Page 60 of Decoding Morse

“You can take my bike, brother,” Specks said. “I’ll drive the car, and Prospect can follow me. We’re not far from Pullman. I’ll turn this rental in, square up the damages, and rent another one. Aren’t you glad you took me with you to rent it?”

“Yes.” Especially considering Specks had talked me into buying the insurance. And now he was offering me his bike so I could get Amelia back to the safety of the club. “Thank you, brother. We’ll head back to Seattle immediately.”

“Actually, I need to go to Boise.”

“No.” It wasn’t even an option. “Someone just shot at you. We need to get you somewhere safe. Your parents are the only people who knew you were coming to Idaho. With the exception of Mrs. Landry, they’re also your only contacts with the funds to hire this type of hit.”

“We don’t have the best relationship, but my parents aren’t murderers. They care too much what people think of them. Then again, I am one of the few people who knows who they are beneath the money.”

“Done,” Prospect announced. “Just gotta lower it now.”

“Good.” Watching the shooters via the rear camera, I flew Smokey back and quickly secured it in the case. Smokey should stay with me, but there wasn’t room for it in Specks’ saddlebag, so I slid it back into the cargo compartment with a pointed look at Specks. “Whatever you do, don’t leave Smokey behind. You either, Prospect. You’ll both be held responsible.”

The car lowered, and Prospect stood and joined us. “I’ll guard Smokey and Morgan with my life.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “The second one goes without saying. And make sure you keep your hands—and other body parts—off her.”

He dipped me a nod, his gaze unwavering. “Yessir.”

That would have to do, because we were running out of time. “Thank you.”

Ever prepared, I dug out the helmets, gear, and go bag I’d prepared just in case, handing Amelia her helmet, bulletproof vest, and rain gear. But not her cut. It was against club policy to ride without one, but I’d called Link, and he’d agreed that this was an exception since the shooters had called somebody. Likely reinforcements. Or a boss. Either way, we needed to get the hell out of there before somebody else showed up. We’d put the cuts on once we put some distance between us and the snipers.

My phone’s catastrophic event tone blared for the second time ever, slapping a neon exclamation point to the thought. Ice shot up my spine. Retrieving my cell, I stared at the message, unable to believe my eyes.

The blood must have drained from my face because Amelia’s voice dripped with dread when she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“They just doubled your bounty.”

18

Amelia

BY THE TIME we reached my parents’ house in Boise, it was dark, I was freezing, and my sciatic nerve had lost its elasticity and turned into a hardened rubber band that would likely snap when I stretched it out. Riding for almost six hours in body armor and drizzling showers while bracing for another attack had been a new level of hell. Even the rain gear Morse had packed for us hadn’t prevented me from becoming a drowned rat, and I’d learned I was more of a fair-weather, short-trip type of biker broad.

Morse stopped the bike beside the security access box, braced us with a leg, and asked, “You sure about this?”

“Yes. I need to talk to them about Morgan.” I keyed in my code, thanking my lucky stars when the gate clicked with approval before swinging open. At least my parents hadn’t locked me out.

“Okay.”

It was an acknowledgment, not an approval, since he’d already made his opinion on this visit known. More than once,he’d threatened to drive my ass back to Seattle and tuck me safely away in the clubhouse until this mess blew over. The threat hadn’t been nearly as alarming as how my body had reacted. Every overprotective word out of his mouth made me melt into a puddle. This newfound kink of mine was getting way out of control.

Despite his informed and well-meaning arguments, he’d respected my wishes and had delivered me here. But as I stared at the ostentatious mansion looking down on the city from its coveted hilltop address, I wanted nothing more than to go home. However, this wasn’t about me. I was here to safeguard Morgan’s future. Besides, we’d come too far to turn back now.

Fueled by a determination to keep my daughter out of debt, I rewrapped my arms around Morse’s waist, and we drove through the gate and parked. Contrary to my concerns, my sciatica didn’t snap when I stood, but holy shit, did it ever hurt. Morse watched me like a hawk, the concern in his eyes making me feel like a decrepit old lady. Biting back the pain, I removed my helmet, sighing in relief at the ease of pressure. I couldn’t wait to strip off the rest of my heavy gear.

Morse collected our supplies from the saddlebags, stuffing everything into a backpack he slung over his shoulder before turning to evaluate me, concern now etching lines across his forehead. I’d removed all my bandages at the last stop so they could get some air and scab over, and he reached forward, tucked a lock of wayward hair behind my ear, and inspected the most significant cut across my cheek. Like the others, it was shallow. We’d gotten lucky. So fortunate, in fact, that every time I thought about what could have happened, my chest tightened until darkness settled over my vision, and my knees grew weak.

“You okay?” he asked.

With his attention laser-focused on me, I could barely breathe, so I nodded.

He didn’t look convinced. “I can carry you if you want me to.”

That declaration snapped me out of my stupor because I couldn’t think of anything more horrifying than being picked up. That was something men did to petite women, and there was nothing little or light about me. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You’re in pain.”

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