Page 4 of His Virgin Vessel

Chapter Two

Asa

The Dugas house was out in the country, and although I steered clear of the roads, there was little to no cover. So I was forced to ride with the lights off. In other circumstances, cross country biking by night would be a blast, the sort of thing War Cry might do to blow off steam some evening. But this wasn't about fun. It was all business, and I knew that if I made any noise, if I gave any sign that I was approaching—like crashing a bike into a Joshua tree—then it wouldn't just be my neck on the line.

Once I was within reasonable walking distance of the house I came to a halt, dismounted, and watched for a bit. Not a single light, and no sign of movement—though it was hard to see in the dark. It was now or never. Keeping low to the ground, I hurried forward—at first feeling like a soldier on a mission, and then feeling like a jackass imitating a soldier on a mission. According to the best information I had been able to gather, Sheriff Dugas's office was on the ground floor, left-hand side of the house. That was the place to start. If the book was anywhere, then surely that was where he would keep it. Unless the son of a bitch was sleeping with it under his pillow. That was a possibility. Dugas had been trying to put War Cry behind bars for so long that he was unlikely to take any chances. But, with few other options open to me, the office was the smart place to start.

I stole closer. A big tree stood on the left-hand side of the house, and I hurried up to it, using it to shield me from the sight of anyone who might be looking out one of the dark windows. I peered out around the trunk, giving the house a final once over. I never pretended that I was a saint. There were plenty of laws that I'd broken without a qualm. But I'd never been a housebreaker. Getting a person nicely bombed on homebrew was one thing, but taking a person's stuff—that didn’t sit well with me. In this case, of course, I wouldn’t be taking another person's stuff. Sheriff Dugas had already done that. I was just taking back what was mine, but I didn’t have a lot of experience in breaking and entering. Really, none at all.

The window remained dark and still, and there was no sound. I started out from my hiding place.

"Hello."

I nearly leapt out of my skin. Not just because of how unexpected the voice was, and not just because the voice was an attractively feminine one, but because that voice came, not from the house, but from above my head. I took a step back and looked up into the tree. There, sitting astride one of the branches in a pair of skinny jeans and a denim jacket, her slim legs kicking girlishly, was a very pretty redhead, staring down at me with a smug smile on her face.

"Aren't you a little old for climbing trees?" It was hard to know what to say in this situation, since I had no idea what this situation was.

"Aren't you a little 'not related to me' to be on my property?" the girl retorted archly.

She was a smug little bitch, and probably quite complacent because she was ten feet above me and safely out of reach. Even had I not been able to see her by the light of the moon, I would have guessed that she was a redhead—redheads were always trouble. Especially the pretty ones.

Another area in which I was no saint was women, pretty redheads especially. In other circumstances, I might have taken a bit more interest in the woman, but I had a job to do, and I needed to know if that was still an option with little Miss Pert engaging me in conversation.

"Who are you?"

"Corinne."

That lit up something in my brain. I knew of Risa, but I remembered someone mentioning that there was another daughter, called Corinne, who came and went. Just my luck that tonight she had come.

"I'm Asa." Maybe I shouldn't have told her the truth, but it was usually easier than lying. Besides, if she had wanted to scream then she could have by now. Her old man's truck was right there, so he was obviously at home. All she would have to do was yell for Daddy and things would get suddenly much worse for me. But instead she sat there, kicking her legs and chatting to me. I wasn't sure how this was going to work out, but I was oddly curious to find out.

"That's your first name?"

"Yeah. Asa Covert."

She giggled so hard, I thought she might fall out of the tree. "What a truly ridiculous name for a biker."

"How do you know I'm a biker?"

"I saw you ride up."

I nodded. There seemed little point in denying it now. Of course, there were bikers other than War Cry in town, but she was probably smart enough to put two and two together.

"I like your bike."

I just listened, letting her talk, seeing where she was going with this.

"Looks big." Corinne enunciated the word with relish. "I mean, I've probably seen bigger, but still—yours looks bigger than average."

I still just let her talk. I was getting a pretty good idea of her now. Some girls, good girls especially, found the biker thing very sexy—something for which I was pretty grateful. For a sheriff's daughter who maybe wanted to take a walk on the wild side, then what could be better?

"Still," said Corinne, continuing with this little double-meaning fantasy of hers, "I think I could handle it."

"Do you?"

Corinne grinned. "How about you take me for a ride?"

"Over my dead body."

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