Page 37 of Marked

“Nuh-uh, no way. I’m not getting on that death trap.” I gazed at the sleek, spaceship-looking motorcycle behind him.

“Put the helmet on,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t care if you know what you’re doing. That thing looks like a damn jet engine with a seat.”

Nate chuckled. The smile softened his features, making him even more handsome.

“That’s a pretty good description, actually. You mind if I use that?”

“It’s trademarked,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Come on,” he said, his voice a bit less harsh. “Ollie had, uh, an emergency and had to run. He asked me to give you a ride. I promise I won’t go too fast.”

My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off. I’d get an Uber or something. Then my thoughts went back to my story. I’d been excited to try and get some info out of Ollie, but now that was out of the question. Perhaps Nate wasn’t as well-trained in obfuscation as his detective buddy. If he reallywashelping with this case, then maybe I could drag something out of him on the trip back.

Looking at the bike again, I took a steadying breath and swallowed hard. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped forward and yanked the helmet out of Nate’s hand.

“Fine.”

He smirked at me. “Glad you came to your senses.” He nodded at the helmet. “Might be a little big for you, but all that pretty hair should make up for it.”

Unconsciously, I swept my hair behind my ear and suppressed a grin. Interesting that Nate would mention the exact thing that had led to me breaking up with Rick—my hair. Of course, it wasn’t just about my hair, but that had been the breaking point. It was nice to hear Nate compliment it.

“What kind of disease are you guys worried about?” I asked, not moving to put the helmet on. It was the scariest question I had, but I had to know.

“Lots of stuff,” Nate said.

“Like what? Humor me.”

“Can’t answer that. Ollie would be pissed.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Seriously?”

Nate grinned. “You don’t know how pissy Ollie can get. Sorry.”

“This is mylifewe’re talking about.”

Nate stopped and turned to look at me. His eyes were stern but not uncaring. “All I can tell you is that it’s not fatal, and it’s very unlikely you have it. This is top-secret, classified, whatever you want to call it, but that’s what this is. That’s where we have to leave it, unfortunately.”

A top-secret illness? I doubted Toronto PD knew about something the rest of the world didn’t. If I had to guess, this was some way of identifying the killer they didn’t want getting out. Fine. If they didn’t want to tell me what was going on with me, I’d get some other information.

“Well, if you aren’t going to tell me that, can you tell me if you have any suspects in the case? Some leads on who you think might be the serial killer?”

“Never said the word serial killer,” Nate said, holding a finger up. “Not once did that word come out of our mouths. Come on, hop on.” He threw a leg over the bike.

A bit of desperation seeped into me. “Can’t you tell meanything? Even if it’s about the disease? This is my fucking life, Nate. Am I going to die or something?”

He sighed, tugged some riding gloves out of his jacket pocket, and pulled them on. Finally, he looked at me and said, “All I can say is that if you do have whatever this guy might have, then you can keep living your life until you get the results.” He looked into my eyes and added, “You’re not gonna die.” He smirked. “Well, youaregonna die, but hopefully it’ll be when you’re a hundred years old while doing a keg stand at your birthday party.”

That humor made me realize he hadn’t been as flirty since I came out of the hospital. Flirty was histhing. I assumed he used his looks and broody nature to get women—and maybe even some men—off kilter to get what he wanted as a private detective. Now, suddenly, he was acting more professional and less like a horny asshole.

That should have been a relief, but some strange part of me—a deeply buried part, perhaps—was a little disappointed. My eyes widened in horror at the thought. What if he wasn’t being flirty anymore because whatever I’d caught could be passed on in more intimate ways?

“What about sex?” I blurted, then slapped my hand to my mouth, cursing myself.

Nate’s head snapped around. Confusion flickered over his features. “Uh, excuse me?”

A horrific thought occurred to me. What if I’d given Rick some disease before I broke up with him? Ugh, how much more awkward could a break-up be?I don’t want to be with you anymore. And oh, by the way, I gave you some weird STD on my way out the door. I did some quick mental math. No, we hadn’t slept together after my attack.

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