Page 14 of Mensa's Match

“No,” he yelled, and forced himself not to think about her tits against his back.

“You sure? I won’t report it.”

“It was registered, and I sold it.”

Mensa steered the bike onto I-10 westbound. The Corrupt Chrome rider was forced to stop for oncoming traffic. That was the first break they’d had.

Through this stretch, the interstate was two lanes. It wasn’t a problem typically, but they were approaching a bottleneck with a minivan ever-so-slowly passing two semis.

If it were just him being chased, he’d split the lanes.

“Take the shoulder,” Whitney called.

“No.”

“He’s going to catch up!”

The minivan finally moved to the right lane and the Honda Civic in front of them gunned it. Mensa followed, passed the minivan, took one of the last exits for Gulfport, and headed south. He intended to catch US-90 and go back to Biloxi, but something told him the Corrupt Chrome MC member expected that.

Mensa’s bike needed gas soon. He spotted a busy truck stop, hung a right, and parked as far from the entrance as possible.

“Are we hiding?” Whitney asked.

“Let’s just give it a moment,” he said, shutting down the engine.

“He might expect you to try something like this,” she muttered, swinging off the bike.

He dismounted. “Where are you going?”

Her expression held a hint of cockiness. “To the front doors to watch for the Corrupt Chrome MC. I’d invite you, but you’re a little conspicuous in your cut.”

He wanted to argue, but she was right.

“And what are you gonna do if he shows up?”

Her lips tipped up. “Tell Mary, because while I’m waiting, I’ll be talking to an agent I used to work with about this. Hopefully Donny is all right.”

She turned away, and Mensa grabbed her bicep. “Donny’s weathered far worse than Corrupt Chrome MC. You don’t need to worry about him. Calling your FBI contact won’t help here.”

Her eyes glinted in the harsh outdoor lights. “I have to, Mensa.”

He sighed. “Do you really? I heard you resigned. I don’t care if you call in the situation at Twisted Talons, but don’t mention the asshole following us.”

“It doesn’t work that way. You haven’t broken any laws, Kenneth.”

He clenched his jaw at her using his given name. From the road, he heard a motorcycle engine. He crept closer to the corner of the building. An older man in a pastel blue crew neck shirt put down the kickstand of his Triumph.

Mensa turned and Whitney was in his space. It took all of his self-control to ignore her closeness, her scent, and her sheer sexiness. Once he had a lock on it, he glanced down at her. “Not him.”

“Cool, but unless you want the bastard to see you…I’m thinking you shouldn’t stand in the light at the front here.”

He stared at her for a beat. “Don’t call anyone.”

Her lips pursed and she glared at him. “Or what? You’re gonna leave me here?”

His lips tipped up. “It crossed my mind.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’ll Uber it back to the bar… and send you the bill.”

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