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  “They’d do that?”

  “Yeah, they would.”

  She looked to their audience again, then moved closer and dropped her voice. “Where...where are we going? For how long?”

  “We’re going to Markham, so I can keep an eye on you. And I don’t know for how long.” Now Harlon looked to the group, and put his hands on her arms again. He gave a little squeeze. “But you’re in danger. Just...let me take you somewhere that I can keep an eye on you.” Another squeeze. “Please.”

  She was tired. The fear and adrenalin had faded after they arrived here, but the overall lasting effect was that she was exhausted. Honestly, she wanted to go back to her couch and fall asleep.

  “Okay,” she eventually said, weary and letting it show. “But if I lose my job—”

  “You won’t. Just explain that there was trouble and you need to leave town.” He had her arm again and was pulling her to the door.

  She tried to find Patches and Babe in the group. She gave them both a wave goodbye and said a blanket “Thank you,” before Tiny pulled her from the building.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  She looked down at her boots and jacket. “Yeah, I’m warm. Aren’t you cold?”

  “Yes I am. You see how fast I’m walking to get to my truck?”

  She had to smile. “Aren’t you tired? Are you okay to drive? We could stay at my apartment tonight—”

  “No,” he cut her off. “I’m here on my own. I’m not risking taking you back there. We’ll get out of town, then find somewhere to stay tonight. Drive the rest of the way tomorrow. I’m fucking exhausted.”

  He opened the truck door for her and she climbed up to the seat, then he slammed the door behind her. It was nice and toasty in the truck, and she unzipped her jacket, then noticed she was still only wearing a threadbare T-shirt with sweatpants.

  Not even panties.

  Harlon climbed onto the other end of the bench seat and groaned as he pulled the door closed. The truck engine roared to life as she asked, meekly, “I really do need to stop for clothes.”

  “Not at your apartment. We’ll buy you something tomorrow.”

  She sighed, then kept her eyes on the window as he backed away from the chain link fence on one of the lots that sat outside the Rats’ clubhouse. It was silent as he drove through the abandoned, dark streets of Montrose. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, quite suddenly she remembered the last time she’d seen him and how he’d shaken her off like a bad smell.

  Tears sprung up at the memory but she fought against outright crying. He didn’t hate her, clearly he worried about her. But where the obligation came from to take care of her, she didn’t want to know. His guilt, perhaps? She hoped not. She wanted him there because he wanted to be with her.

  Even after their last goodbye, she didn’t want him to hate her.

  The radio came on as she covered up a yawn. It was old country music, in true Harlon form. She snuggled deeper into her jacket, surrounded by his smell and the music he’d always liked, and let herself slip under.

  -oOo-

  The papercut on the inside of her left forefinger was fucking painful. The air was dry, so her hands were dry from constantly cleaning, wiping down a baby, and washing her hands every time she touched something that Angelina might shove in her mouth. This papercut wouldn’t close and heal, and she couldn’t even remember how she got it.

  She sniffled, straightening in her plastic chair, wincing against the droning light from the fixture overhead. No one was talking to her. Why wasn’t anyone talking to her?

  Everything was numb. Other than that fucking papercut, she wasn’t aware of anything. She didn’t know if the room was warm or cool, she couldn’t tell you if the chair was comfortable or terrible. She was thick in the head and swaddled in too much emotion, too much terror.

  Panic. Nothing but panic thrumming at her heart.

  A pair of very shiny wingtips stopped in front of her, as she studied the floor tiles for what seemed to be the sixth straight hour. But it couldn’t be that long, because coming here had served no purpose. There was no help, no emergency surgery. And yet there was that pesky hope flitting around in her chest.

  “Ms. Beck?”

  She looked up, then stood, anxious, hands twisting around each other. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please, tell me something good.”

  The doctor, one she’d never seen before, took off his glasses and held out a hand to the chair she’d been sitting in.

  “No!” she moaned, the numb popping suddenly around her head as she slumped back into the seat she’d vacated. “No, no, please. Please. Nonononono...”

  The doctor had a hand on her shoulder, explaining that too much time had passed. Angelina must have stopped breathing around three am. It was now five-thirty. There was nothing they could do.

  Her blood was rushing through her ears, drowning out his assurances that this was common, it happened from time to time. There was nothing she could have done, no way she could have known.

  Angelina. Her little angel, still barely a person. Just starting to smile when she heard Mallory’s voice. Her legs would kick and jump when she heard, then saw Harlon. She recognized both of her parents, smiled a gummy grin when they talked to her. Her dark baby hair was gone, it had been growing back like coppery corn silk, so soft it barely seemed to be real.

  She had a favorite teddy bear she couldn’t sleep without.

  And now, she was cold. Gone.

  “Is there someone we can call for you?”

  “My mom,” Mal said immediately. “I want my mom.” Somehow she remembered the number and recited it. The doctor went off to make the call.

  She had no idea what made her ask for her mother over Harlon’s mom. Reflex. The sickly cold that swept over her suddenly. The need to sob uncontrollably. The need to see Harlon, even though he was on a return trip from Louisiana and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.

  Or, this afternoon, come to think of it.

  The doctor didn’t come back. Alone again, Mallory put her weight on her elbows, pressed into her knees, staring down at the yellow and green vinyl tiles, waiting for something other than nausea to take root.

  Time stretched and did that weird warpy shit on her, then suddenly her mother was there. Anabelle Beck made her presence known by rushing down the hallway at a fast trot, crying out, “Mallory? Mallory! Baby, where are you?”

  Mallory stood, rubbing her hands on the sides of her...Jesus, she was still in her pajamas. She’d thrown a hoodie on over her T-shirt, which likely wasn’t enough. Now, she took in the sight of her mother in a quilted, full-length parka with fur around the hood and knew it was a cold night. She hadn’t felt it when she was rushing Angelina out to the car.

  “Mom,” she started, then ran out of numbness. Her voice cracked, face crumpled, and her knees gave out. She didn’t feel it as she hit the ground, curled over her lap, heart ripping open in a crying jag that hurt her throat nearly as much as her chest was aching.

  And then her mom was there, next to her, also on the floor, arm across her back, rubbing circles. “Mallory, oh Mallory baby. I’m so sorry honey. I’m so, so sorry.”

  There was no ability to form a response. The mumbling continued to be one-sided, an attempt at comfort, but nothing could change the world now. It was forever empty.

  Someone got her to her feet, down the hall and to the elevator. When she realized they meant to take her out of the hospital she lost her mind, screaming and trying to get back to the peds ward where her daughter was. Could she do this? Could she leave this building without the baby she brought in?

  On one level she knew it was illogical, since Angelina was gone. No point in staying, making a scene, getting in people’s way. She couldn’t stop sobbing or wailing, but she calmed enough that her mother could get her out of the hospital and to the waiting car.

  Her father was behind the wheel. She hadn’t seen him since the last time her parents had tried to visit and see Angie.
She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d thrown her out of the house.

  Curled up in the backseat, Mallory rested her head in her mother’s lap, letting the woman stroke her hair and continue the one-sided apologies.

  They took her to the home she shared with Harlon. Mallory didn’t want to be there, and when her father opened the back door with a hand out to help her she pulled away, ready to start yowling again.

  “This is your home, baby,” her mom cooed. “You gotta be where your man can find you. Let’s go. I’m right here with you, baby.”

  Matthew Beck’s hold was gentle and caring as he supported her weight under his arm. Her mother led the way to open the front door and turn on the entry light. When she started down the hallway to the bedrooms to the right, Mallory stopped her with a pathetic, “Not back there, please.”

  Her father went left instead, stooping to lower her to the sofa. She kicked off her boots and curled up again, pulling a throw pillow in close to her stomach. When she next became aware of anything, Harlon’s mother was crouched next to the sofa, her eyes red and swollen, and her sad smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “We’re here, sweetie,” Angelina Gray assured her. “Harlon’s on his way. I got hold of him. He’s rushing back.”

  Mallory nodded, then sat up. The huge lump in her chest and throat was getting bigger. It was choking her. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

  “Here’s some water, beautiful.” Mal looked up into Harlon Senior’s eyes, then noticed the glass in front of her.

  “I don’t want any water.”

  “How about something stronger?”

  That surprised her too, but looking closer she saw that he was absolutely serious.

  “Yes please,” she mumbled, and he left with the glass.

  No one was talking. The house was full of people and no one made a peep. Her mother was on one side of her on the sofa, Harlon’s mom on the other, and her father was standing by the picture window, hands fidgeting at his sides.

  He didn’t know how to handle this. He was lost, too.

  Harlon Senior brought back a glass with something clear and amber-colored in it, about three fingers worth. She took a long pull, choked, and then did another. She kept what was left for later.

  Harlon Senior set his weight down in the arm chair that his son preferred, which struck her as somewhat amusing, but she didn’t react to it.

  She fell asleep at some point, on the sofa, still wrapped around that decorative pillow. When she woke again both Harlon Grays were at the front door, talking quietly. She struggled to sit up, part of her coming out of the numbness. She wanted Harlon to hold her, sob with her.

  She struggled to her feet, and that’s when the men at the door noticed she was up. The older Harlon came forward, concerned.

  “Mallory, sit back down. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head and took a step to the man she’d been thinking of as her husband for a few months now. “Harlon—” she stammered, words as shaky as her knees. “Oh God, Harlon!”

  He walked away. With barely a look, not a word said, he turned and hit the handle of the screen door with such force it made her jump, then he was off down the stoop. In the milky dawn light, supplemented by the light over the front door, his broad back was straight and his arms swung as he strode to his pickup truck and circled around to the driver’s side.

  His father had gone after him, shouting something, but Mallory couldn’t hear it. Not really. She sunk to the carpeted living room floor, the lump behind her breastbone catching fire and starting to burn.

  He walked away. He just...walked away.

  Chapter Twenty

  He pulled into the huge lot of a twenty-four hour mega Walmart sometime after the sun started coming up. He leaned over to wake Mal. She’d dozed off on the drive, not surprisingly. As he drew near he noticed the shine of tears on her cheeks. Jesus, she’d been crying.

  “Mal?” He was alarmed and took her shoulder gently. “Mal, honey. Wake up. Are you okay?”

  There was a sob and a gasp before she sat up straight, eyes wild as she searched for something familiar to orient herself. That something was him. He watched awareness come into her eyes, and she wiped her face with both hands. “Oh God. What the hell? I was crying in my sleep.”

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  She shook her head, dropping her gaze. “I can’t remember.”

  He let her have that, and leaned back in his seat. “You want to get some clothes here? We haven’t been followed. And at least in Walmart you’ll fit in wearing pajama pants.”

  That got him a begrudging smile, and she nodded. “I never thought I’d say this but I really want to put on some underwear.”

  He did a body scan on her, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re commando under that?”

  Now there was a slight color to her cheeks. “I was relaxing before bed. I don’t wear full gear to do that.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t stop then.”

  She pushed her door open. “Don’t be an ass.”

  He grinned and climbed out onto the concrete. The air had a chill to it, but they were closer to home now so the snow was about an hour’s drive behind them. Still, it was definitely December. He zipped his jacket up higher and fell into stride beside her.

  “I think we’re past the danger zone now,” he shared when they were almost at the doors. “I was thinking of getting a room to catch up on sleep. I’m fading out.”

  “I slept. I can drive.”

  He shook his head. “Nah.”

  Now she was smirking at him. “Still won’t let me drive?”

  It wasn’t something he could adequately explain, but he never let her drive. Even in her own car. If he was with her, he was the one behind the wheel. She used to joke that it was the start of his need to be in control of at least one thing. Maybe she was right.

  “We could both do with a bit of rest. First clothes, then sleep, then food.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He shadowed her through the racks as she selected a couple T-shirts, some of those stretchy gym pants, socks, jeans, and underwear. He also wouldn’t let her pay for any of it. She didn’t put up too much of a squabble, and he wondered if she was strapped for cash.

  The motel was one he’d stayed at before while working long hauls. The carpet, paint, artwork and furniture hadn’t changed in twenty years but it was exceptionally clean and well kept. Plus the bedding went through upgrades on a regular basis, and the blackout blinds weren’t made for messing around. They knocked out the light like nothing.

  The room had two double beds. She disappeared into the bathroom first, so Tiny locked the door, drew the curtains and sat down to toe off his boots. His back was weary, and on the drive he’d started to feel like he might drift off. Hence his need to take a breather.

  There was a time this trip would have been no sweat at all, but he could feel his stamina flagging. He needed regular sleep, and that had never been a usual thing for him. He pulled off his T-shirt, stood and let his jeans drop, then pulled back the covers on the bed closest to the window. As he was settling into the sheets the bathroom door opened on the heels of the sound of a flushing toilet.

  Mal appeared in one of the T-shirts and a pair of simple cotton panties. He could tell she was braless. She was pulling her hair into a ponytail low at the back of her head. Her breasts pulled at the cotton covering them and his cock filled out instantly.

  Fuck, he was still so tired.

  Mal turned off the bathroom light and climbed into the other bed while he flicked the light off.

  “Good night,” she said softly, followed with a giggle.

  He smiled up at the ceiling. “Good night, honey.”

  The sound of traffic on the highway was a soft whooshing, and his own heartbeat seemed even louder than normal. Now that he was in bed, he couldn’t sleep, all because of Mal’s magnificent tits. His cock still hadn’t eased, and he tried to close his eyes and sleep but the air felt too thi
ck, too awkward.

  “Thank you for coming to get me. I don’t know it’s necessary to take me all the way to California—”

  “It is,” he cut her off gruffly. “I’d...I’d rather have you close enough to keep an eye on.”

  “Okay.” She sounded so young and unsure he was whisked back twenty-some odd years to when they first hooked up. “Thank you.”

  “Your friend, with all the outstanding debts. He do a lot of shit like this?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a video of you giving your bandmate CPR. What was he on?”

  She exhaled and the bed shifted, so he knew she was turning to her side. “He tried this orange Oxy. His girlfriend gave him too much.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’d she do that?”

  “Well...I was fucking him.”

  Well. That was interesting. “You were?”

  “She always suspected. Then he was acting weird and pretty much put to rest all doubt.”

  “Where’d they get the Oxy?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know for sure.”

  That was okay. He knew where Sunshine came from in Cleary, but she didn’t need to know the bikers that had given her sanctuary were behind that. “Any other weird drugs in town?”

  “There’s the meth. Oh, and the pot is weird.”

  “The pot this friend of yours bought?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed. “It’s fucked up stuff. I tried some once with Hal—that’s my lead singer.”

  “You tried that shit?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know what was in it. It was a pure blackout night.”

  His hands tightened. “And this guy fucking gave it to you?”

  “I don’t think he knew what it would do.”

  Bullshit. “If I ever see him I’m kicking his fucking ass.”

  “Harlon—”

  “I mean it. He took advantage of you.”

  She fell quiet again. He hoped she was considering what he said.

  “Harlon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your club...do they sell stuff like that orange Oxy?”