Chapter 6

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Standing at the door of Glen's spare bedroom, Heidi gave the area one more look to make sure she left everything the way she'd found it. She'd made the bed without a stubborn wrinkle in the cover. The three pillows lined up against the wooden headboard without a single dent. Yesterday's clothes were shoved in her pack.

She turned away from the best night of sleep she'd had in a long time and purposely walked down the stairs without making any noise. At the landing, she looked around the first floor of the house, more curious to know about Glen than where he lived.

One thing stood out. No, two. Both of them validated what he'd confessed.

He didn't have a son. He also didn't have a wife.

He had a bachelor pad. A decent one, but he'd been single for a long time because there was a kitchen towel hanging from the handle of his oven. He'd obviously learned to live independently and bought some small necessities single men who spent all their time in a bar or restaurant wouldn't have bought. The towel. The toaster. She inhaled deeply. A coffee maker. The last cup of coffee she'd consumed came from a homeless shelter in Portland, about three months ago.

"Are you done looking around?" said Glen.

She stiffened, stepping closer to the living room, and found Glen sitting on the couch. Holding her bag tighter in case he tried to take it from her again, she said, "I'm leaving. I need to go to the laundromat."

He stood. "Follow me."

"But, I'm leaving."

He slipped his hand under her arm and grabbed her. "I have a utility room off the kitchen. Save your quarters and wash your clothes."

She walked beside him until he stepped into the room, and then she waited because they both wouldn't fit through the doorway with her pack over her shoulder. The temptation to save her money overcame her fear of staying around Glen longer. And with him shirtless, again, it was hard to argue when what he mentioned made sense. It cost her five dollars and twenty-five cents to wash and dry her belongings. Plus, three dollars for laundry soap if she couldn't jimmy the dispenser. Eight dollars and twenty-five cents could buy eight burgers off the dollar menu at McDonald's or two pairs of pants at Goodwill.

"The setting is on regular wash with warm water. If you need a different setting, you'll need to—"

"That's fine." She dropped her backpack to the floor, holding on to the strap. "Th-thank you."

He tilted his head. "Want a coffee?"

Her stomach growled. She couldn't take advantage of his generosity. "Okay."

God, she was weak.

"How do you like your coffee?" He scratched the small patch of hair in the middle of his chest.

She raised her gaze to his face. "Strong."

"How strong?"

"Really strong."

He grinned. "The dankest of the dank?"

She nodded. "Please."

Heidi finally realized she was smiling, and he was grinning, most likely because it was obvious to both of them that they'd found common ground over their choice of coffee. A flicker of panic started in her stomach. She couldn't go there. Not with him.

"Come on out to the kitchen when you have the load going." He stepped around her and left the room whistling. The sound startled her in the silent house, like a visitor neither one of them knew.

She shook her head and pulled out the garbage bag she used to hold her dirty clothes and dumped every article of clothing in the washer. She never worried about separating the colors or her underwear and bras. They were all old and their colors faded.

She found a tub of laundry soap between the washer and dryer on the floor and added a scoop. Pushing the button, she waited to hear the water start to fill. In the other room, she heard a cabinet bang shut. She braced her hands on the washer and inhaled a deep breath, calming the constant flutters inside of her when she was around Glen.

It was much safer when she only admired him from a distance. He was the kind of man many women would like to look at and imagine what it would feel like to have him protecting her, loving her, paying attention to her.

She wasn't like most women though. Her right to pretend that she could be attracted to a man was stolen from her. She opened her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and left the room. Left her pack. Left the reasons why she was here doing her laundry and not far away from Glen.

The aroma of coffee and the pleasing low whistling led her to Glen and the mug on the counter. She curled her fingers into the hem of her shirt. "Everything fit into one load."

"That's all?" He pushed a plate full of toast covered in jam toward her.

Her stomach growled. "If it's okay, I usually do two loads. My sleeping bag takes up the machine alone."

"Like I said, I don't work today. There's no hurry." He dipped his chin. "Eat up and drink your coffee."

He stepped back and leaned against the fridge. She picked up the coffee first, unable to deny herself a guilty pleasure that most people drank every single morning and whenever the urge hit them.

The first sip of warmth hit her tongue and the deep pull of caffeine settled in her. "Perfect," she blurted before she could stop herself.

Glen studied her without saying a word. To distract herself, she picked up a piece of toast. The sweet jam tickled her senses. She hid her enjoyment and continued to remind herself that normal people believed a single piece of toast was nothing. A simple filler to a real meal.

To her, she was eating like a queen.

"How long have you worked at the bicycle place?" Glen motioned for her to sit at the table behind her.

She carried her coffee with her, taking a chair opposite of Glen who put the plate of toast in front of her, tempting her more. "A week."

He raised his brows. "I'll assume you don't have money to get another apartment."

"Not your concern." She licked the jam off the corner of her mouth.

"That's where you're wrong." He planted his elbows on the table. "Besides working a regular job at Port Loaders, the Notus Motorcycle Club helps the St. John's P.D. search for missing persons. Do you read the paper or watch the news? It's only been a few months ago that we had a serial killer loose in St. John's. People disappear all the time, especially women. I can definitely tell you're all woman."

"So?" She held her breath to keep from hyperventilating. "I can take care of myself."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Her pulse roared through her warming her body until a cold sweat washed over her.

She thought it was safe to admire a biker from a distance. They were supposed to be ruthless, above and below the law. God, they were supposed to be hiding from the law.

She never planned on talking to him.

Or, meeting him.

Or, spending the night in his house.

On the streets, she'd lost her identity. Not only her real name that came with a past she was hiding, but she became invisible. A nameless, homeless person with no story. Not male or female. Nobody cared who she was or why she was spending her nights hidden from the world and her days fitting in with everyone else.

He inhaled and softened his voice. "If you need money to get an apartment, I can loan you enough to get a roof over your head."

"No." The food and drink settled heavily in her stomach. "I can't afford a place on my own. It'll take a while for me to find others to room with and in the meantime, I'm not going to lose my job because my private life isn't going the way I'd hoped. But, I'll figure it out. I can take care of myself."

"Everyone can take care of themselves until they can't." Glen whistled low.

In the background, the washing machine spun. She cupped the mug with both hands. Sometime between last night and this morning, she was giving him the time of day. She couldn’t do that.

He'd eventually figure out all the answers to his questions if she continued to be around him. The only thing left for her to do was keep lying and finish her laundry.

"Well, I'm going to go to the other motel, further away from work, and stay there. I believe the yellow line for Max goes a block from Pauly's Peddlers and I'll be able to get back and forth with no problems." She took a sip of coffee. "I get paid every Friday. Renting a room for a week won't hurt me. So, you're wrong. I can take care of myself."

The light rail transportation system was a waste of money. A motel would leave her more destitute. Camping was free. She only had to find a place to lay her roll out of the way so that Glen wouldn't find her. It was a mistake trying to sleep in the alley. She wouldn't make that error again.

She studied Glen's hands. He had two tattoos. On his right hand, he had NEVER. On his left hand, he had NOTUS.

"What does that mean?" She pointed at his hands.

"Never forget why and how I became a Notus member." He rubbed his hands together. "They're fading. I got them over twenty years ago. They were my first."

"You can always have them redone." She shrugged. "I don't have any tats, but I've seen ones on people who have them recolored or a new tattoo put over old ones."

"Nah." He stopped moving. "It's a part of me."

He had nice hands. Strong with enough scars and callouses to show he worked for a living.

A cat meowed.

She looked under the table and finding nothing looked at Glen. "Was that a cat I heard?"

"A stray." He scooted back his chair, stood, and pulled the vertical blinds back on the sliding glass door. "She comes around looking for food."

A fluffy gray cat arched its back and showed its fangs. Heidi laughed softly and went to the glass, already in love because the cat could've been the sister or brother of Daisy—her cat she'd left at her parents' house when she'd moved out to live with Evan.

"Don't open the door." Glen walked into the kitchen. "Wait until I get food. It'll run off if you go empty handed and if you have something, she'll bite you."

"Oh." Heidi squatted down and tapped on the glass, trying to get the cat's attention. "Aren't you cute?"

Glen returned to her side. "More like a hellcat."

The doorbell rang. Glen poured a handful of kitty food on the table. "I'll be right back."

As soon as he left the dining room, Heidi picked up half the amount of food and unlocked the sliding glass door. Going down to her knees, she stuck her hand through the six-inch space she'd created and fed the cat.

"You're not a hellcat," she whispered, stroking the soft fur. "Glen just doesn't know his cats. You're a hungry cat, yes, you are."

Glen also appeared to have a habit of taking in strays and feeding them. She sighed, wishing she could stay longer. It was comforting to be around him, doing nothing, but her laundry would be done soon, and she had to leave. Even though he asked a lot of questions and tended to try and tell her what to do, she found herself relaxing because it wasn't often that she had the time to sit in a home and not worry about the outside world.

But, spending more time would only make her soft and tempt her to put down her guard. She needed to be gone by noon. That was the sweet spot to survive living on the streets when the homeless could blend in with normal people intent on enjoying their lunch break. They never paid attention to the homeless in their hurry.

She needed to ask around to find out if there were any vacancies within the groups of homeless. Much like the motels, the homeless groups handed over space by who you knew and what you could provide for the group. She'd been on the streets long enough to know the majority of people. She only had to find a connection to hook her up for tonight.

The spin of the washer stopped. She tapped on the glass and smiled when the cat refused to raise its head from the food, then walked into the laundry room. Switching the clothes to the dryer, she put her sleeping bag in the wash and started the cycle.

It'd only take a little over an hour and she would have her belongings back in her pack and could leave. She went into the kitchen, looked at the time on the stove, and relaxed a bit more. She had plenty of time.

A male voice drifted into the room. Heidi walked toward the living room looking to find out if Glen had called her and stopped. A policeman stood inside Glen's house. She stiffened, caught unprepared when the officer lifted his chin to her and stopped talking. At recognizing the cop from last night who'd been at the apartment and the one who'd interviewed her old roommates, she looked away and found two bikers also in the room looking at her.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she mumbled, stepping back.

"Heidi?" Glen motioned her into the room. "This is Lieutenant Gomez with the St. John's Police Department, and the President of Notus Motorcycle Club, Wayne Shaw, and my MC brother, Thad Bowers."

She swung her gaze around the room, flitting over each one without connecting to them, only seeking out the mood. "Hello."

The men nodded, acknowledging her, and then the police officer handed over a piece of paper to Glen. "Here's the parents' address. I've already informed them Notus would be in contact. They're looking forward to having more help in finding their son."

All three bikers stayed in the room while the Lieutenant left the house. Heidi used the distraction to walk back into the laundry room. If she had some way to carry her sleeping bag, wet and now heavy from the wash cycle, she'd leave.

With an ear toward what was happening in the house, she paced the small room. If the officer came back inside, she'd escape through the sliding door, cat or no cat guarding the deck. The last thing she wanted was for the police to discover her true identity or for Glen to find out how she lost the ability to sleep at the apartment last night and lose even more respect for her.

She had little to be proud of, and she liked that he knew she worked at Pauly's Peddlers. It wasn't a lie or a front. She was employed, and she wanted to stay working.

"Heidi?" said Glen.

She jolted and turned around. "The laundry is almost done. An hour tops unless you want me to leave now. I can do that, too."

"No worries. Stay." He motioned her to follow him.

She closed her eyes, dreading the confrontation that would come if she walked back out into his living room and the police officer let Glen and the other bikers in on what he knew about her.

"Heidi?"

She opened her eyes and stepped toward him. Her heart raced. Each step brought her closer to crumbling, and in defense, she could feel her temper rising to protect herself.

Glen stopped in the kitchen. "When you're done, where do you want me to drop you off?"

"I'll walk." She listened for any noise coming from the other room. Hearing none, she said, "It's my day off. Exercise is good for me."

Glen's brows remained pulled down, and his mouth thinned. "Let me see your phone."

"Why?"

He held out his hand and crooked his fingers. "I want you to take my number and call me when you find a place to stay tonight."

His broad hand fascinated her. He was gruff, hands-on, and nothing about him was polite. There were times she wondered if he believed he could move or make her do whatever he wanted. He never asked. He bossed. Yet, he played the host like a pro. Maybe he always brought stray women home. And, cats.

"I don't have a cell phone." She folded her arms in front of her. "My part in saving the earth and my health...brain cancer from the battery, you know."

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. "You planned to sleep in an alley with no cell on you?"

She straightened. "I'll just check on the time left on the dryer and be out of your way."

"Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Every time I ask you a question, you change the subject or want to leave." He reached out and grabbed her upper arms. "I'm not trying to get rid of you."

"You should be," she whispered, unable to stop the trembles that rocked her body when he touched her.

He brought her even closer and lowered his voice. "What's that mean, Blue?"

"Don't call me that." She jerked against his hold.

"Don't push me away." His grip on her tightened. "I swear, every time I move right, you move left."

She couldn't move away. She couldn't ignore him. She couldn't come up with any reply to force him to let her go.

Glen whistled softly and brought her forward to his chest. His hands left her arms, and he palmed the back of her head. The awkward position of her feet that hadn't moved made her tilt. To push him away, she'd need to touch him—which she couldn't do, or she wouldn't stop.

"We need to trust each other if you stay here," he whispered, holding her close. "Finish your laundry. I need to ride out. There's a sixteen-year-old boy who has run away from his home again. Notus needs to go find him. You can stay, or you can go. It's up to you."

He was leaving her alone in his house after believing her sole purpose was to steal from him?

"Why are you doing this for me?" she whispered against his chest.

His chest expanded and his exhale blew softly over the top of her head. She brought one hand up and held on to the back of his vest. He made her weak.

"You're a beautiful woman." He cupped her head and pulled her back and made her look up into his face. "And, you're scared. I guess I have a soft spot for women who need help. I'm not sure what to do with you."

"Nothing," she mumbled. "You shouldn't help me."

He kissed her forehead and let her go. "Stay."

She shook her head because she couldn't trust herself if she spent any more time with him.

"Think about it." His gaze intensified. "There's food in the fridge."

She stared at him in disbelief. Why was he trusting her now?

Glen turned around and whistled as he left the room. The front door banged shut. She hugged her middle. It was crazy for her to even contemplate staying.

A motorcycle roared to life outside. Her heart thrummed with the low rumble. The policeman obviously hadn't told Glen about her. If Lieutenant Gomez had, Glen wouldn't be trying to make her feel welcome by hugging and kissing her forehead.

What was she supposed to do? Leave or stay?