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  “Go away,” she shrieked. “I’m calling the police!” She reached for the phone, dialed 911. But the call waiting beeped incessantly. She could barely hear the dispatch. Then the line went dead. “Hello? Hello!”

  A sinister chuckle filtered through the glass. “Too late for that.”

  The shadow disappeared. She shook all over, this real-life nightmare paralyzing her, plunging her to depths of her very own hell. Because the voice sounded like Jack’s.

  No, he can’t be here. He can’t!

  Her eyes widened to the size of the doorknob where her gaze fixed. Someone tested it from the outside. The knob jiggled loosely, the flimsy lock ready to give.

  Could she make it to the door in time to throw the bolt? No, that wouldn’t stop Jack. But she could be ready for him when he broke in. Layla wrenched a chord from its socket and stood with a porcelain table lamp poised like a baseball bat.

  Layla’s whole body clenched, prepared to swing at whatever came through that door.

  Chapter 11

  Blake turned the last corner on his way back to the motel. He couldn’t believe how many cops were out, swarming the streets. All for the sake of tracking down the three bikers who’d started the fight at the bar? Seemed a little excessive.

  Still, he hadn’t been in the mood to get pulled over and apprehended. He’d taken back roads and side streets. So he could feel the wind in his hair, the freedom of riding, and get his head screwed on straight.

  He’d reached a decision.

  If philosophy had taught him anything, he knew that whenever something in his life seemed off, he needed to check his premises. One of them would be wrong.

  It had taken him over an hour, but he’d come to a conclusion: men needed to be shown, whereas women needed to be told, then shown. Simple, he realized, once the logic fell into place. Men put little stock in words. Show me, don’t tell me was a masculine creed. So what was the feminine? Tell me, then show me .

  Layla didn’t trust him because he’d never told her what she needed to hear. Sure, he’d made it clear he lusted after her, but that wasn’t the extent of his feelings for her. Not even close.

  Hands tightening on the handle bars, his gut twisted as he recognized how shallow he must have appeared between the night of their fight, the lies Jack had told, and the way Blake gave up on Layla with half a fight. He’d missed so many chances to prove to her that he was not the selfish bastard Johnson had portrayed him as.

  If she’d consider letting him in again, he’d do things right this time. He wouldn’t let her push him away when things got uncomfortable. He’d take her into his arms any time fear clouded her mind. He’d wait out the storm of her doubts until she realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

  A sigh left his chest as he approached the motel parking lot, downshifted, and thought back. That had been his concern at the start of this trip—that he’d fall for her again. In truth, he’d never stopped. So from now on he’d quit trying.

  That had been his revelation.

  A police car whipped past him, lights swirling and siren screaming. Almost knocked him off his bike. The squad car turned into the motel lot and screeched to a halt behind the second row of buildings.

  Our row .

  A cold chill swept over him. He revved the motor hard and shot forward. Slanting the bike steeply, he took the corner like the track bend in a motorcycle race.

  When he saw what lay on the other side of the motel parking lot, the blood froze in his veins. It expanded like ice, threatening to fracture him.

  Half a dozen people were clustered outside their motel room door. Two other cop cars came tearing in on the heels of the one that’d almost mowed him down. Blake barely got the kickstand down before he leaped off his bike and raced to their door.

  “What happened?” he demanded, shoving his way through.

  “Stand back!” The police barred his progression. “We got a nine-one-one call. And these folks here say they heard screams.”

  “Holy hell,” he seethed. “Let me through! This is my room.”

  “Where were you, then?” one cop questioned.

  “Out riding. I left Layla alone. Shit, it better not be those assholes from the bar. Those guys might’ve seen us. Followed her…”

  “Who? What guys?”

  Blake wrestled himself beyond their physical blockade. “I need to get to Layla.”

  He shoved the key in the handle, threw the door open and barged in. He flicked on the light in time to see the butt end of a lamp careening toward his head. Leaping back, he barely missed being its target.

  Though he’d come to some conclusions during his ride, none included getting crowned over the head with a blunt object.

  But Layla was okay. Thank God, she was okay.

  To diffuse the moment, and the adrenaline raging through him, all he could think to say was, “Mrs. Peacock, in the motel room, with the lamp?”

  Layla didn’t get it. She stared with wide, unblinking eyes. The fear on her face wrenched his insides. Her lips trembled. “Blake?”

  “I’m right here.” He crossed the distance between them. The lamp slipped out of her nerveless grasp. Blake caught it, returned it to the nightstand and then took her in his arms. “Baby, what happened? Did you have a bad dream?”

  There wasn’t time to answer. The police filed in, weapons drawn.

  The moment she saw their uniforms a shriek of fearful panic filled the room, a sound Blake hoped he’d never have to hear again. It sliced through his nerves, grated his protective instincts raw.

  Scrambling to get away from the officers, she pulled free of Blake’s grasp. But the exit was blocked by the onlookers. The wild aggression of a cornered animal swirled in her eyes.

  One cop approached her. She threw her arms over her face and twisted away. Like she expected him to raise a hand to her. Or reach out to grab her and take her away.

  Blake sliced his arm through the air to stop the officer’s advance. “Not now.” He went to her, dropped to his knees, and reached out to grasped her gently.

  “Baby, no one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.” Jesus, she was hunched and shaking like crumpled ball of paper battered about by the wind. “Layla, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

  “No.” The gasp scraped from her throat. “He can’t…I won’t let him—”

  “Who, Layla?”

  “Someone was there…a shadow…a face…his voice…” An unsteady finger thrust toward the opposite wall. “The window!”

  “You want me to check the window?” He stroked both her chilled hands between his, keeping his tone gentle and controlled. Standing, he went over and searched the window and the night beyond. “There’s no one,” he told the police, who came up behind him. “But that doesn’t mean someone wasn’t here a few minutes ago.”

  “We’ll check outside and secure the perimeter.”

  Blake nodded gratefully. Guns still drawn and ready, they filed out.

  The dark fear ebbed from her eyes. She blinked and came fully into the present. She dropped to the edge of the bed, touching her pale forehead with one trembling hand. He hunkered down in front of her, setting his hands on her knees.

  “Blake,” she murmured, her breath coming in shallow spurts. “He was at the door trying to get in.”

  “Who was?”

  She shook her head as if she couldn’t reveal it.

  Hugging herself, she scrubbed her upper arms with her palms like she couldn’t get warm. A telltale sign of shock, he recognized. He abandoned the quest for the assailant’s identity for a moment. “Need a hug?” he asked.

  Tears gathered in her eyes. She looked up at him like he’d just offered her dawn after the dark of an endless night.

  When he opened his arms, she dove into them. Blake pulled her in tight, liking the idea of being the safest place on earth. A pang of tenderness reverberated through his body. His arms came firmly around her. He pressed his lips to her hair.

  Smoothing a hand down h
er back, he noticed her trembling had lessened as he held her close. “Better?” he murmured.

  “Yes.” She sounded like she felt safe, like she trusted him to give her that. At least for the moment.

  Blake forced himself to take s step back from the scenario and her reaction. His words would sooth her more than his actions. Right in line with the revelation he’d come to during his ride.

  Coaxing her to open up, he paused and waited, giving her whatever time she needed. Gradually, she filled the silence with the series of events that nearly resulted in him getting clobbered with a lamp.

  An officer had returned, and now stood off to the side, scribbling Layla’s words onto a spiral notepad. Blake’s fingers dug into the bedspread to keep from reaching for her. “Did his voice sound like anyone from the bar across the street?”

  “No. Not like them.”

  Something triggered his memory. “You said you saw a cowboy hat?” She nodded. “I saw that guy. He was sitting at the far end of the bar. Kept to himself. Except…” Blake stood and began to pace, biting his thumbnail.

  “Except what?” Layla asked warily. The officer looked up, awaiting Blake’s answer.

  “He caught my attention because he wore his hat low, like he wanted to go unnoticed. Until you walked in. He stalked you with his gaze. I was too preoccupied for it to register. I had a bad feeling when I walked in that bar. Should’ve trusted my gut.”

  “You think it was him?” she asked, her eyes pleading for confirmation.

  “Do you?”

  She glanced away, as if hiding something. “I don’t know.” A tense sigh left her as she fidgeted with the drawstring of her striped cotton pants. She shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I don’t think it was anyone from the bar. Blake…the man at the window…he sounded like Jack.”

  “He was here?” Blake bellowed.

  “He—who?” the officer demanded.

  Layla raised damp eyes to Blake. “I don’t know for sure. It sounded like him. I mean, I never thought he’d take it this far. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Maybe he would,” Blake acknowledged.

  “He must’ve left right when the police pulled in,” Layla said. “I thought it was him coming through the door—where are you going?” Blake was halfway out the door.

  “To have a look around.”

  What Blake found raised the hackles on his neck.

  In the rectangle of dim light that came from their motel window, he saw the shapes of footprints crushed into the bed of pine needles. Fury spiked his blood pressure when he looked up and noticed gashes in the rusty screen-in window.

  Peeling back the screen at the longest slash, he stuck his hand through. His fist easily fit through to the slit. So would the stalker’s. It wouldn’t take much effort to unlatch the screen, pull it off and crawl in through the window.

  “Someone was here, all right,” said a voice from beside him.

  “I can see that,” Blake replied through clenched teeth. The biker—Jack—whoever he was, he could’ve hurt Layla…or worse. And I wasn’t here to protect her. Blake suddenly found it hard to breathe. He glanced at the officer, whose police cap sat snug over his closely shaven blond hair, the black brim accenting a pair of alert blue eyes set wide in his Scandinavian face. Blake relaxed under the reassuring clarity in the man’s stare. He asked him, “What’s the procedure from here?”

  “We collect evidence, take it to the station. Along with her written, sworn statement.”

  “And then?”

  “We keep an eye on the streets like we have been all night. Earlier we got a call from the bar across the way reporting some riffraff had rolled into town.”

  Blake aligned his stride with the officer’s as they headed back to the front of the motel. “Can you check the plates registered to an Officer Jack Johnson? I’d wager he’s driving an Ohio State-registered, unmarked police car.”

  “Will do. Any other information that might help?”

  “Not that I can think of. Thanks for responding to the call.” Blake returned the officer’s nod in a moment of shared respect.

  Then Blake headed to the room, his strides heavy. He slowed as he approached the cement slab bearing a yellow ribbon of light that came from the open door.

  He moved toward it until he stood within its glow.

  Layla felt his return before she confirmed it with her eyes. She looked up from the clipboard in her lap to where Blake stood in the doorframe.

  She feared what he might’ve found—proof that her worst nightmare had nearly come true. She gripped the pen until the white plastic cracked.

  His closed expression offered little comfort. “The coast is clear.”

  “Really?” she asked, nervous and hopeful, yet curious over his cryptic answer. “But someone has been at the window, right?”

  He nodded stiffly. “The police are handling everything. Nothing more that we can do except to get some sleep. We’re in for a long ride tomorrow.”

  After scrawling her signature at the bottom of the lined sheet of paper, she handed the clipboard and splintered pen back to the officer. He bid them goodnight, took his leave, and she watched Blake shut the door behind him. When he turned to her, Layla spoke without hiding the worry in her tone. “Blake, I won’t be able to sleep after what just happened.”

  He rubbed his neck, his expression conciliatory like he should’ve thought of that. “I guess not.” His eyes melted her with their compassion. “I’m pretty wide awake myself.”

  “What do we do?” she asked. “Just go on to the next motel?”

  His features softened as he suggested, “Why don’t we head out for a ride?”

  “Now? In the middle of the night? In my pajamas ?”

  The corners of his mouth curved. “I’ll be the envy of the biker realm.”

  “But that guy, or Jack, could still be out there. Will we be safe?”

  He gave her a look that said, D o fish swim? “Cops are swarming the streets. We’ll probably get our own private police escort.”

  She doubted she could stand another minute in this room. Riding would be the perfect distraction. She offered him a grateful look. “Let’s get out of here.”

  *

  Jack’s flagging hope to get Layla alone rekindled as he watched the police disband, the motel guests go back to their rooms, and Blake and Layla walk out the door. This was exactly the chance he needed. His fear tactic hadn’t produced the results he’d expected, but it was working all the same.

  Jack started his engine, nudged it into gear, and followed quietly behind them. His nostrils flared and he turned off the CB angrily when he heard a description of his car go out on the airwaves. Momentarily Blake and Layla would be on the highway, and as soon as they got far enough away from this no-name town festering with police, Jack would— Wait…what are they doing?

  Riding the break, Jack slowed and followed them into the town’s public school parking lot. Right across from the police station.

  His hands curled into fists. Why couldn’t they just get out of town, where he’d have anonymity again?

  He’d have to lay low, real low if he didn’t want to get questioned. He didn’t have time for this crap. His eyes narrowed on Blake’s motorcycle as he parked it alongside the split-rail fence that framed the schoolyard. Blake thought he was being clever, having Jack’s car tracked? Well, two could play at that game.

  Jack pulled up alongside the fence where the shadows were the densest and phoned into the local dispatch. He reported some suspicious activity, described Blake’s motorcycle and the drugs that they’d find in his saddlebags.

  All he needed now was for Blake to leave the motorcycle long enough to give Jack time to plant the drugs. Then Jack would return to his car and wait in the shadows for the scene to unfold. If no one answered the call, Jack would see to it himself.

  *

  On the back of Blake’s bike with her helmet snug, Layla leaned against the backrest. Stars whizzed by overhead. All sh
e heard was the roar of wind. No traffic to contend with. No clock to race against. It was almost…enjoyable.

  It beat going stir crazy in a motel room, imagining a stalker outside her window, listening to people in another room have sex while she wasn’t.

  Layla promptly decided midnight rides were a marvelous invention.

  Then she realized they’d stopped moving.

  Removing her helmet, she looked around in surprise. She identified the sprawling wood and plastic tangle in front of her as a massive playground.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked as Blake shut off the motor and scraped down the kickstand.

  “Having some fun.” Suddenly Blake tore off toward the jungle gym extravaganza. “Last one to the swing set is a rotten egg!”

  Chapter 12

  Startled by Blake’s abrupt departure, Layla stared after him. Then a grin spread on her face. She leaped into action, dashing across the pebbled ground and sprang onto the blue plastic swing. She beat him to it at the last second.

  Gloating as she gripped the parallel chains, she pointed out, “Your legs are too long for this swing set anyway.”

  “Who knew being vertically challenged would have its advantages?”

  “You lost fair and square, pal. Quit with the short jokes and push.”

  He did. Nicely, gently. He never touched her derriere once. She felt surrounded by his presence, but nothing seemed forced between them. He pushed the edge of the swing without touching her body. He remained at the edge of her comfort level without pushing her boundaries, enfolding her in the awareness of his calm, steady strength.

  Something had…changed.

  A bridge of emotional intimacy arced between them. She smiled softly.

  Then he cracked a joke. Their shared laughter broke the silence. After that, they began to share fun memories of playgrounds in their childhoods. They both agreed kids today were spoiled silly. Neither of them had grown up with anything like this, but they could enjoy it now. And they did.

  Gradually, Layla realized, as she breezed through the warm night air toward Blake’s waiting hands, they were becoming friends again. It had been a long time since she’d recalled that Blake had once been a man she’d genuinely liked .