My Biker Bodyguard (5 page)

The thought of leaving him, maybe for good, kicked her in
the chest. What would happen to him without her? Who would
keep him out of trouble? Who would protect him from the men
Mitch thought were coming for her right now?
"Jack." Jess stared at her friend, her ex-lover. "We can't
leave Dad here."
What of the others? Weren't they in just as
much danger?
"And J.D. and Trash–they can't stay here
either."
Another black-and-white pulled in behind Jack's cruiser.
A female officer got out of the driver's seat. Her partner, a
handsome Hispanic, emerged from the passenger side.
There was little time left. "Please, Jack."
"I don't know what you want me to do, Jess." He sounded
cold. "You chose this."
She bit the inside of her cheek and clenched her hands.
You jerk
. Just because she had broken up with him, didn't
mean she had chosen a life of crime. Slapping him, shouting
that she in no way chose this, wouldn't get his cooperation. "I
don't care about me, I care about them. I won't go until I know
they're going to be all right. Damn it, Jack, don't do this now."
Her father cleared his throat and placed a hand on her
shoulder, restraining her. "Don't worry about us. If this is how
it has to be, we won't let you go downtown alone. We're right
behind you."
She squeezed his hand and nodded. Her outrage at Jack
had calmed her father in a way that didn't surprise her. Rarely
did both of them get angry at the same time. They were yin
and yang, both the good and bad of each other. "Just don't take
too long."
"Never." Her father hugged her and then back-stepped to
the house. "I'm gettin' the boys now. We'll be right behind
you."
The female officer stepped in front of her. "Ma'am, I have
to search you now. You got anything on you I should know
about? Any weapons? Needles?"
Jess closed her eyes and shook her head. Needles? It had
already started. They automatically assumed she was just like
her mother. An addict, a biker chick ready to sell herself for
the next fix. Cold steel captured her wrists. Coffee rose inside
her, scalding her throat and she swallowed hard.
I'm not my mother.
* * *
Mitch twisted in the seat and glanced out the back
window. The cruiser carrying Jess followed at a safe distance.
Behind Jess, Dirty Dan, J.D., and Trash rode their Harleys very
close. The rumble of the big engines made it through the shell
of the cruiser and he understood what it must be like to be a
member of Jess's family. All that loyalty was impressive. He
envied her as they wound through unfamiliar streets, like an
odd biker funeral procession.
His shoulders didn't like the uncomfortable position the
cuffs forced and he faced forward again. He studied the back
of Jack's head. Jess said he was a friend. He couldn't imagine
this man hanging around the keg at a cookout. "How do you
know the Owens?"
Jack waited so long to answer, Mitch thought he wouldn't.
"I dated Jess last fall."
Amused, Mitch wondered what Dirty Dan must have
thought of that. He didn't take Jess for a fan of law
enforcement. Either she'd been seriously pissed at Dirty Dan,
or feeling extra rebellious. "How long did you two go out?"
"What's it to you, pal?" Jack's eyes found Mitch's in the
rearview mirror as they stopped at a red light. "Ain't you
caused her family enough trouble?"
"It's not me you want, buddy. Ask those goons from the
diner." Frustrated, Mitch fully remembered his experiences
with the NYPD. Jess wasn't fooling when she said the cops
wouldn't listen. Funny how a few years on the straight and
narrow can make you forget what it's like to be in the back seat
of a patrol car. "Didn't Dirty Dan tell you?"
"He told me, all right." The light switched to green and
Jack returned his gaze to the road. "He said you're claiming to
be some hotshot bodyguard from California with a wild story
about hit men after Jess." Jack's gaze found his briefly in the
mirror again. "You should go back to Hollywood. I hear
they'll believe anything there."
"You gotta be joking. Don't you guys talk to each other?
I already told you, the LAPD briefed your department." How
he loathed red tape. It was the reason he worked freelance,
outside of state and federal agencies. "What about those thugs?
You at least got them in custody at the hospital? Or the
morgue?"
"I only heard they were taken to St. Mary's. You better
pray neither of them dies."
Mitch didn't think it a good idea to tell Jack he hoped for
just the opposite. A few less killers on the planet wouldn't
bother him, but before they boarded the hot train hell bound, he
needed to find a way to question them. "You got them in
custody, though, right? They can't just walk away, if they can
walk?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah, but no more questions. Save it for
your statement."
Mitch held his tongue until the cruiser found a spot in
front of the tall white police building. He didn't have a chance
to watch Jess be removed from the cruiser behind him, nor see
where Dan and his pals went to park their cycles. Jack
propelled him fast through the glass doors, pausing only to
check them in.
The booking department looked like they all did; hard
plastic chairs, dingy tile, a bar to cuff suspects into the seats.
Jack didn't stop there, he led Mitch to an equally typical
interrogation room–fitted with the mandatory two-way mirror.
"Sit," Jack ordered, shoving Mitch into the room and
toward a scuffed plastic chair.
Mitch did as he was told, though he wanted to get the
damned cuffs off his wrists. "Listen, your boss should know
what's going on. Check it out."
Jack shook his head. "I don't know what L.A. is like, but
around here, we go by the book."
"You wouldn't need the damn book if you'd called your
boss." Mitch stretched his legs out beneath the table, trying to
find a position that didn't pull the muscles across his
collarbones. Shot once, stabbed twice, and punched more
times than he could count, the only pain Mitch couldn't handle
was the nagging ache from cuffs. He wondered if they had a
name for that. Cuff-a-phobia?
"Don't get wise." Jack pointed a finger at him, gearing up
to unleash something very macho, Mitch was sure, but a knock
rapped on the open door. Mitch twisted in his seat to see
around the jamb. A uniformed officer slouched against the
door frame.
"What?" Jack asked.
"Sarge wants to see you." The blue-suit turned to Mitch.
His look spoke volumes for the whole department and for the
first time, Mitch found himself truly uneasy. This vibe wasn't
simple prejudice–but a loathing for those who think they're
above, or beyond, the law. To make it worse, he couldn't argue
against the misconception. That would be like digging a grave
in hopes of resurrecting the dead.
Larson better come through
for me, or I'll end up in a shower, singin' the blues with a
twenty-man chorus.
* * *
Martinez, the Hispanic partner, wouldn't let Jess walk
beside her dad, though Dirty Dan invaded every inch of his
personal space. J.D. behind her, and Trash on her right,
huddled just as close. The female cop Martinez had called
Lowell, appeared not to mind that her suspect had extremely
hairy and tattooed escorts. Grateful, Jess focused on her
father's and Martinez's butting shoulders, afraid if she looked
ahead and saw what waited, she'd lose all will to keep going.
Hands cuffed behind her back, sweat freezing in the airconditioned building, shame rolled through her every time they
passed someone. Sooner or later, one of Jack's friends would
see her, recognize her, and shake his head in that knowing way.
Dirty bikers.
How had she ended up like this? What in the
world did it have to do with her mother?
Maybe Beth won the lottery
.

Jess latched onto that thought. She could picture her
mother, a dim memory of wild blonde hair, smelling of
patchouli and cigarettes, buying tickets at the liquor store.
Yeah, that fit, and it would be just Jess's luck too–anything to
do with her mother was tainted, made ugly in some way or
another.

Here kid, have some dough, but oh yeah, if you take it, you
also get this set of lovely murderers, a pair of killers thrown in
just for kicks
.

Aside from the fortune and the craziness, Jess struggled
under a wave of discomfort. Her mother had to be dead in
order for the money to be passed on to her. She didn't know
the woman, so it shouldn't have an impact. But for most of
Jess' life, she'd always expected to one day see her mother, ask
her why she'd left, why she didn't love Jess enough to stay.
Now it suddenly mattered a whole lot that she'd never get that
chance.

Martinez stopped and turned to face her father. "This is as
far as you and your pals can go, Mr. Owen."
"No. We go with her." He puffed up his chest.
Lowell and Martinez exchanged a look, then Lowell took
Jess's elbow. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her. There's
nothing left for you to do here."
"She's my daughter. I'm her father. I got rights."
J.D. cleared his throat. "C'mon Dan, it ain't gonna happen.
She's over eighteen. You know how this works."
Jess turned to him. J.D.'s face held so much warmth and
concern, she wanted to bawl. "Don't give them a reason, Jess.
You'll be fine."
Trash patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "We ain't
goin' far. We'll get you home. Just watch."
"Thanks." She blinked to clear her vision.
"All right," Lowell said decisively. "Let's go."
"Wait." Her father wrapped Jess in his arms before
anyone could argue.
At that moment, she hated the handcuffs. They kept her
from hugging him. Her face pressed into the buttons again, but
she didn't move, just drank up his strength.
"Don't worry," she mumbled against his chest, proud she
sounded confident. "It's not like I'm walking the plank."
He chuckled sadly, and with one knuckle, rubbed her
skull. "That's my girl."
She winced at the noogie and straightened. Lowell pulled
her away, obviously at the end of her patience. As Jess
stumbled sideways down an endless corridor, she offered the
forlorn looking trio her best smile. "I'm all right guys. Thanks
for coming."
Thanks for coming? Christ, this wasn't a party
.
"I'll get started on the paperwork." Martinez went left
when they went right and Jess was alone with Lowell.
"You okay kid?" Lowell opened the door to a small room.
Surprised at the new kindness in the officer's voice, Jess
nodded. "I'd be better if these cuffs could come off."
"They were comin' off anyway." Lowell produced the key
and removed them. "Gotta wait for the detectives to talk to
you. It might be a little while. They're in with your friend
now."
"Thanks." Jess rubbed her neck and rolled her head to
relieve the tight muscles across her shoulders.
"No problem." She left then. Jess hoped whoever walked
through the door next would be just as reasonable.
Stewing in the refuse of her upside down world, she
couldn't sit still. She stood and began to pace. Her reflection
in the large mirror looked stricken, like another person.
Mascara smudged the corners of her eyes, giving her a haunted
appearance she didn't much care for. Her wild hair and a
brown coffee splotch on her shoulder made her look all the
more unkempt. It occurred to her that this person looking back
in the mirror resembled her memory of her mother. She
abruptly turned her back on the reflection.
Jess refused to accept the idea that she had anything in
common with a woman who chose drugs over her own kid,
who'd run off and left a seven-year-old child alone. Foster care
had taught her to despise anyone who ditched their kids. The
city was full of parents like that. Being a member of the leftbehind group was the only comfort she could claim–and it was
icy at best.
The door opened. Jess gripped the back of her chair, heart
thumping.
Here it comes.
A bigger test than Mitch's
cooperation. Her freedom rested in the hands of this cleanly
shaven man with short hair who walked through the door, a
thin file in his hand. She didn't speak, afraid to say something
wrong before she was even asked one question.
"I'm detective Steve Richard," he pronounced it
re-shard
,
as if he was French. "I've got some questions to ask you, if you
don't mind."
"I thought that was why I was arrested?" Jess didn't know
what he expected her to say as she slumped in her chair.
"Technically, you're not under arrest." He sat across from
her and opened the file.
Could've fooled her. Suddenly angry she asked, "What's
the deal then?"
"If you'd been arrested, we would've fingerprinted and
photographed you. Fortunately, your friend," he opened the
file and searched the page, "Mitch Conner, informed our
department about his intended activities here. Right now, I
only need to get your statement and ask you a few questions.
Would you care for anything? Water? Coffee?"
Definitely not coffee, and she didn't want to delay this by
asking for water so she shook her head. "I'm fine. Let's just
get this over with."
He looked into the mirror, twirled a finger as if to indicate
someone beyond the glass should roll tape, and then turned to
back to her. "I must inform you that this room is video
monitored and wired for sound. You'll need to speak clearly
for the record. Your name is Jessica Hendrix Owen, is that
correct?"
Jess blushed. Not many times did her middle name come
up. Already unnerved, she nodded.
"Speak for the record please."
Duh
. Her face got hotter and she pressed her cool palms
to her cheeks. "Yes, that's me."
He read her address and clarified that she co-owned and
operated Tattoos and Tails. She agreed to all.
"Okay. Here we go." He closed the file, set it aside and
leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what happened this
morning."
Jess spoke, trying to keep to the facts. She described the
window exploding, remembered the terrified screams in the air.
She told him about Mitch going outside, and recalled the sound
of glass crunching beneath his feet and the urge to retch with
fear. Then she got to the hard part and stopped, unable to find
the words.
"Go on." He urged. "You're doing fine."
She heaved a breath. "They were shooting at Mitch. I
was in the car and I couldn't get the glove box opened, it sticks.
I have a permit to carry the weapon. Jack helped me get one."
When she fell silent again, he pressed. "You were saying
that you were in the car?"
Jess nodded. "Yes. I got the gun out. I didn't think. I
only knew these men came out of nowhere and were shooting
at Mitch. I don't know, maybe I figured it was better to have
the gun and not need it, y'know?"
Richard nodded.
"I saw the guy, the one on the passenger side fall, and
when I looked at the driver, he was…was looking at me
like…like he wanted me dead. That's the best way I can
explain it. He wasn't shooting at Mitch anymore. His gun was
aimed at me. So…so I fired."
She stilled completely, afraid to blink, afraid to exhale. If
he didn't believe her, if he thought she could have run away,
could have driven off like Mitch told her to, she'd face the
consequences. Mitch hadn't earned her loyalty, she'd had no
right to get involved.
But I couldn't just leave him there.
Richard said, "That pretty much confirms what the
witnesses described. Do you know who these men are?"
She shook her head. "I never saw them before. Never."
"Couple of thugs up from Chicago. Real ugly characters.
Their arrest record goes back farther then you've been on the
planet. This is classic self-defense, a justified shooting."
Relief unknit the knots in her spinal cord. She hung her
head for a moment, hands threaded through her hair.
Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you
.
"However," Richard said
She snapped up.
This is it, this is the big BUT that puts
me in prison
.
"There's still a matter of who ordered the hit, and that the
LAPD believe they're not going to stop. According to the
LAPD, this is the fourth attempt against someone in your
family. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your mother."
"Don't worry about it. I never knew her." Sudden
exhaustion came over her. It couldn't be but maybe one or two
in the afternoon, though it felt like evening. Her eyes burned.
"Do they have any idea who's doing this?"
Richard flipped more pages in the file. "They have a
suspect, but the investigation is ongoing. No one firm, yet."
"How close do you think they are?"
"Hard to tell. Your friend Conner might answer that
better."
God, she hadn't even thought of him. Was he in another
room just like hers? If he was, did his story match hers? Why
wouldn't it?
Jess–chill out
. She blew the bangs off her
forehead and crossed her arms. "So, what happens now? We
can't go home, can we?"
"Let's just wait and see on that, Jessica. It shouldn't take
too long." He stood, file in hand and went to the door. "You
just sit tight. I'll be back soon."
"Wait," she said, standing. "Am I free to go? Can I see
my father now?"
He frowned. "Not yet. Just be patient a little longer."
Be patient. Not a virtue she could claim. He left, the door
snicking closed in such a way she knew it would be locked if
she tried to leave. Trapped. She couldn't go anywhere, and the
only company she had, was a reflection that resembled the
ghost of her mother. Maybe that's what had happened. Maybe
when her mother died, she was set free to haunt her daughter
and all this…mess was the doings of some vengeful spirit.
"I'm goin' nuts," Jess whispered.
She sat, folding her arms on the table and resting her head
on the cooled flesh of her wrist. Eyes closed, she tried to
imagine a world where no killers existed, where her mother had
remained forgotten.
Instead, she saw Mitch, weapon aimed at her for that
flicker in time when she'd startled him on the sidewalk, that
moment when she'd thought he'd shoot her down in the middle
of the day.
Dangerous
.