Page 8 of Baby for the Bikers

Five hours after discovering our destroyed bikes, we’re finally ready to watch how it happened.

The security footageplays on our office monitor for the fifth time. Maddox sprawls in his desk chair while Ryder and I stand behind him, each seeing something different in the grainy images.

“Run it again,” I say, though I’ve memorized every detail. The way her Honda creeps past our bikes. The careful way she positions herself for parking. The moment everything goes wrong.

“She’s hot.” Maddox leans back, grinning despite our wrecked bikes. “Like, seriously hot. Even in grainy footage.”

He’s not wrong. Even through security cameras, her hair pulled up in a bun, there’s something about her that draws the eye.

“Focus,” I growl, but my own attention keeps catching on the way she moves. Controlled, aware, until that truck backfires.

“I am focusing.” Maddox rewinds again. “Focus is directly on that perfect?—”

“Play it at normal speed.” Ryder’s voice holds an edge I recognize. He’s seeing what I’m seeing.

The footage rolls. Her car passes our bikes once or twice, testing the parking space. But her attention isn’t on parking—it’s on everything else—every person who walks past, every car that moves, every potential threat.

“There.” Ryder points as the truck backfires. “Watch her reaction.”

It’s not a normal startle response. Her whole body shifts like she’s expecting gunfire. Combat reflexes. Muscle memory.

“Damn.” Maddox sits up straighter. “Girl’s got training. Makes her even hotter.”

“Makes her dangerous,” I correct, but I can’t deny the way my pulse kicks as I watch her fluid movements.

The Honda lurches back. Our bikes fall. And then…

“Look at that sweep.” Ryder’s voice holds appreciation despite the destruction we’re watching. “Full tactical assessment before she moves.”

She’s good. Too good for some random girl who can’t parallel park.

“Ex-military?” Maddox spins in the chair, looking at me. “Doesn’t move like law enforcement.”

“Something else.” I watch her drive off. “Something that taught her to react to backfire like gunshots.”

Ryder’s silence speaks volumes. We all know what kind of life teaches those instincts. What kind of training makes you check exits before running.

“Lucy said she just moved in yesterday.” I pull up the rental application Nora got from Mae. It helps when your manager is besties with everyone in town, including landladies.

“Rowan Callahan. Twenty-four. Previous address in Seattle.”

“Bullshit.” Maddox spins back to the footage. “That’s not Seattle movement. That’s survival movement.”

He rewinds again, and yeah—there’s no denying the deadly grace in the way she handles herself. The kind of awareness that speaks of hard lessons learned young.

“She’s running.” Ryder’s voice holds certainty. And interest. “Running hard from something big.”

“Or someone.” I study her face on the grainy screen. Even through panic, there’s a beauty that catches like hooks under skin. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone took cover in Wolf Pike,” I say, my mind drifting to the Cross brothers’ partner, Evie. “Question is, what brought her to our town?”

“Here’s a better question.” Maddox grins up at us. “When do we go say hello?”

“After the insurance adjustor.” But I’m already planning the conversation. “Five grand in damages,” I remind them and myself. “Focus on that, not how good she looks running away.”

“Can’t it be both?” Maddox’s grin widens. “Hot girl with combat training who owes us money? This is getting better by the minute.”

Ryder makes a sound that might be agreement. His attention hasn’t left the screen; he’s studying every move she makes with a predatory focus.

“She’ll have an escape plan.” Ryder finally speaks. “Someone with those instincts always does.”

---