Page 71 of Wife Number One

Two guys in biker jackets leaned on the outside wall, to the left of the entrance. One was younger, probably in his early twenties, skinny with light-colored hair. The other was almost the complete opposite. Tall and thick, his brown skin a complete contrast to his friend’s pale white. They both had cigarettes between their fingers, and they eyed my car with distrust.

The big guy dropped his smoke to the ground, stubbing it out with his boot and pushing off the wall to walk my way.

Clearly, I wasn’t going to just be sitting in the car waiting for them to leave like I’d hoped I might. I opened the door, pulling out my briefcase with me, even though I’d never bothered to bring that in with me before.

The door to the morgue opened at the same time though.

A third biker, a huge guy with a messy blond ponytail, escorted a tiny, dark-haired woman out of the building. He took one look at me and shouted back over his shoulder, “Hawk! Heads-up. We’ve got company,” before leveling me with a warning expression as he led his girl into the white van.

A fourth biker, Hawk presumably, followed out behind them with another woman, this one slightly taller and a hell of a lot curvier.

I sucked in a deep breath so fast and sharp it was clearly audible across the parking lot.

Hawk cast a glance my way and froze, twisting so the woman was protected behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?” he called out, voice deep and full of suspicion.

I held up my briefcase, desperately trying to see past him to get a better glimpse of the woman. “I’m a doctor. Fredderick Grayson.”

The man shook his head slightly, like he didn’t believe me. “You one of Josiah’s people?”

I frowned. “Who?”

He narrowed his eyes, but the woman peeked out from behind him.

My heart thundered.

It wasn’t her.

Of course it wasn’t.

But fuck, she looked so much like her I was having a hard time accepting it. Everything in me screamed to save her in the way I hadn’t been able to for a different woman years before.

“Back up, asshole.” The man in front of her let out a low growl.

I’d unconsciously walked several steps toward her, and Hawk clearly wasn’t happy about it.

I froze, reminded that although I’d done enough fighting in my time that I could probably take one of these guys head-to-head, three, or four if the guy in the van decided to join in, was a recipe for disaster.

I didn’t exactly fancy becoming a stiff in the morgue alongside the victim I’d come to see. If these guys were from an MC, there was every chance in the world they were carrying more than just a packet of gum in their back pockets.

I put my hands up in mock surrender and backed up. “Sorry. I don’t know any Josiahs.”

“Kara?” He didn’t take his eyes off me. “You know this guy?”

She peeked around him again.

A wave of familiarity hit me once more. Fuck. Big brown doe eyes framed by dark lashes. They were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying, and everything inside me screamed to know why. To protect her from whatever it was that had hurt her.

But clearly I wasn’t the only one who felt like that. Her bodyguard blocked my view of her again, stepping in closer, a warning on his tongue marked by short, sharp words. “Don’t. Fucking. Look at her. Look at me.”

My fingers instinctively closed into fists, and my muscles tightened, preparing for a fight I knew I’d lose.

The man ran his gaze down my body, centering it on my closed fists. He let out a slow laugh. “Really, bro? You’re real fucking brave posturing like you want to throw that fist into my face. I’d like to see you try.”

The woman grabbed his arm. “Stop it! He’s not one of Josiah’s people.”

Hawk didn’t lower his gaze from mine for another ten or fifteen seconds, but eventually, he grinned, shook himself visibly, letting go of the tension in his body and stepping back, his hand holding the woman—Kara—behind him. “Let’s go, Little Mouse. You just saved this guy his teeth.”

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