or because on the back of his motorcycle she felt safe and excited that she forgot to find out what had upset him at the house.

For the first time in forever, she felt a connection to another person.

He shared parts of himself with her, and instead of feeling guilty that she had to hold back and keep him from knowing more about her, she enjoyed the moment. It was because of that rare and intimate exchange, she looked into the window of the car stopped beside them at the stoplight and realized she was smiling, and the man in the driver's seat was familiar to her. And, that man stared back at her, striking fear right through her heart.

She turned her head away from Evan and tightened her grip on Glen as the momentum of the bike shooting forward through the intersection pulled her back as if someone had knocked her legs out from under her.

Maybe Evan wasn't sure it was her? Maybe with the helmet on, he wouldn't be able to recognize her. She swallowed hard. No, he'd found her.

Glen sped forward. Sensing Evan riding beside them on the four-lane street, she laid her cheek against Glen's back. Her heart raced and her limbs locked around him.

A car horn blasted the air three times in quick succession. Panic closed her throat, and she squeezed her eyes closed. The engine of the car Evan drove revved, staying beside Glen's motorcycle.

Glen's upper body straightened and his arm moved. Heidi grasped his vest in her hands and yanked. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going. Fast. Far away. If Evan caught her, she'd never survive.

Evan honked again, laying on the horn. Glen's hand came back and squeezed her thigh. As he kept his hand on her, he slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.

She lifted her head. "No, no. Go!"

"Stay on the bike. I'm going to see what that asshole's problem is," said Glen, shouting over the engine of the motorcycle and toeing the kickstand.

"Please, just go. Don't talk to him." Her vision blurred.

Glen slid off the bike. She stared in horror at Evan's car—a different car than he'd had when she was living with him—stopping in front of Glen's motorcycle. She pushed off the seat, stumbled to her feet, and ran.

Ran away from the nightmare of her past.