He made sure she could hear the conversation the next morning. Both sides. A max speaker setting, a clear voice, and a message. Matthias spoke loudly to Jackson, spelling it out for both him and Laurel.

“Matthias . . .”

Goddamn it, he had to believe him.

“Matthias . . .”

She was innocent. A victim, even.

“Matt,” Jackson yelled, interrupting his mental tirade. He’d been staring at himself in the mirror, watching his color already turn a few different shades of red. Now, as Jackson spoke, he could see the easing of muscles, the softening of eyes. He paused, and then put the phone on speaker, so that Laurel could clearly hear the news.

“I just spoke with Tansy. He’s got some new information.”

Laurel was standing in the bathroom doorway, listening intently.

Through the phone, Jackson said, “It turns out, we don’t even need your data. We have our own and it’s even more damning, and it goes all the way up to the Attorney General.”

“I told you,” Matthias said. He felt a rush of anger. But then he saw the relief washing over Laurel’s pretty face. And then joy, her wide smile, her rushing toward him. Wrapped up into her warm little embrace, he couldn’t stay mad at anyone.

“I know you told me,” Jackson said. “And I know I told you some things, too. Things I should apologize for, to Laurel. Is she there?”

Laurel shook her head against his chest.

“No, she’s . . .”

“No? You let her out by herself?”

“No she’s, uh, in the bathroom.”

Laurel made a big crazy frown at Matthias, and then shoved him back toward the bathroom. When Matthias returned to his mirror, his face looked the happiest he’d seen it in years.

After two more hot and sweaty sessions in bed, a celebratory shared shower, and some strange looks from the front-desk guy, Matthias and Laurel were back on the road and off to New Orleans. It felt so fucking perfect, to be riding again. Perfect. He had Laurel attached to his body for the rest of the way, her helmet sometimes touching his, her little hands sometimes groping around and exploring whatever she could reach, whatever made Matthias swerve more drastically.

“Damn, Girl,” he said to himself into his helmet. “You’re gonna get us killed.”

Prior to Jackson’s good news, there had been some truth to that statement. Laurel had put them through some interesting situations, prompts for him to take extraordinary risks. But it had been altogether a good thing, Matthias finally receiving and passing the tests he so badly required. Of course his therapist would find them a little extreme, but then again, his therapist wasn’t the one receiving the reward. The girl. Laurel. And she was such an amazing woman. And Matthias was excited to show her off to his biker buddies.

Not much longer now.

From Montgomery, they’d headed due south to the Florida panhandle. It had been two hours and as the signs for Pensacola Beach appeared more frequently, Matthias could feel Laurel’s fidgeting rise to new heights.

“You okay?” he yelled back to her. Her fidgeting had momentarily stopped, but he heard no response. Laurel either didn’t say anything, or it had been swallowed up in the wind and the thunder of his Harley. “Almost there!” he yelled, a blanket statement for either eventuality, but also the truth. They’d just about reached Pensacola, its suburbs beginning to line the sides of the highway like some invasive weed.

Their meeting with his bikers was planned in the parking lot of a gun and ammo store, of all places. A friend of one of the vets owned the place. Matthias didn’t mind the coincidence and convenience of having access to any additional weapons he might need. Despite feeling like Laurel’s situation was heading in the right direction, there remained a big question mark as to who they might run into, and how desperate they’d be to have her back in their clutches.

Matthias saw the bikes first, a row of chrome and high gloss paint shining under the Florida sun. And then his men, a group of them waving Matthias and his girl into the parking lot. Someone had brought out a big slow-cooker, a barrel drum smoker out of which wafted the most delicious hint of coffee-spiced barbecued ribs.

After he cut the engine, Matthias heard the hoots and hollers coming through the plastic and foam of his helmet. He let Laurel disembark first. She slid off the bike like a pro on just her second day. She’d done a damn good job hanging on the whole way from Atlanta. She was a fighter for sure.

“Hey, Matthias!”

“Matty!”

And then his buddy Tucker, after a big bear hug. “You never said anything about a hot brunette.”

“She’s more than a hot brunette,” Matthias said. “She’s—”

“Trouble,” Laurel finished for him, holding out her hand to Tucker. “Nice to meet you.”

“That’s Laurel, and yes, she’s trouble.” He watched her greet his boys, admiring how great she looked holding a helmet at her side. Overnight, she’d become a hot biker chick. “And she’s also one hell of a hacker,” he said. “Puts me to shame.”

“Uh-oh,” Tucker said. “So that’s how you met.”

“Something like that.”

Big Billy walked up with a plastic plate of food held against his chest, and with rib sauce smeared over his mouth. “We heard you guys were on the run,” he said, picking up another piece of rib and aiming it lazily toward his mouth.

“Something like that,” Matthias said again. “But it’s okay, we’re good.”

Tucker was grinning. “Well shit, we’re all on the run.”

Some of the boys nearest started laughing.

“Come on,” Billy said. “Come grab some grub. We’re leaving in half an hour.”

“New Orleans?” Laurel asked.

“Yep,” Billy said.

“Well, hey, Matthias, you got yourself a Southern girl.” Tucker was nodding appreciatively at her like he was appraising a work of fine art.

“How could you tell?” Matthias asked.

Laurel smiled. “Probably in the way I said New Orleans.”

“Say it again,” Tucker said, chuckling.

“N’awwlins.”

They laughed again. Matthias loved the way she joked and played around so easily with his friends. Just a few days ago she’d warned him about being shy, but he was yet to see it. He only knew Laurel as a smart and confident woman who was comfortable in her own skin. Her own beautiful skin, something that he’d like to see more of.

“Think we’ll have time for the beach after?” Matthias asked, grinning at Laurel.

“After we just ate?” Billy said, with even more sauce on his face.

“But tell me,” Tucker said, walking with Matthias down a row of over-stock firearms in the backroom of the store. “For real. What kind of trouble are you guys in?”

“We’re not in it, so much as we’re trying to keep ahead of it.”

Tucker shot him a strange look.

“We’re basically fleeing,” Matthias said. “To buy some time.”

“For what?”

“Oh, you know . . . Just for some people back in Atlanta to get arrested.” Matthias stopped walking, his hand reaching idly to the rack where he played around with a few boxes of ammo, shuffling and stacking them. “You know, no one much. Just some owners of a cybersecurity business, and the Attorney General.”

“The Attorney fucking General?”

“Of Georgia, though. Not the . . . Not the main one.”

“Still, that’s no small-time arrest. There’s gonna be bloodshed after this.”

“There’s already been some.” Matthias looked past the ammo boxes to the gleaming barrel of a rifle. God, Ernesto.

“I can imagine,” Tucker said, shaking his head. His expression turned serious. “How are you doing?”

“In one piece still.”

“But how about, you know, upstairs?”

“I honestly haven’t thought about it. I’ve been through some interesting situations in these last few days. But nothing, no flashbacks. Nothing at night.”

Tucker was nodding. He knew all about flashbacks. Matthias wasn’t the only one in their crew who’d been changed from his experiences.

“I don’t know why for sure,” Matthias said. “But I feel good. No pills, either. I’m just letting it all hang out.”

“I can see that.” Tucker smiled. “That’s some girl.”

“She is.”

“Would you consider that a homeopathic solution?”

“Huh?”

“Laurel. Is she your antidote?”

“Nah. And I’m not even looking at it that way.”

“That’s good.”

“I just don’t think I need any more crutches. And Laurel, well . . . Well, Laurel’s just a bonus.”

“Well, you seem happy. And healthy. You look good.” Tucker laughed. “You look like you got laid last night.”

Matthias laughed, too, but declined to elaborate.

The room finally went quiet, and so Tucker said, “Well, New Orleans should be fun.”

“I’m thinking it’ll be a good distraction for Laurel. She’s been through some shit.”

“Are you still hiding out there?”

Matthias wasn’t sure. Several very big events had to play out first before that could be determined, including how the state would handle the FBI’s investigation, and possible charges, and depending on what last-minute favors anyone would try pulling from Washington. Thank God Jackson was local to handle that side of it. Just one end of the crooked snake.

“You know,” Tucker said, “New Orleans might not be the best place to stay off the radar.”

“During Bike Week? It might be the best place.” Bike Week, a huge convention for motorcycle enthusiasts, would be a great place to blend in with the masses. Even Laurel looked the part now. Given the case’s connection to another biker group, it was also somewhere they wouldn’t anticipate Matthias going near.

“And you have us.” He patted Matthias solidly on the shoulder.

“I know.” Matthias reached for his hand and shook it firmly. “Thanks, Brother.”

“And you have your pick here,” Tucker said, pointing to the rows of weapons. “Anything catch your eye?”

Matthias laughed. “How much time do we have?”

About twenty minutes later, Matthias returned outside to the parking lot festivities carrying a small box. He found Laurel sitting at a picnic table with Big Billy, plates in front of them, Billy’s full of bare rib bones and hers a lot fewer ribs, along with something else foreign to Billy: a salad.

“Hey!” She waved Matthias over, a half-eaten rib in her hand.

“Having fun out here?” he asked her.

“Having fun in there?” She nodded her head toward the gun store. “Pick up any cool new toys?”

“Yeah, maybe. Is Billy here impressing you with his total rib annihilation?”

“Not yet,” Billy said, getting up. “Go head, take a seat. I need a refill.”

Matthias joined Laurel at the green paint-peeled table. It was covered in a mess of etchings, names, and symbols, most likely from patrons of the store testing out their latest knives on the poor old table.

“I like your friends,” Laurel said, sliding over her plate to Matthias.

“They like you, too.”

“Go ahead and eat. You need your energy.” She smiled.

“You’re right,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I do. My arms actually felt a little weak today on the bike. Like it was hard to hold up my own weight. You sure did a number on me.”

“I did a number on you?” She dropped her hand below the table, to her legs, rubbing her thighs. “I’ve got bruises all over. I won’t be able to wear shorts for a week.”

“You’ve got shorts that short?”

She looked almost embarrassed at the question.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “You wouldn’t be able to keep those on around me, anyways.”