Page 36 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“There a problem?”

“There was a guy in town today. He made Grace nervous. I get the feeling when she doesn’t feel safe, she runs. I don’t want her to run. My girls love her.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks, Pipe. I owe you one.”

He chuckles. “More than one.”

An hour later, he shows up with a bag of small boxes containing window and door sensors, glass breaking sensors, a base station, and a keypad that sticks to the wall.

He helps me set it up, and Grace observes us while folding towels.

When Pipe leaves, I motion her over.

“Grace, c’mere. I want to show you this. There are sensors on the doors and windows. When the alarm is set, if they’re opened, it goes off. That up there”—I point to the sensor mounted in the corner of the family room—“is a glass break sensor. The sound of breaking glass sets it off.” I give her a run-through on how to arm and disarm it. “What’s your birthday?”

“October twenty-second.”

“We’ll set the code as 1022. That way you’ll remember it.”

“Okay.” Her eyes glaze over. “Did you do all this for me?”

“I want you to feel safe. This thing goes off, I’ll get a notification on my phone, and an alarm will blare loud enough to scare them away.” I search her eyes. “Feel better?”

She nods, seeming too choked up for words.

I want to take her in my arms, but that feels like a line I shouldn’t cross. In the end, I just rest a hand on her shoulder.

She turns into my arms and buries her head in my chest. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”

I dip my head and breath in her scent. My eyes slide closed.

She pulls back and dashes her tears away. “Thank you.” Then she runs up the stairs to her room.

I stare after her, my heart pounding.

Jesus Christ. I’m in trouble.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lucky—

The next day, I take the girls to school, and then make a run with Brick and Pipe down to the docks at the port of Mobile. The club has connections that get us the occasional job transporting illegal goods. Today we’re here to collect a payment for a job already completed. We take my truck, and I slap a magnetic Kline Roofing sign on the doors. For all appearances, we’re just workers on a job.

We roll into the gravel lot of a warehouse buried down by the docks. US Customs is not far, and we’re always on edge.

“You see him?” Pipe asks from the backseat.

Brick slides his shades down and peers around. “Nope.”

I lift my chin. “That’s his truck, I think.”

There’s a beat-up white truck parked next to the metal building. I don’t see any other. I pull up behind it. The large metal sliding door is open about three feet, but it’s all dark beyond it.

“Stay on your toes,” I say and hear Pipe chamber a round with a quiet slide and click.

I idle and a few seconds later, a man steps out. He’s wearing a hard hat and safety vest, but I know that’s all for show. He approaches and I power the window down. He glances around, but he’s wearing shades. Leaning in my window, he slips me an envelope.

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