Page 53 of Rio's Release

He takes his helmet off the handlebar and straps it on, his eyes locked with mine. “Gonna be counting the hours until Sunday.”

Then he dips his head and kisses me. It’s nothing showy, no big display, just the brush of his lips, but it’s effective. It makes me sad to see him go.

“See you soon, angel.”

He throws his leg over his seat and lifts the heavy bike off its kickstand, firing it up.

I step up on the walkway.

He winks, and I wave, watching him ride off.

I touch my lips, the feel of his kiss lingering there, and I know I’ll think about it all night long.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Vultures

Rio—

On the way out of town, I swing by the address where Shelby lives. The rental trailer looks close to the photo Blue pulled off the computer.

I coast to a stop on the shoulder and study the place. A rusty trailer set under some pines, quaking aspens and cottonwoods, all giving shade to the area.

Wind chimes hang from low branches.

She’s obviously done her best to make it as cute as she can, but it’s still not the kind of place she deserves. I aim to change that, eventually.

I hear a dog barking and wonder if it's Hurley. One of these days, I’d like to see him again. “Soon, buddy,” I whisper, and ride away.

On the way to Las Cruces, I stop at a gas station along the highway, not too far outside of town. While I’m at one of the pumps, I can’t help but overhear the woman at the pump on the other side. She’s in a beater car with two little ones in car seats in the back. She tries a credit card, and it must get declined, because I hear her swear. Then I see her digging through her purse, and withdrawing a few wadded up one-dollar bills.

“Three dollars is not going to get us to Grandma’s house, damn it,” she mutters.

I fill my tank, screw the cap on and, with the nozzle in my hand, step around the pump.

“Let me fill your tank for you, darlin’,” I say.

She whirls, her eyes dropping to my cut, and she steps back in fear.

I hold up a palm. “Just tryin’ to help you out, that’s all.”

She doesn’t respond, so I move to her open fuel door, unscrew the cap, and jam the nozzle in, filling it until the lever pops, shutting the pump off.

Jerking the nozzle free, I screw the cap in place. “There you go.”

“Are you for real, mister?”

I offer her my hand. “Rio. President, Saint’s Outlaws. Nice to meet you.”

“I’ve heard about you guys.”

I wink and return to my bike.

Just before I fire it up, I hear her reply.

“Thanks, mister. You saved me.”

“Drive safe, darlin’.”

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