Bad Beat (Regulator Biker Series Book 1)
Author: Mac, Carolina
Date: 2017-04-27

BAD BEAT

Regulator Series: Book 1

Carolina Mac

Copyright © 2017 by Carolina Mac

BAD BEAT- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-0-9919838-1-0

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To Fast Eddie Ross, who bought me my first Harley shirt.

When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.

―Annie Oakley

CHAPTER ONE

MY MOST FERVENT prayer was to die in my sleep after the loss of my soul mate, George Ross. But no matter how many hours I prayed and wished and dug myself deeper into the depths of denial, those tactics did not alleviate my suffering in any way. The sheer weight of my grief had immobilized me… or I had let it. The unalterable fact of the matter was, he was dead and I was alive. Not what you would call living by any stretch—just breathing in and breathing out.

Two months of my life had evaporated since Jackson brought me home to the city after George drowned at the cabin, and mercifully, I couldn’t recall with any clarity, one single day of that period.

Today, I woke with a slightly clearer head and knew the time had come for me to suck it up and get out of bed. I inhaled a deep breath, mustered the first semblance of courage I’d had in many weeks and sat up. A shaft of sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains and foisted a hint of the existence of an outside world into my darkened sanctuary. An enticing coffee aroma wafted up the stairwell and mingled, not in a good way, with the reek emanating from my person.

What a mess I had become—the antithesis of personal hygiene—cover girl for ‘Back Alley Ho’ magazine. My robe lay crumpled on the foot of the bed and as I reached for it and my bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor, I realized how wobbly my legs were. I counted off the steps to the ensuite as I had done every morning for the past two months. Sixteen steps to the bathroom door. Sixteen steps back to the bed. I shrugged into the robe not bothering to fasten it, stumbled to the doorway, and grasping the banister in my right hand, eased my way down the stairs. The front foyer startled me with its brightness and I was amazed how much my potted plants had grown. I took a fortifying breath and turned the corner into the kitchen.

My house was an old Victorian, in good repair, but with creaking stairs, twelve-foot ceilings needing a fresh coat of paint, and the odd crack in the plaster where the walls had settled. It had belonged to my husband’s family and had passed to me in Matthew’s will. Unfortunately, he had died of a heart attack in May right in the middle of dinner at our dining room table.

“Holy fuck, Portia, you’re up,” Jackson’s mouth dropped open and he jumped to his feet.

“I made it.” I slumped down onto a kitchen chair and exhaled.

“Let me get you a coffee.” He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter. “I can’t believe you’re down here. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” he flashed me his beautiful smile. “I’ll get the cream.”

“I can imagine what a disaster I am. I haven’t bothered to look in a mirror since you brought me home. I’ll have to face that fright later, and don’t get too close to me—I reek.” I chuckled a little to myself.

Jackson froze and focused his dark brown eyes on me. “That’s the first time you laughed in two months. I was so damn worried. I know nothin’ from nothin’ about women. Especially smart, beautiful women like you, Portia. I’ve had a couple old ladies since I been in the club, but they were stupid, boring biker bitches.” His lip curled up. “All they wanted to do was… oh, fuck…never mind.”

“I think that was a compliment.” I smiled and picked up my coffee. “Thanks, Jackson.”

“Do you want some breakfast? I’m getting pretty mean with scrambled eggs.”

My stomach lurched at the mention of eggs. “Some toast and jam maybe.” My eyes welled up with tears as I watched him bustle around my kitchen. “Do you have any idea how much I appreciate you giving up your normal life to take care of me?”

“No more crying.” He draped an arm around my shoulder and was close enough for me to inhale his shampoo and his after shave. Too close. The scent of him made my head spin a little. “Two months of that shit is enough for you.”

“You’re right, enough is enough.” I slumped back into my chair. Enough talking.

The toast popped up and he strode across the kitchen, a sight to behold in his cutoff jeans and big, black scuffed up Harley boots. The heavy silver chains clanked around his ankles when he walked. He buttered the toast and took a jar of raspberry jam out of the fridge. “Here you go. I don’t know how you survived on the crap I cooked you all these weeks. It’s a fuckin’ miracle you’re still alive,” he chuckled.

I hadn’t seen my kitchen in two months, and seeing it again made me realize how much I had missed it. Cooking was one of my passions. The cupboards were outdated, painted wood, with glass doors and old fashioned handles, but the appliances had been upgraded and the room was serviceable and homey. Ensconced in the sunny window corner were a small antique drop-leaf table and two black Windsor chairs.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the market and get a load of groceries. Today, I think I’ll just take a hot bath, get dressed and call it progress.”

“I’ll drive you to the market. You can’t go out alone.” Jackson got up, refilled our mugs at the coffee maker and seemed twitchy at the mention of me leaving the house. He changed the subject. “Angel will be happy you’re up. She’s been moping and quiet and she won’t play with her ball.”

“Aw, no.” I stared at my hands, “I’m depressing you and the dog.”

“I’m on cloud nine, because you got out of bed, and so we can remember, I’m circling this day in red on the calendar.” He grabbed a pen out of the junk drawer and drew a red circle.

“After I get cleaned up, we’re going to have a serious talk about the future.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “After my bath.”

Jackson nodded, looking a little bewildered. His phone rang and I made my exit. On my way up the stairway, I overheard him unleash a vicious stream of cursing into his cell. He’d reverted into his gang leader persona and a jolt of pin pricks ran up my backbone. Something was wrong at the club.

I spent an hour in the porcelain claw-footed tub, soaking in French vanilla bubbles, and trying to summon the courage to start my life over without George. They say you only get one true love in a lifetime and I certainly had mine, in spades. Letting the waterworks begin all over again was not an option. There was no turning back. The decision had been made—today was the day I faced the future and pulled myself together.

As I toweled my hair dry, I kept my gaze lowered and avoided my reflection in the mirror as long as possible. Not a pretty sight. The gash on my face had healed but I was left with a jagged scar to remind me of the bomb planted under my Jeep and the time I had spent recovering in the hospital.

My streaked hair had grown long and shaggy over the past months and looked like a skunk on steroids. My summer tan had faded and left my skin pale and pasty looking. The weeks of crying had left my eyes red-rimmed and smudged, surrounded by dark circles from lack of sleep. And I didn’t need to step onto the scale to confirm that my weight was down.

Oh well. Work with what you’ve got, girl.

I dressed in a pair of black jeans and pulled a faded Springsteen t-shirt over my head, brushed my mop of hair and tried to hide the flaws on my face with a few make-up tricks. A little lip gloss and a spray of perfume and that was it for the first day. After a few deep breaths, I forced myself out of the bedroom that had become my whole world over the past two months. Tears burned behind my eyes and I ignored them as I put one foot in front of the other and went downstairs.

Jackson brightened when I entered the room. “Wow. Is that what they call a make-over?” He walked towards me and held out his arms for a hug.

His arms were strong and warm as they closed around me and I realized how starved I was for human contact. “I needed a hug,” I whispered, hanging on tight to his muscular back.

“Me too,” he said, grinning as he stepped away.

“Want to sit outside?” I asked. “You could relax and smoke out there.”

I wanted to run back upstairs and pull the covers over my head.

I slid the patio door open and was amazed that my garden had changed seasons in my absence. Gone were the colorful pink and purple blooms of the pansies and petunias. Time had moved on without me. Now, masses of brown-eyed Susans filled the beds and brightened the yard with their happy yellow heads nodding in the breeze.

I wish I felt as happy as they look.

Angel caught sight of me from the back of the yard and put it into high gear. She ran and jumped up on me going full tilt, her front paws slamming into my shoulders. I reeled backward right into Jackson who filled the doorway.  He caught me and Angel and saved all three of us from falling. “Wow, Angel, that was quite a greeting,” I said.

“Save that power for the bad guys,” Jackson said. He sat down opposite me and lit up a smoke.

He was so handsome. A fact I hadn’t overlooked in the past, but George had fulfilled my needs and I had never thought of Jackson as more than a friend, and one of the boys in the Regulators Club. He was tall and well-built with longish dark hair that curled around his neck. His eyes were dark and expressive, and to me, always held a certain amount of sadness. He was tanned from riding his bike in the wind and had an outdoorsy feel about him. The python tattoo slithering down his arm was inked in vibrant colors and glowed against his dark skin.  His butt was well rounded and accentuated by the tight jeans he always wore.

“What?” he looked up and caught me staring.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and felt warmth rising in my neck. “You look great today. I guess I haven’t… noticed you for the past couple of months.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” He flashed me a smile and kept his gaze locked on mine, “You can stare at me all you want.”

The sudden shift in the air between us made me blush outright. I cleared my throat. “I need a notepad and a pen.  Be right back.” I rummage in the junk drawer in the kitchen and found what I needed. When I returned, the moment had passed and we were back to business.

“We need to make all kinds of lists. Stuff that needs to get done around here, groceries we need to buy, bills that need to be paid. And after that, we need to talk about what you want to do.”

“Well, I tried to keep everything humming around the house…kind of day by day. I didn’t know when you would…umm…be able to get up.”

This guy has taken care of me, Angel and the house and waited for two months for me to get out of bed. Wonder how he ran the club at the same time?

“The cleaning girls come every Friday, so they took care of that end of it. The gardening girls are still doing the yard. I only went to Mac’s when we ran out of stuff, so we don’t have many groceries. The bills that came while you were…umm…upstairs…I paid them. I don’t think things are in as bad a shape as you think.”

“How did you pay the bills and the cleaners and all?” I scowled, thinking I wasn’t going to like the answer.

“The boss gave me a bank card for an account he set up for you when he asked me to be your bodyguard. I think he had a bad feeling about his heart after that first scare. He was worried. The boss loved you, big time, Portia.”

What? That sounded rehearsed. A bank account already set up?

My eyes filled up hearing Jackson talk about George. “Thanks, Jackson. That means a lot to me.  I’m going to make a fresh pot of coffee before we carry on.”

I took my time rinsing out the carafe and measuring the coffee, using my time in the kitchen to take a few deep breaths and hide my tears.

Was George that concerned about his health that he set up a bank account for me?

“Are you okay, Portia? Maybe we talked enough for the first day.”

“I’m okay.” I tried to smile. “This is an ongoing battle that won’t be won in a day.”

Jackson nodded.

“What I’m concerned about is you. You’re a young guy that must have better things to do than hanging around watching out for some weepy female. What happened to your job at the Harley store?”

“Well, when you were so bad off n’all, I couldn’t leave you here alone. It wouldn’t have been right. And I promised the boss I’d take care of you.” He stared at the table. “I had to quit.”

My heart sank, “I’m so sorry, Jackson. You must have been bored out of your mind sitting here for two months waiting for me to suck it up.”

He shook his head, dark wavy bangs falling into his eyes. “No, not really.”

What did you do all day?”

“When I wasn’t ‘taking care of business’ I turned on that computer in the office and played poker online. I hope you don’t mind that I touched your laptop.”

TCB. Running the club. Better if I don’t know the details.

“Of course, not. That laptop isn’t mine anyway. It belonged to Matthew. I left it sitting there after he died because I don’t know the first thing about computers. Is poker fun online?”

“Oh, yeah. You can play for fun or real money, or you can play in tournaments. It’s not like playing poker with real people, but it’s something to do. Other than that, most nights Rusty would come over and we’d go over what needed to be done at the club.”

“How did you run the club from here?”

“I managed.”

Another lie.

I knew by the tone of his answer that he should have been at the clubhouse in person. Those Regulators weren’t the easiest boys to handle—George had never let them get away with much, but I couldn’t see Jackson being as tough or as demanding as George. Maybe he was, but discipline couldn’t be handled over the phone. And it wasn’t a subject that I could discuss with Jackson. Club business was just that. Private.

I switched back to poker as I sipped my coffee. “Maybe you could show me, sometime. I like to play cards, but I haven’t done it since I was single, and that seems like a lifetime ago.”

“I’ll show you with a deck of cards first and then when you go online, you’ll know a bit about what to do.”

“I would love that. Just like when George taught me how to shoot. I’d never done it before, but I loved it from the first day.”

“And we both know how fuckin’ good you were at that, don’t we, Annie?” Jackson beamed.

Hearing my nick-name I said, “I loved it when George called me that.”

“Would it bother you if I called you that sometimes? It reminds me of when we were all together, sorta like a family.”

“A family? I guess we really were. I didn’t know you were sentimental, Jackson.”

George and his boys are the only family I’ve ever had.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Me neither. Must be getting that way in my old age.”

“Your old age is what now, about thirty-five?”

“About that,” he said with a wink, “thirty-six, actually.”

“Okay, back to the subject on the table. Now that you’re mature, and all that good stuff, you must have an idea of what would be the number one thing you want to do in life. What if you could do anything you wanted?  Don’t think about it. Spew it right now. Go.”

“Umm…anything?” He thought for a moment. “Then I guess, I’d be a pro poker player in Vegas.”

“Good enough. Now we have something to work with.”

“Are you bullshittin’ me, Portia? Why in hell would you want to help me do that?”

“Basic logic, sweet boy. I have to rebuild my life from the ground up and I don’t have a dream or a purpose anymore. All that died with George. Now that there’s just the two of us—we have to use your dream, simple as that. Your dream will be mine.”

CHAPTER TWO

GEORGE CLUTCHED HIS chest as he stood up in the boat. We were alone on the lake at night. He teetered near the side and I screamed as he fell backwards and disappeared into the black murky water. I stretched my arm over the side of the boat to save him. His hand reached up for me amid the dark green weeds floating near the surface. I leaned over the side of the boat stretching out my arm as far as it would reach as he came to the surface one last time. His hand reached for mine, his black eyes begging me to help him. I tried to hold on as I felt him slipping out of my grasp.  He called my name as he disappeared below the surface. I screamed as bubbles broke the top of the water.

My screaming woke Jackson and he came running from the guest room.

“Portia, are you okay?”

I panted for a moment to get my breath and tried to slow my heart down. “Just a dream,” I whispered.

He lay down on the top of the duvet and held me in his arms until I went back to sleep. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

“Mmm, coffee,” I said, padding barefoot into the kitchen in my nightshirt.

“Your nose is working fine,” he said with a grin. “Want some breakfast?”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Coffee’s all I need, right now. I’ve been giving more thought to the little talk we had yesterday, and I’m anxious to get started. You know I wasn’t kidding, right?”

“I believed you were serious at the time, but women change their minds sometimes. At least, that’s the rumor.”

“Not this one. I’ve got a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

“I’ve heard that mentioned in certain circles.”

“You have a beautiful smile, Jackson, I’m surprised you haven’t been snagged by some hot looking babe by now.”

“I’m saving myself for the right woman.”

“Have you met her?”

“Hell, yeah.” He winked at me and my heart flip-flopped.

I was about to ask who the mystery woman was when the doorbell rang. “Oh, my god. That’s Stacey and the cleaning girls, and I’m not even dressed. Angel ran past me into the foyer to greet them and I caught up in time to let them in.

“Portia, so nice to see you up and around,” Stacey said, giving me a little hug. “Anything special you want done?”

“No, the usual is fine. The house always smells so fresh when you’re finished. I’m going to run up and get dressed so you can finally do the bedroom.” I dashed upstairs, threw on jeans and a tank top, brushed my teeth and my hair and smeared on a little lip gloss.

When I returned to the kitchen, Jackson had retreated to the patio with Angel and his ever-present cell phone. I poured a fresh coffee and joined them. The morning was already warm and the weekend promised to be a hot one. No rain in sight. “Think I’ll tackle the market after coffee,” I said. “Then we can spend the afternoon on poker, if you want to.”

“I do want to,” said Jackson still staring at his cell.

“Sounds like a but coming.”

“But first, I have a couple of errands to do and I’d like to get them done while the cleaners are here in the house with you. Would you mind if I drove you to the market later?”

“Sounds important. Problems at the club?” Jackson’s face was expressionless and he didn’t bother to answer. No point in pushing it, I knew they couldn’t discuss club business outside of the membership and never with a woman. Just another of their stupid rules. Was there an actual rule book or did they make them up as they went along? Were all the bike clubs the same? Was there something like the Harley Magna Carta?

Jackson texted rapidly and I was betting he wasn’t typing happy words.

“I can do the shopping myself. I’m not an invalid, although I guess I appeared to be the past two months.”

“Don’t…” Jackson barked the word, then caught himself and lowered his voice to the tone he reserved for me. “Don’t go until I get back.”

His tone caught me off guard and I shivered. “Why not?”

“Umm…you haven’t driven in two months and I want to be with you just in case.”

I raised my eyebrows. “In case I drive into the side of the grocery store?” I giggled.

“This isn’t funny.” Jackson wasn’t smiling. “I have to keep you safe and I take my job seriously. I’ll go with you. There’s no other choice.”

I nodded seeing the distress I was causing him. “Okay.”

Keep me safe from what or whom? Should I ask?

He exited through the garage and I heard the rumble when his bike started up. While he was gone attending to god-knows-what dilemma, I opened all the mail and when I finished the top of the desk was visible. My phone rang and I jumped. “Jackson?”

“I’m on my way. Has Stacey left?”

“She’s loading her van now.”

“Lock the door behind her. I’ll be there in five.”

“Okay.”

He’s scaring me.

When Jackson returned Angel and I were playing ball in the yard. He joined me on the patio and lit up a smoke. No mention of what he’d been up to all morning. “I’ve never been to Vegas and I’ve always wanted to go. Now that we’re talking about it, I’m getting pumped and nervous at the same time.” Jackson paced back and forth on the patio with a butt in his hand. “How much of a bankroll do you think I would need in Vegas?”

He’s saying the words, but his heart isn’t in it. What’s going on?

“Honestly, I have no clue, but that’s a question we don’t even need to worry about. Money isn’t one of our concerns.”

“It’s not?” Jackson raised an eyebrow as he ground his butt under his boot. “Always been one of mine. I don’t even have a fuckin’ job.”

“You do have a job, and you’re excellent at what you do. You just weren’t getting paid for it, but now we’re going to fix that.”

“The boss wouldn’t want that. Won’t happen.”

“We’ll work it out. Don’t stress yourself, Jackson.”

“How long are you planning on staying in Vegas?”

“Depends on how much we like it, I guess.”

“I can’t be gone for more than a couple of weeks, but it might be good for you to have a change of scenery for a while.”

Does he want to leave me in Vegas? Interesting.

“The club can’t survive without you for more than a couple of weeks?”

Jackson paused and gave me a cold stare. “Fraid not.”

I changed the subject. “Want to drive me to the market?”

“Sure do.” He grinned. When Jackson smiled, he transformed into a different person. The tough gang-leader persona faded into the background and the genuine man appeared. At least that’s what I wanted to believe—the sweet Jackson was the real Jackson—not the other way around.

The Hummer had been sitting on the driveway in the sun. “It’s like an oven in here,” he said as he turned the air on full blast. By the time we reached the market I was able to breathe. It was a different story inside the store and I secretly wished for a sweater.

As we walked up and down the aisles filling the cart, I watched Jackson. “What do you like to eat? What’s your favorite food?” The squeaky wheel on the cart grated on my last nerve.

“I loved it when you made steak and potatoes on the barbecue for all of us. That’s the best food I’ve ever had in my life.”

“In your life?”

“Yeah, my Mom died when I was nine and my dad raised me. We mostly ate stuff out of cans, or made sandwiches, he never cooked any food from scratch except maybe eggs. How about you? What’s your favorite?”

“Hmm, I think maybe cheeseburgers with fried onions,” I said. “And that sparks a thought in my feeble brain.  Let’s go to Buck’s for a beer tonight. You must be going stir crazy.”

“A little. I wouldn’t mind going to Buck’s with you.”

Jackson loaded the groceries into the back of the Hummer and jumped into the driver’s seat. He looked over at me and heaved a big sigh, “You don’t know how relieved I am that you were able to get out of bed.”

“You were my lifeline.” I rubbed my hand down his arm. “Let’s stop at the beer store. I feel like celebrating.”

“I second that,” he said with a grin. He seemed less tense than he had earlier in the day.

After we unloaded the groceries and the beer, I made some smoked meat sandwiches for lunch and took them out to the patio table with glasses of cold beer. “I found a deck of cards in the kitchen drawer. You can give me a lesson out here.”

Jackson opened the pack of cards. “See this little card in the front of the pack, it tells you the order of the poker hands, and what beats what. See, a straight beats two pair, and on up the ladder. You might need to look at this while we play to get the hang of it.”

We munched on our sandwiches while Jackson dealt out hand after hand and taught me the basics of Texas Hold-em.

“The dealer gives you two cards face down, then there is a betting round. The best cards to call the blind with are high cards—ten and up or a pair. Next, the dealer lays down three cards in the middle of the table. This is called the Flop. Another betting round follows. The fourth card is called the Turn card and the final card is the River. There are betting rounds after both the Turn and the River. The two players next to the dealer button have to put in blinds. This is like an ante in rotation around the table.

“This is fun,” I said. “I might get addicted to this.”

“That’s the trouble. Sometimes it’s all you want to do and all you think about.”

“Well then, that won’t be a problem for ‘Team Jackson’ will it, because that’s all we’re going to do?”

“This is like a fuckin’ fairy tale. You woke up, and now we’re going to live happily ever after, and all that shit.” He grinned at me.

“Except I look a lot rougher than Sleeping Beauty,” I giggled, “and you’re a helluva lot better looking than Prince Charming. Let me clean up these dishes and you can show me how to play on the computer.”

By the time, I joined Jackson in the study, he had Poker Stars online and had registered me as a player. He coached me for the balance of the afternoon and I learned a lot. I was thankful I was only using play chips because the mistakes I made would have cost a lot of money in the real world. Knowing how much to bet and when was a trick in itself.

“You’re sharp, Portia. You learned a ton in one day.”

“You’re a good teacher, and very patient. You’ve played for a long time, haven’t you?”

“I made a few bucks at the casino outside of town.”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“About an hour away.”

Our lesson over for the day, I stood up and messed up Jackson’s mop of hair. “We should practice at a real casino before we hit the big time.” I headed for the stairs to change my clothes.

“Good idea.” He followed me into the foyer. “I can’t believe that we’re really going to do this. I’ve never been anywhere.”

I stood on the bottom step and turned to face him. “Yep, we’re going to do it. Tomorrow we’re going to lay down a timeline.”

He frowned. “I don’t know what that is.”

“We’ll talk about it at Buck’s. It will only take me five minutes to change.”

He grinned. “You look good the way you are.”

“I’m thinking I want to look better. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of the Regulators,” I said on my way up the stairs.

“Like that could happen,” he mumbled.

THE END OF August weather was hot and humid like it always was in Toronto heading into the Labor Day weekend. I changed into white jeans, a flimsy white cotton peasant blouse with a black lace cami underneath and tugged on black high-heeled boots. With a little coaxing my mop of black and blonde hair became a little more submissive. Cover up over my scar, black eyeliner and thick mascara completed my bar look. A generous spray of D & G and it was time to step out in public.

Jackson was playing poker on the computer when I entered the study. He looked up from the screen and raised his eyebrows. “You look amazing, and you smell gorgeous.”

“Thanks, it takes more effort than it used to.”

“Holy hell, I’d better hang on tight to you tonight.”

When we walked into Buck’s together, all the regulars twisted their necks to stare at us as we passed their tables. Buck’s hadn’t changed much in my absence, still, just a rundown roadhouse-type establishment, with scarred wooden tables, smoke-filled air, loud country music and biker cliental. Buck’s was the main hangout of the Regulators, a few stragglers from other clubs and a lot of wannabees. Jackson walked with his hand on my back to keep me steady as we made our way to the high-backed booths in the rear section of the bar.

After settling me into a booth near the pool tables, he walked up to the bar to fetch the drinks. Buck gave me a big grin and a friendly wave from behind the taps as he filled pitchers with draft beer and chatted up all the regulars.

“I ordered cheeseburgers with fried onions,” Jackson said, setting the pitcher and the glasses on the table. “Buck said he’s glad to see you out.”

“About time.” I sighed. “Is that what everyone is thinking?”

“Doesn’t matter what they think. You’re the only one that counts.”

“Thanks, Jackson. And did I tell you how handsome you look tonight?” He was wearing his customary skin tight jeans, a black Harley shirt topped with a black leather vest, and the ever-present motorcycle boots.

“No, but you can tell me over and over. I’ll lap it up.”

Buck brought our burgers over when they were ready and set the plates down in front of us. “Good to see you, Portia,” he smiled at me.

“Thanks, Buck, my first night out of the house,” I smiled back, thinking that Buck’s hair had gone a lot grayer in the past two months.

After we inhaled our cheeseburgers, Jackson went back to the bar for another pitcher of Coors. “Buck says he’s got a country band starting at nine.”

“On a Friday? Let’s stay. We’ve got fuck all to do.” We both laughed. Some of the tension I saw in Jackson earlier had eased.

The band showed up at ten after nine and the patrons booed them for being late. The drummer gave the crowd the finger while they set up, and twenty minutes later they were ready to rock and roll. When they started to play it was worth the wait. They were pros. They played some familiar beer drinking songs and then started in on some hurting, cheating, music that hit me right in the heart. After three pitchers of beer, I was ready. “Can you dance, Jackson?”

He nodded, as he stood up and offered me his hand. The dance floor was small and packed with folks that had consumed multiple pitchers of beer. Jackson held me close and I inhaled the scent of him—leather, musk, and shampoo. I rested my head on his chest and he kissed my hair. The song ended and the band announced they were taking a short break. Jackson took me by the hand and led me back to our booth.

“I haven’t danced in a long time,” I said, “You’re good.”

“Haven’t danced since high school, but the beer helped, and you’re a good partner.”

“I’m having fun and I’m a little drunk. Do you want to stay for another set?”

“After the next one, we’ll call it a night. Don’t want you going crazy on your first night out.” He pointed towards the door. “Hey, there’s Rusty.”

Jackson waved to Rusty and he ambled over to our table. “Hey, Portia, long time. How’s it going?” He put his arm around my shoulder.

“Not bad. Every day it gets better. I’d be nowhere without Jackson. How are you boys making out?”

“We struggled for a while without the boss, but things are pretty routine now. Of course, we miss him barking out the orders. He was the best,” Rusty said, and Jackson nodded in agreement. “See you guys later, I’m gonna beat Billy’s ass off at pool.”

Jackson looked concerned. “Does it bother you when the guys talk about the boss? He ran the club for a long time and he meant a lot to us. Especially me.”

“It bothers me, but I have to deal with it. George is gone and I have to keep on trucking even if I don’t want to.” Just then, there was a loud guitar twang in the background and the music started back up. “Hey, one more dance?”

“Who wouldn’t want to dance with the best-looking girl here?” He grinned and took my hand as the band broke into a rowdy rendition of ‘I Love This Bar’. “I love Toby Keith,” Jackson said as we walked onto the floor.

“I’m cutting in.” A rough looking guy that Jackson didn’t seem to recognize grabbed me by the arm and tugged me to the side.

“Piss off, asshole.” Jackson pushed the other biker back a step and motioned for me to get behind him. Hidden behind the broad shoulders of my protector, I heard the click as the other dude snapped his knife out of his boot. Jackson lunged forward, grabbed the guy’s wrist and twisted his arm. The two of them grappled and struggled until the crack of bone had the biker yelping in pain.

He clutched at his arm close to his vest. “I’ll get you for this, fucker.”

Buck and a couple of recruits accosted him and showed him, not too gently, to the door.

As the band resumed playing, Jackson took me by the hand and led me back to our table. “Time to go?”

“And thanks,” I said, squeezing his hand.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN I WOKE the next morning, I found Jackson laboring in the workout room lifting weights. The previous night had left my head fuzzy. Too much beer and second-hand smoke after a long abstinence. “I need coffee and Advil,” I mumbled as I leaned on the door frame admiring his bare torso. His tanned skin glistened with sweat and his tattooed biceps bulged from the weight he was hefting.

“Coffee’s made. I’ll be finished in a few minutes,” he said breathlessly.

“Take your time. I’m hung,” I grumbled. I plodded downstairs to the kitchen, filled a mug with black coffee and took it out to the patio. Angel ran to greet me and I gave her a big hug. I had neglected her badly the past two months and I needed to make it up to her. She returned from the back fence with her red ball in her mouth as Jackson came outside smelling like lemons. His thick black hair, damp from his shower curled around his neck and I yearned to touch him.

“So you’re hung over?” He found amusement in that, laughed and lit up a smoke.

“Out of practice. No beer for two months and look at me—I’m a mess. But if you want to do something later in the day, I’ll suck it up.”

“I was thinking because it was a holiday weekend there would be lots of poker players at the casino and I could get in some practice. You could watch and see a real game or two.”

“Wow. I’ve never been to a casino. That would be fun. Are you sure you want me tagging along? I’m fine here if you would rather go alone.”

“Leaving you alone is not an option. Not ever.” The stony look returned to his face. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“I’ll take a quick shower and get ready. What do you wear to the casino?”

“Jeans and a hoody—always cold as hell in there. They keep the temperature low to help you stay awake. The longer you stay there, the more of your money they take.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Personal experience. I went there a couple times wearing a t-shirt and cut-offs, and froze my ass off.”

“Okay, I’m pumped,” I said, heading upstairs to the shower. I dressed in black jeans, black boots and a black tube top with a hot pink hoody on top.

As I came down the stairs, Jackson whistled. “Don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look so hot all the time. Makes men crazy.”

“It does? I didn’t realize—do you want me to change?”

“Hell no. Those other poor bastards can eat their hearts out.” Jackson locked up the house and we headed out to the Hummer. “I came out and started this mother a while ago and turned the air on—it was so fuckin hot yesterday and today.”

“Labor Day weekend is usually a scorcher in Toronto. It’s tradition.”

Jackson looked over his shoulder as he backed out the driveway. “I called ahead to the poker room and put my name on the list.”

“You have to be on a list? Can’t you just go and take an empty seat at a table?”

“Nope, you wait on a list until they call you, and the pit manager tells you where to sit.”

“No way. This is so amazing.”

“You’ll learn tons by watching the games. You’ll have to stand behind the rail, but you can see everything from there.”

“Do we need to drive to the bank?”

“I’ve got a couple hundred to start. See how it goes. They have bank machines there anyway. People would go nuts if they didn’t.”

“They would? Why?”

“Gambling is an addiction. People go crazy when they can’t get more money to lose. It can be like a fuckin’ sickness.”

“I’ve got a lot to learn. Growing up in foster homes, I don’t have too many social insights.”

“Whatever the hell that is.” He grinned and flicked a butt out the window. “You’re perfect without them.”

The parking lot was jammed with rows and rows of vehicles when we arrived. Jackson drove the Hummer around a couple of times before he found a spot wide enough for ‘the mother’, as George used to call it.

I miss George so much. If I could only have him back for one more day.

We walked through the tinted double glass doors at the front, past security guards that welcomed us with a smile, and the first thing that struck me was the lack of light. This casino had poor lighting. We passed a huge bar to our right made out of fieldstone with a huge fake tree in the middle of it. An arrow pointed to slot machines down a wide corridor lined with a row of bank machines. On the way to the poker pit there were tables for Blackjack, Let it Ride, Roulette and other games I’d never heard of.

The curtains lining the walls were bright red—they would certainly keep you awake. Multiple overhead screens listed the names of all the people waiting to play different poker games. Jackson explained every detail to me as we moved along and answered all my questions. He was a patient man. We watched a game in progress from behind the rail while we waited for his name to be called and I was surprised by the number of women playing on each table.

Jackson heard his name over the speaker, reported to the poker desk and the pit manager seated him at a table close to the wall. He was too far away for me to watch him play from behind the rail. I gave him a little wave and made my way back to the bank machines. I wanted to have extra cash in case he needed it and didn’t want him to ask me for it. It was my fault and unfair, that he didn’t have a job or money. After I had the cash in my purse, I went to the bar and ordered two Buds. I walked back to the poker pit and asked the manager if I could give Jackson his beer. He nodded and said sure, as long as I didn’t stand behind the table and bother the players. As if.

“I got you a beer,” I whispered, handed him the glass and left. I watched the other games and memorized the betting rounds after the flop, the turn, and the river cards. I thought I might be able to play at a real table after a bit more practice at home.

An hour later, I could see from where I was standing that Jackson’s chips were getting low. I got another beer for him at the bar and went back to the poker manager. He nodded as I passed and I took the beer to Jackson’s table. I handed him the glass with my left hand and shoved my right hand with a wad of bills between his legs. He looked startled for a moment and flashed me a questioning look as I walked away smiling. The next time I looked over at him he had a lot more chips and a grin on his face.

Time passed and I was concentrating on a high stakes game when Jackson came and stood beside me, “I’m on a dinner break. Can you eat?”

“Sure. I’m starving,” I said. “Do they have a restaurant?”

“A buffet. We can try it if you want.” He took my hand and we walked to the other side of the casino. “Thanks for the cash. I was getting short stacked, but I’m doing a lot better now. You freaked me out when you shoved your hand between my legs.”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know how to give you the cash without making it obvious.”

“That was one way,” he chuckled, “No complaints here.”

The restaurant was almost empty. Black table cloths over metal tables with hard chrome chairs. Definitely not fine dining. The hostess seated us, took our drink orders and told us to help ourselves to the food. We filled our plates with prime rib and all the trimmings at the hot buffet and walked back to our table. Although there was little ambiance, the food was excellent, and I was glad to sit down for a while.

“I have to go back,” Jackson said, after his third trip to the buffet. “My dinner break is over.” He checked all the messages on his phone and raised his eyebrows at one of them. “I have to return a call outside, and then I’ll go back.”

“You go ahead. I’m going to have another coffee, and then I’ll come down and see how it’s going,”

He gave me a quick wink and headed towards the exit.

After my second cup, I toured back down to the poker pit and could see that he had rows and rows of red chips. If I remembered correctly, the red ones were worth five dollars each. After another half hour, he stacked his chips in plastic trays and headed for the cashier’s window. I walked over and waited beside him.

“I had a good run, Portia. I got your money back and I made five hundred. That’s a good day.”

“I’m so happy for you,” I squeezed his arm. “Do you want to have a drink at the bar before we leave?”

“No. I think I need a smoke worse right now. We can have a beer when we get home.”

“I forgot about the no smoking thing. That must have been tough for you.”

“It’s not too bad when you’re concentrating on the game. A lot of the guys run outside every few minutes, but I think you lose your card flow when you do that.” As soon as we passed through the double doors of the casino, he lit up. “You know, if we’re going to do this full time the next few weeks, I should try to quit smoking.”

“Your call on that one, sugar.”

“I like it when you call me that.” He grinned and slipped his arm around my waist.

It was late when Jackson turned the corner and steered the big Hummer onto our street. Angel had been in the house all day and was frantic to romp in the back yard. I opened two beers and took them out to the patio. The evening air felt muggy—warm and sultry. I shrugged my hoody off, tossed it over the back of a chair and sat down.

Jackson inhaled and exhaled slowly. “It’s hard being close to you and living in the same house in our… current situation. Shit, that was a big sentence for me,” he said with a chuckle.

“What situation is that, Jackson? Could you spell it out for me?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said hoarsely.

“I know what you’re talking about, and I think when the time is right, that situation will adjust itself.”

Jackson grinned.

“But for now, I need a bit more time to get my head together.” I walked around the table, stroked his hair, then bent down and kissed him. A long gentle kiss on the mouth. “See you in the morning,” I whispered.

CHAPTER FOUR

MY BIKE HAD been sitting on the trailer in the garage ever since Jackson brought me home from the cabin at the end of June, and now that I had emerged from my cocoon, I was dying to ride. As I passed the workout room on my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of him but said nothing. After his shower, he swaggered into the kitchen wearing just a pair of cut-offs.

“I could smell bacon. Am I in time for breakfast?”

“You are. I was just about to call you. I made a batch of pancakes.” I loaded up a plate with a stack and a side of bacon and set it on the kitchen table. “Do you want juice?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

I poured orange juice and reached for the maple syrup. “I was thinking…”

“Oh, oh,” Jackson chuckled. “More thinking, that could be dangerous. Let’s hear it.”

“Haven’t ridden my bike for such a long time, I thought this morning I’d ride for a while.”

“We could ride up to the range if you want to. I could use the practice. My Smith and Wesson is shooting to the left.”

“I haven’t held my Beretta for two months and I like to know that I’m prepared.”

“You’re more prepared than most of us, Annie.” He cleaned up the syrup on his plate.

“Okay. Let’s do that and when we get back I’ll cook the steaks and potatoes on the grill the way you like them.”

“I’ll have Rusty spread the word to any of the boys that need to see me that they can meet me up there and when we get back, maybe we can play some poker after dinner.”

“We can. I was toying with the idea of going back to the casino tomorrow and giving it a shot myself. I’ll be nervous, but you have to get that first time over with.”

“You’ll learn more at the table than from any book or from anything I could tell you.”

I nodded. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and get dressed for our ride.”

“Yeah. I guess riding in cut-offs would be a bad idea.”

“Especially if you dumped and dragged your bare legs along the pavement. Ouch.”

By the time, I had dressed to ride my Harley, Jackson had the bikes ready to go and they were both sitting in the driveway. I stowed the Beretta and the ammo in my saddle bag with my wallet and did up the strap on my helmet. “Do you have your gun?”

“Yep. I packed it with the ammo. Is this going to be tough on you, Portia? I know you and the boss went to the range every Sunday.”

“It was our Sunday thing, and you’re right, this first time will be hard, but I have to face it and get past it.” I blew out a big breath, “Now or never. Let’s go.”

We revved up the Harleys and roared up the street to the corner, then headed north-east out of the city. The practice range was an hour north of Toronto on property owned by the club. It was a large acreage situated on a back road with no neighbors for miles.

My balance was off, and I was noticeably weaker after two months in bed. My bike felt heavy and awkward, my arms felt like jelly holding the bars. At the first set of traffic lights, I dumped it. Horns honked behind me as I struggled to right the big turquoise machine and panic welled up inside me.

“Don’t pay any attention to those assholes,” hollered Jackson as he came running from the shoulder to help me. He lifted the bike up and I threw my leg over. “Go, I’ll catch up.”

At the next intersection, I was wobbly but by the time we reached the range I had regained control of my baby. Jackson was a natural. He was as comfortable on his chopper as he was on the sofa and looked like he was born to ride. We parked, shed our jackets and helmets and retrieved our guns from the saddlebags.

Walking down the hill to the target area brought back memories of Sundays here with George. He was the best shooter in his club and my mentor. He taught me everything there was to know about guns and marksmanship. He called me ‘Annie’ for Annie Oakley and often told me she was the finest female shot that ever lived. I could feel my eyes burning.

Jackson noticed and took my hand. “You okay?”

“I will be,” I mumbled, as we reached the target area. After I loaded the Beretta with the practice ammo and fired off a few rounds a lot of the tension drained from my body and a sense of calmness and familiarity took its place. When I checked the targets, my first few shots were off the mark. Two months was too long without practice. When I finished, I took my sound mufflers off and waited for Jackson to check his targets. “You’re a dead eye.” I grinned at him.

“I’ll never beat you, Annie. Not in a million years. You’ve got the gift. I think you could beat me with your left hand, you’re so good with both.”

We trudged back up the hill to the shack where the boys kept beer in a cooler. I carried the guns and the ammo boxes over to one of the picnic tables in the shade and sat down. Jackson followed behind me with a couple of bottles of Coors.

“Hardly anybody up here today,” he said. “Must be away for the long weekend.”

“Maybe at Coulter’s cottage.”

Four guys were drinking beer at a table under a tree and Jackson nodded to them. Since he had been running the club from my house for the past couple of months, some of the new guys didn’t know him. Too bad for them.

“Getting it on with the boss’ old lady?” One of them hollered.

“I am the boss you fucking low life.” Jackson strode to their table and cuffed the mouthy one across the head. Without hesitation, Jackson twisted the biker’s arm up behind his back and the bone cracked. “You just dug yourself a hole, kid.”

I raised my eyebrows seeing a side of Jackson that I never knew existed.

“Those fucking prospects never know their place. Most of them are just runaways and if they make it through the first year into the club they think they’re bad-asses. That guy won’t make it past the next meeting.”

I looked over at the boys and was amazed how young they looked. Why they wanted to be part of a bike gang was something I hadn’t figured out. But for my part, getting involved in club business or asking questions was not an option. I had learned that the hard way with George. There was a line and I had learned not to cross it.

I winked at Jackson and switched tracks.

“What?”

“You are so sexy when you have your serious face on.”

“What’s my serious face?”

“You know the one.”

“If I did, I have it on all the time if it turned you on.”

“Do you want to turn me on, Jackson?”

“More than anything.”

“More than poker?”

“More than poker.”

I ran my hand up his arm, tracing the snake tattoo. “I have to wait until it feels right.”

“I can wait.”

“Glad we got some practice in. Sometimes you don’t get a chance for a second shot.”

“So true.” He tipped up his beer and drained it.

I glanced at the spot beside the shack where Kenny Portsmith had fallen when I killed him. I had only one shot that day and a split second to save George’s life.” I sucked in a big breath and finished my beer. I rubbed the cold bottle across my forehead, then walked across the dirt path and packed the guns into the saddlebags.

JACKSON PARKED THE bikes in the garage while I shoved the key into the lock and quickly turned off the alarm. Angel blasted through the front door and ran out to greet us. I gave her a hug and she licked my face. “We have to get back into our running routine, girl,” I said to her.

“Do you run with Angel?” Jackson asked.

“Down in Riverside Park. We run along the river path for a couple of miles. Do you like to run?”

“I’d rather run outside than on the treadmill if the weather is good. You can’t be a bodyguard without the body.”

“You’ve got the body part down.”

He grinned at the compliment. “Thanks.”

We finished dinner and I cleaned off the patio table. “While the coffee’s brewing, I’m going to take Angel for a walk, and then we can play poker.”

“I’ll come with you. I want to see where you run. Wait until I get my trainers.”

I changed into shorts, a tank top, and Nikes. I shoved a sweat band on to keep my mop out of my eyes and snapped Angel onto her leash. We sat on the front porch steps and waited for Jackson.

“Ready,” he said, as he locked the front door. “You look athletic.”

“I’m a wimp.” I stood up and did a couple of stretches.

“Not buying it.”

We started off at a brisk walking pace and when we got to the park we jogged along one of the paved paths. Jackson wasn’t even breathing hard, but I was panting and showing all the signs of being out of shape. The whole while since we left the house he had been checking around us and behind us. It made me nervous, but I was guessing that’s what bodyguards routinely did.

“Man, I’m so out of it,” I gasped. Staying in bed for two months was so stupid.”

“Sit down on that bench until you get your wind, and then we’ll go back.”

Once I was breathing normally I stood up. “Ready. Let’s do it.” We walked back home with Angel in the lead and Jackson holding my hand. He was a hand-holder. There was so much I had to learn about him. Life throws curves at you and I wasn’t about to miss catching this one. “Next time I’m bringing a water bottle,” I grumbled.

“You could have stuck your head in the river.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m ready.”

“You’re easy.”

“You have no idea.”

Back at home, we played poker and drank strong coffee until midnight.

“Tuesday morning, I’m going to put our plan into action and we will have a definite departure date and all the rest of it. There is a ton of stuff to plan, but I’m primed.”

“I can’t get it into my head that we’re going to Vegas,” he shook his head. “I’ve seen the movies and the stuff on TV, everybody has. Every biker’s dream is to play poker at Bellagio. At least this biker.”

“Tomorrow’s a practice day, so let’s get some sleep. I don’t want to look too stunned my first day at the table.”

“Can I have another one of those good night kisses before you go up?”

I circled around the table and sat on Jackson’s knee. I put my arms around his neck and messed up his hair. His arms encircled me and pulled me in close to him as I pressed my lips to his. He was sweaty from his run and he tasted like smokes and beer, but he was all male. He held me on his knee for several minutes, kissing me and holding me. He was much gentler than George. My eyes filled with tears.

CHAPTER FIVE

Monday, September 3rd.

LABOUR DAY

WE ARRIVED AT the poker pit around noon. He had called the casino in the morning, given our names, and we were almost at the top of the list on the screen when we checked in. “I’m nervous,” I said as I punched money out of the bank machine.

“I don’t think you’ll need more money than we have already,” said Jackson.

“What if I lose all my chips?”

“You won’t if you play the way we practiced. You’re starting on a five-ten table, so it won’t be a big deal.” He reached out, pulled me close to him and whispered, “You’ve got the brains for this game and with what you’re wearing, those dumb fucks don’t stand a chance.”

Jackson had more confidence in me than I did. “I need a beer.”

“They’re calling your name now, so order from the waitress after you sit down.”

I had butterflies in my stomach as I gave Jackson a quick kiss, bought my chips at the cashier, and followed the poker boss to my seat. I was seated in seat seven, across from the dealer and had a perfect view of the cards and the other players.

The dealer turned to me. “Do you want to come in now or wait one hand until the big blind?”

“I’ll wait,” I said, trying to remember everything Jackson had taught me to say. I looked up as he passed my table on the way to take his seat and he winked at me. The next hand was my big blind and I tossed my chips in. My cards were King-Ten and nobody raised. The flop came Ten-Ten-Two. Small blind checked, I checked.  Seat nine bet. Everyone folded around to me. I called. The turn card was a Five. I bet. Seat nine raised and I called. The river card was a Nine. I bet. Seat nine raised and I called. He flipped over Queen-Ten and I had King-Ten. I won the pot. I pulled in my chips and stacked them, heaving a big sigh of relief. My first hand was over. When the waitress came around I ordered a beer and sent one over to Jackson. The next five hands I folded and after that, I played extremely tight.

An hour later, I took a stroll around to stretch my legs and cruised by Jackson’s table to see how many chips he had. He had a couple more rows than he started with and was smiling. Around five o’clock, he stood behind me with racks of red in his hand.

“Done, sweetie?” I asked.

He nodded and walked towards the cashier. I finished up the hand I was in, racked my chips and left the table. When I cashed out, I was up two hundred for my first day.

On the way home, we talked about the game and different hands we had played and Jackson explained to me about the bad beat jackpot. He was so animated and excited to be doing what he loved, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Do you want to eat on the way, or have burgers when we get home?”

“Let’s eat at home,” he said, squeezing my hand. Yep. A hand-holder.

Dusk had fallen when we turned into the driveway and the house was framed in shadows. With the Victorian turret rising from the front entrance it looked like a haunted house.

“A good day,” I said, jumping down out of the Hummer.

“Very good,” he nodded.

Jackson chugged a beer and poured mine into a glass while I barbecued burgers and dished up potato salad. I filled Angel’s bowls after we ate, then cleared up and put the dishes into the dishwasher. Reflecting on the day, I realized how tired I was. “I’m tired from all that thinking.”

“I have to concentrate on all the other players if I want to win,” Jackson said.

“I haven’t started doing that yet. I have to concentrate on myself and the cards. It’ll be awhile yet before I even try to guess what the other players have.”

“You did amazing for your first try, Portia. My first live game, I lost my chips in half an hour. It takes time to develop the patience you need for the game. When we go to Vegas a lot of the games will be no limit, so we will have to practice that before we go.”

“I have never known a more patient man than you, Jackson. I love that about you.”

“Anything else you love about me?”

“I love kissing you. That’s a fact that I can’t deny.”

He held out his arms. “Want to do that now?”

I walked over and sat on his knee. We kissed and cuddled and he stroked my long hair. “This feels like high school,” he said with a laugh.

“Not to me, honey boy,” I whispered. I’m not emotionally stable and you know that better than anyone. I want you in the worst way, but it would kill me to lead you on and then disappoint you.”

“You’ve been through so much, Annie. The Kenny thing, the bombing, then the boss. More than one girl should have to deal with.”

“Going to Vegas will do me the world of good. Getting away from here and forgetting about all that crap,” I said, rumpling Jackson’s hair. He moaned as I kissed his neck and ran my free hand under his shirt and over his rock-hard abs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be touching you.”

I pried myself away from his warm body and hid my tears as I bolted through the kitchen door and up the stairs.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN I PASSED by the guest room on my way to the workout room, the sight of Jackson’s nakedness sprawled on his bed gave me a start. His muscular taut body lay relaxed in slumber, his breathing was rhythmic. My eyes fixated on his tanned skin and his tattoos. His body was truly a work of art. I sucked in a breath, lingered a moment more than I should have, then averted my eyes. Too late. Warm stirrings in my private parts reminded me that I was a woman. A passionate woman. One who’d been without a man for a long time.

After my exercise routine, I started the coffee and retrieved the paper from the front porch out of habit, placing it on the dining room table. Another thing I would have to do before Vegas—cancel the paper. I had just poured my first mug of coffee when I heard Jackson descending the stairs. I filled a mug for him and set it on the table in the window alcove.

He came into the kitchen without saying a word, laced his arms around my neck and kissed my hair. I stood up and held him in my arms. He was fresh from the shower and smelled like soap and lemons. I brushed his black hair back from his face and kissed him. “Things will be different for us, soon.”

Jackson said nothing. He buried his face in my hair and held me close. After a few moments, he released me and sat down at the table in front of the coffee I’d poured him. I passed him the cream and the sugar bowl. “Thanks,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” I touched his hand as he stirred in his fourth spoonful of sugar.

“Never been this happy, and I’m scared shitless something will go wrong and take it all away.”

“Things go wrong in life every day. But you and I—nothing will go wrong—I won’t let it.”  I stroked his hair. “Cheer up now, I’m going to cook you some bacon and eggs.”

After breakfast, I showered and dressed for a day of errands and planning.

“Where to first?” Jackson asked when we got into the Hummer.

“Passport Office, we have to see how long it will take to get our passports and then we can work our travel plans around that time frame.”

“Makes sense. I’m glad one of us has a working brain.”

“You have an excellent working brain in lots of areas,” I said, rubbing his arm.

“I love it when you touch me,” he said barely audible.

At the passport office, we took numbers and waited our turn. We filled out all of the information, left to have our photos taken and signed at my lawyer’s office, returned and handed the documents in. The lady at the front desk told us we were looking at five business days for delivery.

“Allowing an extra day and two days for the weekend that means we could possibly leave on the thirteenth. Let’s make it the fourteenth just to be sure,” I said.

“September fourteenth. I like the sound of that,” Jackson said. “Where to next?”

“CAA office. We need maps and a trip guide. I looked up the closest one and it’s in the mall.” We found the bustling little office, full of people planning their next getaway. Jackson again took a number and offered me the only available seat while we waited our turn. We emerged carrying a bagful of maps, books of attractions for each state we would be passing through, and the trip booklet showing a yellow line all the way to Vegas.

“Let’s go home, reorganize, let Angel out and have some lunch.”

“I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving. I heard there are lots of fabulous restaurants in Vegas, and lots of steak houses.”

I fixed smoked meat sandwiches on rye bread with dill pickles and coleslaw, opened a couple of beers and carried the tray out to the patio where Jackson was smoking and throwing the purple Kong for Angel. “You haven’t been smoking as much, or am I imagining that?”

“Trying to cut back,” he said. “My concentration will be better at the poker table if I don’t think about smoking every ten minutes. Of course, now I think about you every ten minutes,” he chuckled.

“I’m proud of your effort.” I hugged his neck. When we finished munching down our sandwiches, I said. “We need to get the Hummer and both bikes serviced before we leave. And Angel has to visit the vet’s and get all her shots updated to cross the border.”

“I’ll call and get an appointment for the bikes at the Harley garage for tomorrow and the Hummer at the dealership for the following day.”

“You can drop me at the hair salon while you’re at the garage and I’ll get a haircut.”

“We sound efficient.” He grinned and winked at me.

“Don’t we?”

After lunch, Jackson spent time in the garage fiddling with the bikes. I tried to boot up the laptop in the study to look for hotels in Vegas. My technical know-how was lacking. I had no idea what I was doing.  I headed to the garage to ask for help and as I opened the door I overheard him on his phone.

“It’s only two weeks. Can’t you assholes hold it together for two weeks? If she’s out of the country, you can push them as hard as you want and what are they gonna do. Fuck all. Use your head,” he hollered.

I closed the door wondering what was going on in the club. Obviously, it had to do with me and it was causing Jackson a lot of stress. I grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, poured it into a glass and took it out to the garden. I needed to find out what was going on.

Who could the Regulators push if I was out of the country?

I sucked in a breath and tried to think of more pleasant topics—like my garden. Now that September had arrived, the asters and zinnias were in full bloom. The summer blooms of pink and fuchsia had been replaced by harvest hues of orange and rust. None of the maple trees had started to turn color, but the change was in the offing and you could smell it in the air.  I sat on my favorite rickety bench at the back of the garden and drank my Coke deep in thought. When I glanced up, Jackson had appeared at the patio door.

“I couldn’t find you. What are you doing way back there?”

“Thinking about you.”

Not a total lie.

He grinned as he walked barefoot through the grass towards me. “Nice and cool back here, kind of a secret garden.” He sat down on the bench beside me and held my hand.

“Want a drink of my Coke?” I asked.

“No. I’ll get one in a minute.”

“I tried to look for hotels on the computer, but I bunged it up. How did you learn?”

“At the Harley store, everything was computerized—the sales, the inventory, the parts department. I had to know how to access all of it, being the manager.”

“Of course, I forgot about the store,” I said. “Matthew never let me touch his computer, so I never learned. He paid all the bills on his laptop, but he would never show me. I realize now he was consciously trying to keep me ignorant and dependent.”

“Was Matthew your husband? You never mention him.”

“A period of my life I would rather forget. Lots of violent memories,” I shuddered as I stood up and Jackson put his arm around me.

“Let’s go see if we can find any hotels,” he said.

On the desk in the study, I spread out the information we had picked up at the CAA office earlier in the day. “The lady that organized our trip said it would in all likelihood take us four days to get to Vegas and we would arrive on the eighteenth. Oh, my god. I’m getting so excited, just talking about it. I never realized how badly I wanted to get away from this house and all the crap that happened here.”

Jackson had been flipping through the books of hotels and attractions, while I was getting the maps spread out. “All the hotels have websites, so we can go straight to the ones we want and look at the pictures and the rates. Pick any one and I’ll show you.”

“You said you wanted to play poker at the Bellagio. Let’s look at that one.”

“I think that might be a little pricey. Pretty fuckin’ fancy.”

“Let’s look at the pictures,” I said, sitting on Jackson’s lap.

“You make me forget what I’m doing when you’re so close to me.”

“That’s my job,” I said, “If it wasn’t for distracting you, I’d be unemployed.”

“I’ll never fire you,” he pulled my long hair back and kissed my neck.

“Thanks.”

“Holy hell, look at those chandeliers,” He pointed a finger at the screen.

“That must be the lobby. Looks massive. Can you show me a picture of the rooms, and see if they allow dogs?”

Jackson clicked on something and another screen came up. “Bellagio is pet-friendly along with a lot of other hotels on the strip. The rooms look great in the pictures, but you don’t know how old the pictures are. What do you think?”

“Go ahead and book a week starting on the eighteenth and that will give us time to see where the best games are. Do you need a credit card number?”

“I guess so. I’ve never booked a hotel online before.” He gave a little chuckle. “I’m a virgin.”

“Liar.”

He smiled. “This is the total in US dollars with tax for a week. Fuck, Portia, are you sure you want that amount on your card?”

“Sure. I’m loaded.”

“You’re funny,” Jackson said. “That’s done. I’m printing our confirmation. This is giving me fuckin’ shivers.”

“You give me shivers, bad boy,” I whispered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TORRENTS OF RAIN bouncing off the bedroom window startled me awake. Jagged forks of lightning illuminated the black sky and sent shivers up the back of my neck. Angel whined, resting her big brown paws on the side of the bed and licking my face. The alarm clock read five-thirty. I blew out a breath, turned over, closed my eyes tight so I couldn’t see the lightning and tried to go back to sleep.

“Are you okay, Portia? I heard Angel whining.”

“Yeah, it’s just the storm. Angel hates it. Her nails clicking on the hardwood woke me with her pacing back and forth to the window. Go back to sleep.”

Jackson stroked Angel’s head and she lay down beside the bed. “How about I lay here on top of the duvet until the thunder is over?”

I draped my arm over him, cuddled in close and closed my eyes. I had almost succeeded in falling asleep when a deafening clap of thunder sounded overhead. I put my hands over my ears and cried out in pain.

Jackson sat up and took me in his arms. “What is it, honey? Are you scared?”

“It’s my ears,” I whispered. “Loud noises bother me since the bomb.”

Jackson rocked me in his arms and held me close until I went back to sleep. When I woke, the storm had passed and the rain had downgraded to drizzle. I was alone in the bed but the beckoning aroma of coffee wafted up from downstairs, telling me where Jackson was.

He glanced up from the paper and smiled at me as I trudged into the kitchen. “I wanted you to sleep. You had a rough night.”

“Thanks. I’m okay now,” I encircled his shoulders with both arms and kissed his neck.

“I have an early appointment for the bikes. What time is your hair cut?”

“Eleven,” I said, pouring myself a mug of coffee.

“I’ll be back by then. Jimmie will sit on the front porch while I’m gone. There is no fuckin way I’m leaving you alone for two hours. I don’t like leaving you, even for a minute.”

“I don’t think you need to have a soldier here while you’re away. That’s a little over the top, don’t you think? I have my gun, and Angel is always at the ready to rip a sizeable chunk out of someone.” I sat down across from him and tried to get a read. His eyes were clear and steady as he looked at me. Hard to tell. Jackson didn’t give much away. “I can do without Jimmie on the front porch. It’s not like someone is trying to kill me, or anything.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows and inhaled. He spoke in a flat even tone and I could tell that it was forced. “I’ll feel better with Jimmie out there while I’m gone. This way you won’t have to come with me and hang around the garage until the bikes are done.”

I shrugged thinking Jackson was being overly concerned with my well-being. Maybe he wasn’t. Should I be afraid? I wanted to ask him but knew he wouldn’t answer any questions. He played by the rules. Club rules.

“This morning, I’m digging out the luggage, catching up on the laundry and starting to pack. How many suitcases do you think you’ll need?”

“One.”

“Only one?”

“I don’t have a lot of stuff. I’m not into clothes.”

“I sometimes imagine you without clothes,” I winked at him and he grinned.

The sight of you lying sprawled naked on your bed is one I won’t soon forget.

“I’m not going to take a lot, either. There’s fantastic shopping in Vegas, so I’ve heard, my first stop will be Victoria Secret to buy a couple of sexy items to turn on a certain someone when the time comes.”

“You turn me on being in the same room,” he whispered and rubbed his hand down my arm. “I love you, Annie.”

“You are God’s gift to me, Jackson Traynor.”  I kissed him and messed up his perfect hair. “Do you want some breakfast before you go? I’m popping down a bagel.”

“That’s fine for me. I think I’ll have peanut butter on it. My Dad used to spread peanut butter on everything he ate. Peanut butter reminds me of him.”

“Is your Dad alive, honey? You never mention him.”

“Yeah, he’s locked up in Millhaven Penn. He pulled ten years for armed robbery. I should visit him before we leave for Vegas.”

“Definitely, you should. We could fit that in on Friday.”

“You would have to go with me and it’s a boring drive out there—401 all the way.”

“More fun to ride the bikes than to drive the Hummer?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he jumped up from the table and gave me a hug. “I better load up and get over to Harley. Be back in an hour or so.” He headed for the garage.

After Jackson left, I headed upstairs and on my way through the front foyer I remembered the porch sitter and offered Jimmie a mug of coffee. He wasn’t as big as Jackson and not as muscular. Maybe five foot nine with dark hair and a single line of facial hair along his jaw. He had a cute smile.

“Hey, Jimmie, I’m Portia. Can I get you a coffee? Why don’t you come sit in the kitchen?”

“The boss wants me out here, Portia, but I could use a coffee, regular. Thanks.”

He seemed pleased that I had acknowledged his presence. I had no idea where he fit in the Regulator’s hierarchy—somewhere after Billy or Donnie. So hard to remember everything George had told me about his organization. George had certainly been more forthcoming than Jackson had been since he took over. I made Jimmie a coffee then headed upstairs.

I hauled my suitcases out of the bedroom closet and opened them all up. Empty. They were ready to go. Matthew had always stored his luggage in the spare room closet, saying he was making more room for me. I had forgotten about it since his death but went searching thinking Jackson could use one of his cases. I hauled the larger one onto the bed and unzipped it. Inside was the smaller of the two. I placed it on the bed and unzipped it to make sure it was empty. It was not.

I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. There were hundreds of pictures of me…different poses—different locations—at the market, at the office where I used to work, on the street, at the bank, in my car at the carwash, at the dentist. It went on and on. I was stunned. Obviously, I had been followed, and from the dates on the pictures, for most of our married life. My stomach felt queasy. Tears rolled down my face. Matthew had always treated me like a possession and his paranoia was coming back to haunt me.

Who knows how long I sat there? I didn’t hear Jackson come into the room and he caught me staring at the piles of photographs in a kind of stupor.

“Portia, I was calling you.” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t know where you were. What’s all this stuff?” Jackson picked up a handful of the pictures and studied them one by one. Colour rose in his face. “What kind of an asshole were you married to?” He tossed the photos in the direction of the suitcase.

“Sorry.” I wiped at my cheeks and cleared my throat. “I was looking for a suitcase for you and this is what I found. My dearly departed was having me followed and photographed. I guess I let it get to me a little.”

“A little?  Baby, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re shaking.” He took me by the arm and ushered me out into the hall, then he took me in his arms and held me close. “I want you to forget about that fucker, and I’ll get rid of the pictures. I’ll burn every last fucking one of them,” he hollered.

“Get rid of the luggage as well. I don’t want your clothes touching anything that he touched,” I said. “I’m going to take a hot shower.”

I pulled myself together after my shower and Jackson drove me to the hair salon. My foul mood lifted somewhat after seeing how much better my mop of hair looked after some professional TLC.

“That’s better,” Jackson said as I walked towards him smiling. “Love it.” He took my hand and walked me to the Hummer.

After a bite of lunch, we drove Angel to the vet clinic for her check-up and her shots. She was wary of the examination room and did a little growling at a pair of Persian cats waiting in carry cages for their turn, but overall, she behaved quite well. The vet suggested cutting back on her treats because Rottweiler’s tend to get a little heavy as they get older—something Angel didn’t want to hear.

Later, I made an appointment with the investment dude at my new bank for the following day to liquidate some of the certificates I had stashed in my safety deposit box. Money needed to be freed up for Jackson to play in tournaments with hefty buy-ins in Vegas.

Matthew had never felt it necessary during our volatile marriage to discuss any business transactions with me. His opinion of women in business was well known in his social circle. He was a chauvinist but left me well provided for, even if it had been accidental. I intended to seek out an investment counselor when I got settled in Vegas and make a solid plan for the future.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DARK SKIES AND forecasts of impending thunderstorms threatened as Jackson dropped me in front of the bank. He was on his way to having the Hummer serviced at the dealership, after which he would double back and pick me up. He’d wanted Jimmie to shadow me, but I vetoed the idea saying the bank should be safe enough. Jackson was kicking up a lot of fuss for nothing—in my opinion. I could take care of myself.

For my appointment with the investment manager, Clayton Stonebrook, I wore the black silk suit and stiletto heels I had bought for Matthew’s funeral. When I arrived, he welcomed me into his glassed-in cubicle and introduced himself. He was not a tall man, stocky and tanned. His navy suit looked expensive and his grooming immaculate but his expensive cologne was overpowering.

“I’m Portia Talbot,” I said as I extended my hand.

“What can I do for you today, Mrs. Talbot?” he gave me the once over, presumably estimating the cost of my outfit.

“I have a few gold certificates that I need to convert to cash. Can you assist me with something like that?”

“Certainly, that’s what I’m here for,” he said with a condescending smirk. “Do you want to get them now, and we’ll take a look at what you have?”

Treat me like a bimbo and you’ll be sorry.

As I made the trip to the vault with one of the tellers I caught a glimpse of someone familiar on the sidewalk in front of the bank. “Jimmie,” I mumbled to myself. I put him out of my mind and retrieved one of my bundles of certificates.

This should be enough.

On returning to Mr. Stonebrook’s office, I removed the elastic bands and smoothed out the curled certificates.  Sliding the pile across the desk, I said, “I have no idea what gold is selling for today, perhaps you could tell me.”

Mr. Stonebrook held down the curled edges of the top certificate to read the particulars.

He raised his eyebrows and then snapped his gaping mouth closed. “These are quite valuable, Mrs. Talbot. Are you sure you want to surrender this many?”

“Quite sure,” I said, “How long will it take for the transaction to be completed?”

“By end of the week, the money should be in your account. Did you want me to start the paperwork?”

“Yes, please,” I smiled my best little girl smile.

“Could I ask why you need this much money all at once, without seeming rude?”

“I’m moving to Nevada and I need to access the money with a bank card until I open an account in Las Vegas.”

“That makes sense. There will be forms to file for Revenue Canada.”

“All good. I’ll make sure my accountant gets copies of the paperwork.”

Mr. Stonebrook looked up from his computer and frowned. I turned to see Jackson coming towards the office in cut-offs, a Harley t-shirt and his big boots with the heavy chains clanking as he walked. A red bandana tied his long hair back. I smiled and waved him in.

“This is Jackson Traynor, my bodyguard.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Traynor,” he said icily as he eyeballed the python curling down Jackson’s arm. “We’re finishing up some business if you would like to wait in the seating area out there.” He pointed to some chairs on the other side of the bank lobby.

“He’ll wait with me,” I said. “Pointless to have a bodyguard, if he’s nowhere near my body.” I laughed and pointed to the vacant chair. Jackson sat down.

Mr. Stonebrook left the cubicle in a huff and returned ten minutes later with the paperwork ready to sign. “I need your signature here and here,” he said, indicating the lines with exes. “That will do it, Mrs. Talbot. You can check your account, end of day tomorrow. Any problems, please call my direct number. He handed me one of his cheap white cards.

“Thank you,” I said taking Jackson’s hand and walking out of the office. “One more thing before we leave the bank, sweetie. I want to get a US credit card.”

Jackson nodded. “I’ll stand out front and have a smoke. Did I mention how beautiful you look today, Annie?” He kissed me on the cheek and left me at the reception desk.

I rejoined him outside a few minutes later. “That’s all done. I hate bankers. They patronize you and pretend they have your best interests at heart, but they are money grubbing vultures for the most part.”

Jackson took a step back chuckling. “Glad you’re not mad at me.”

“Never be mad at you, honey boy.” I kissed him on the sidewalk in front of the bank. “Let’s go home, I want to change out of these clothes,” I grumbled.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“Thought I saw Jimmie in front of the bank,” I said trying not to sound bitchy.

Jackson raised his eyebrows and grinned at me.

So what if he wants to protect me?

On the drive home I was feeling strong urges for Jackson, looking at his bare legs and the tats glowing on his arms.

If I’m feeling this strongly about Jackson, maybe it’s time for me to move on.

I reached across the console in the Hummer and rubbed his bare leg. Just touching his skin and watching him drive with his big clunky Harley boots on raised my pulse rate. While he parked the Hummer, I could barely control my hormones until we got off the driveway and out of view of the neighbors. I was panting as I kicked the front door closed with one of my stilettos, pressed my body against his and pinned him up against the door.

“Jackson, I need you,” I gasped as I unzipped his cutoffs and slid my hand down the inside of his thigh.

It’s been so long for me.

“Jesus,” he said, as he kissed me, pulling me tight up against him.

I pushed his shorts down to his knees, dropped the skirt of my seven-hundred-dollar suit onto the marble tile and pulled Jackson down on top of me. He pressed his lips on mine and I welcomed his tongue into my mouth with a loud growl.

I yelled, “Giver, bad boy.” The moment he entered me, I had an orgasm so intense he couldn’t hold back. We lay on the cold foyer floor gasping for breath.

“What the fuck was that?” Jackson panted.

“I think my sex drive is slipping into high gear,” I giggled.

“Fuck, baby. Hope you don’t have overdrive.”

CHAPTER NINE

THE SOUND OF the shower woke me. It was barely seven but we had talked about being on the road by nine for the trip to Millhaven prison. Summoning what little energy my body had to offer, I padded downstairs, brewed a pot of coffee and set out the fixings. Angel was already in the back yard and she charged up to the patio door when she saw me through the glass.

“Hey, girl, you’re up early.” I rubbed the fur around her neck and was about to give her a treat when I remembered what the vet had said. “Too many treats make you fat.” I cuddled her.

“I want a treat,” Jackson said with a grin, as he came through the kitchen door. His damp hair curled around his neck and the sight of his bare torso filled my head with shameful thoughts.

I winked at him. “You had a treat last night.”

“I forgot.” He poured cream into his coffee and sat down at the table with the sugar bowl.

I’ll try to be more memorable in the future.” I made a pouty face.

“You couldn’t be,” he said. “I can’t shake the front hall thing out of my mind.”

I laughed at him. “Do you want scrambled eggs before we hit the road?” I opened the fridge and set a carton of eggs on the counter.

“Yeah, it’s a long boring trip down there. We better eat something.”

“Tell me about the prison while I’m making breakfast. I want to know what to expect.”

“Well, it’s big, but not a big as Kingston Penn—more than four hundred inmates. Legend says that Millhaven was built on a native burial ground and is cursed forever. There’s always a lot of bad stuff happening there between the inmates—fighting and killing.”

I shivered.

“The guards will search us and our saddlebags at the gate when we enter the property. Inside, I’ll only be able to talk to my dad on a phone through a glass wall. He’s in a restricted wing where they don’t let the inmates into an open room with visitors.”

“Why? Is he… more dangerous?”

Jackson stared out the patio doors and didn’t answer.

“Sounds ominous. Did you call and tell them you were coming?”

“Uh huh.” Jackson made short work of his eggs and started on his fourth slice of toast.

“I’ll grab a quick shower and be ready in ten.” I kissed him on the neck and went upstairs. I dressed in my leathers, pulled on my boots and went downstairs to gather up the rest of my gear.

Jackson hadn’t moved. He sat like a statue at the kitchen table staring into space.

I stood behind him and stroked his long hair. “What’s up? Are you nervous?”

“I get a little crazy when I have to go near that place.”

“When was the last time you saw your father?” I asked. “Did you guys get along when you were growing up?”

Jackson had lapsed into a state of melancholy and he paced while he talked about his father. The tone of his voice gave me shivers. “I think it was back in April, the last time I went to visit him. He was mad as hell because he got caught fighting out in the exercise yard and the warden added more time to his sentence. He wouldn’t talk to me after I rode all the way down there and I swore to him I wouldn’t be coming back.” He pounded his fist into his other hand and kept talking. “When I was growing up and lived with him, he’d get drunk and beat me up. He blamed me for every bad thing that ever happened to him—even said it was my fault my Mom died.” Jackson dropped his chin onto his chest. “I ran away when I was sixteen.”

“Why do you go visit him if you have a lot of bad memories?”

“Every fuckin time I ask myself that. I make myself go because he’s the only family I’ve got and it’s safe to see him in prison with a glass wall between us. He’s got ten years to go and who knows, maybe this time he’ll be glad I came.”

“I’m sure he will,” I said, hoping it was true. “You can change your mind. Don’t go at all if it upsets you.”

“If I’m going away, even for a few weeks, I should go in case I never see him again. Cons get offed in prison every day. That’s the only reason I was thinking of changing my mind and making the trip.”

“You can always write to him from Vegas.”

“I’m no good at writing fuckin’ letters.” Jackson shook his head.

“I am. Let’s go.”

Our route took us east of Toronto, along the 401 to Napanee. We stopped once for gas at the cut-off before turning south towards Lake Ontario. Jackson led the way to the compound and I pulled up behind him at the gate. At first glance the prison presented a cold and foreboding sight—the thirty-foot high fence around the perimeter crowned with razor wire and at each of the corners sat a watch tower manned by armed guards. I sucked in a quick breath.

The guard holding the clipboard at the gate wore a utility belt holding an arsenal of items he could draw on—pepper spray, a steel baton, a sidearm and I caught a glimpse of a shotgun in the small guard house. He scanned his list for our names, checked us off and motioned us through the gate. After the search, Jackson went into the office and I sat outside on a bench near the visitors’ parking. While I waited, I watched the armed patrol vehicles go by at timed intervals. These boys weren’t taking any chances.

CHAPTER TEN

JACKSON SAT IN the visitor’s room after being searched and his heart pounded as he waited for a guard to bring Stan Traynor into the area on the other side of the glass. He sucked in a couple of gulps of oxygen to calm himself. He fidgeted with his sweaty hands, desperately needing a smoke. As long as he could remember, he had never relaxed in his father’s presence. Jackson could barely breathe remembering the last time he had been here—Stan’s cold eyes staring through the glass without a flicker of recognition. His father sat and stared that icy stare and didn’t speak one single word. He hoped this trip wasn’t a waste of time and gas.

“Hey son, glad to see you,” hollered Stan into the phone as he grabbed it off the hook. He sat down and gave Jackson a broad grin that showed off his swarthy good looks.

“Hi, Dad. Didn’t know if you would be glad to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy that my son came all this way to visit me? Of course, I’m glad to see you, boy.”

Jackson smiled and wanted to believe Stan. “I wanted to come and see you before I left for Vegas. I’m heading down there with my girlfriend to play poker.”

“What kind of a fucked-up idea is that?” Stan scowled at him like he was twelve. “I heard you were number one in the Regulators now?”

“Yeah, I am. I’ll still be giving the orders, but Rusty will be in charge in Toronto while I’m away.”

“Heard the Chrome Dogs were pushing you. Shouldn’t you stay in town and push those assholes back over the line?”

“Rusty and I had a meeting and he’s got it covered.”

“Rusty’s got balls, but George was the fuckin man and the Chrome Dogs know it. They can smell how weak you assholes are without the big guy. Heard they had over a hundred members now. You punks will never handle them without George. Those maniacs want the east end of the city. Just say’n.” Stan grinned at his son.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He heaved a sigh.

“Who’s your girlfriend? Rumour in here is you’re guarding that rich bitch that the boss was doing. That true?”

Jackson shook his head. “Any news on your appeal?”

“My lawyer’s working on it. These things take so fuckin long it makes you crazy. He says I should hear about it in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a few other irons in the fire.”

“Like what?”

Stan shrugged. “What’s your new bitch look like?” He wasn’t going to let this drop.

“She’s beautiful. Long black hair.”

“Sounds like you’re in deep.” Stan frowned. “Don’t get all fucked over a woman, kid. They’ll screw you over every fuckin time and ruin your life.”

“She won’t do that.”

“Don’t bet on it.” He chuckled and he was still laughing as time was up. A guard came and took him away.

Jackson found Portia sitting outside on the bench waiting for him. He lit up a smoke and sat beside her. She reached for his hand. “How did it go?”

Jackson nodded. “Not too bad. He was glad to see me, or so he said.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE DOORBELL RANG as Jackson and I finished eating lunch on the patio. A Canada Post truck was parked in the driveway, “The passports are here,” I called to Jackson as I signed for the two envelopes. Jackson followed me into the foyer and I handed his to him.

“This is the first time I had a passport,” he said, looking at his picture. “Doesn’t look like me. They said not to smile.”

“That’s why it doesn’t look like you because you’re always smiling,” I hugged him. “Do you know what I’m thinking?” I asked.

He tilted his head to one side. “Could be two things—one, if we finished everything on the checklist we could leave tomorrow morning,” he said, with a big grin. “Or two, we’re both in the front hall?”

“Mind reader—the first one,” I hooted and jumped up and down. “Let’s do it. One extra day on the road will give us more time to sightsee. I’m pumped.”

Jackson grabbed me and gave me a bear hug. “You’re crazy, Annie, and I’m crazy in love with you.”

“You get the bikes onto the trailer and hook up. I’ll finish the packing and call Vince to tell him we’re leaving one day early, then together we’ll load the Hummer. I hope that suitcase I bought you is big enough for your stuff. And tonight, I want to go over the instructions for the new camera.” I tried to catch my breath.

Jackson laughed at me all the way out to the garage. He seemed to be in a better mood since he had visited his father.

Upstairs, I went over my packing list. One separate suitcase had all the bike gear, leathers, helmets, gloves. One for my clothes and one for Jackson. All the toiletries fit into one small bag. Angel’s blanket couldn’t go in until the morning, but her new bag of kibbles, her low-cal treats, bowls, and a case of bottled water were stacked by the back door.

Jackson broke a sweat loading the bikes and hooking the trailer to the Hummer. “Hot out there. Let’s have a beer break.”

“I’m so there.” I hauled the last of the suitcases down the stairs and joined Jackson on the patio. He had already chugged beer number one while he talked on the phone to Rusty going over last minute details before he left. “Hope those guys keep it together while I’m in Vegas. Sometimes they have their heads up their asses.” He blew out a big breath.

“They can keep in touch every day by phone and Rusty is the sensible one, isn’t he?”

“He’s the most level-headed guy we’ve got. Never loses it. He’s good at business too—runs his own paint shop and has for years.”

“If some huge problem crops up, you can fly back for a couple of days and sort it out. It’s only four hours away.”

“Maybe I’m worrying too much.” He chuckled and shrugged it off. “It’s going to be fuckin’ hot when we get to the desert, Annie. Good thing we have air in the Hummer for Angel.”

“And for us, otherwise we’d have to drive naked.” I grinned at him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Only if the driver was in easy reach,” I said running my hand down his bare leg under the table.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He winked at me.

“I’m a strong finisher.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

MY ALARM BUZZED at six a.m. and still half asleep I fumbled for the clock to shut it off. Jackson and Angel were nowhere in sight and Angel’s blanket was gone. I flew into the shower, dressed in a flash in the traveling clothes I had laid out the night before, tucked last minute toiletries into the case and zipped it up. I doused the lights and tore down to the kitchen.

“I’m ready,” I said, gasping for breath. I kissed Jackson and the scent of him coursed through my veins giving me goose bumps. “You smell good.” I stroked his long damp hair.

He grinned. “This is our big day, Annie,” he pulled me down onto his lap. “A few months ago, I would never have believed I could be this happy.” He buried his face in my hair.

“Me either,” I whispered, hugging him. Looking to the counter, I saw two bright new travel mugs. “You think of everything.” I filled the cups and added my cream. Jackson walked over and stirred four spoonsful of sugar into his.

“Ready to go?” His eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I am so ready. Angel, are you ready?” I called her in from the yard. She came bouncing into the kitchen with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. I picked up my purse, both passports, grabbed Angel’s leash, locked up the house and set the alarm.

Vegas bound.

Jackson took the first shift behind the wheel and we arrived at the Ambassador Bridge border crossing in Detroit at noon. After waiting in line for over an hour, the unsmiling customs officer in the booth checked Angel’s papers, scanned our passports, raised his eyebrows at Jackson’s long hair and the python curling down his arm and asked us to pull into one of the parking spots near the office.

“Fuck, I knew this would happen,” he snarled.

“Do you have anything outstanding?” I asked in a whisper.

“No, I’m clean. These guys take one look at me and their first fuckin thought is drugs or guns.”

It’s not like you don’t deal in both. Hope they can’t read my mind.

“Let them search and don’t say anything.” I rubbed my hand down his arm.

After a short wait, a tall, lean officer with short cropped gray hair came out of the building and spoke to Jackson. “Open your tailgate please.”

Jackson unhooked the bike trailer and cleared the way for the officer to tear apart the hatch section of the Hummer. Jackson seethed and paced and smoked in silence while I sat in the truck and watched our worldly goods being mauled over and scrutinized. A half hour later we were deemed worthy to enter the US and the surly officer sent us on our not-so-merry way. Jackson was beyond pissed. “It happens every fuckin time.” He pulled a smoke out of the pack and his hands trembled as he lit up. “As soon as they see long hair and tats, you’re branded as some kind of low life fuckin scum.” He pounded the steering wheel a couple of times.

I sucked in a big breath and tried to concentrate on finding the sign for the interstate we needed. I pointed as we approached the on-ramp and kept my thoughts to myself. Jackson drove in silence for a good distance through Michigan before he cooled off.

“Let’s stop for lunch, look at the maps and reorganize.”

“There was a sign for a Cracker Barrel on the next exit. Do you want to stop there?” Jackson asked. His phone on his belt signaled a message.

You’ve only been gone four hours.

“Fine with me, I’m out of Ontario and I want to see everything.”

At the restaurant, Jackson found a parking spot large enough for the truck and trailer around the side of the building. I walked Angel, gave her water and put her back in the Hummer. “Won’t be long, girl.” I gave her head a pat. Jackson was leaning against the truck finishing his conversation. The expression on his face wasn’t one of unbridled joy.

The restaurant was packed and noisy—kids, people of all ages—a family place. We ordered the Thursday special and it came with so much food I couldn’t finish. Luckily Jackson wasn’t easy to fill and helped me out. After we paid our bill, I browsed through all the displays in the gift shop. I bought a couple CDs for the road and several chocolate bars from the huge candy selection in case Jackson was caught short before dinner.

“I’ll drive for a while and you can sleep. I’m following I-75 all the way to Knoxville, so I can’t get lost.”

“Wake me up if you have any problems, baby.” Jackson reclined in the passenger seat.

At three o’clock I eased the Hummer into the right-hand lane and headed into a rest area. Jackson opened his eyes and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Outside Cincinnati. I need a bathroom break and I’m sure Angel does. How was your nap?” I unbuckled my seat belt and rummaged for the leash.

“Never woke up once. Guess I needed a rest. I’ll have a smoke and watch the bikes until you come back.”

I nodded and ventured off in the direction of the doggie area. Angel ran around, bouncing off some of her pent-up energy, and growling at a few dogs half her size. She loved to intimidate the small fluffy white ones. When I returned to the Hummer, Jackson headed inside the building to use the facilities. As I poured a bottle of water into a bowl for Angel, two scruffy looking dudes ambled towards me.

“Nice lookin’ bikes, sweetheart.” A short stocky guy with a scraggly beard, and filthy, wrinkled clothes, sidled up to me. “This one has to be yours. Nice girly paint color like that.” He ran his nicotine stained finger down the back fender of my bike and the hair stood up on the nape of my neck.

Get your filthy hands off my bike.

“Don’t touch the bikes,” I said and he grinned. Angel growled and curled her lip showing off her lovely sharp white teeth. It took two hands to hold her back as she strained against the leash. Not showing any fear of the dog, the second one came closer. The smell of him was enough to activate my gag reflex. He was tall and skinny with stringy dark hair, a leather vest, filthy jeans and mirrored shades.

“Where you headed, baby?” He asked the question then flashed me a grin showing off a mouthful of rotten teeth.

“Miami,” I lied, wishing Jackson would return.

“We’re heading south too. We got pressing business in Georgia. Mind giving us a ride? We could be good company for a pretty thing like you. Know what I mean?” he sniffed and ran his hand down the front of his jeans.

“Sorry. I can’t.” I positioned Angel in front of me.

“Why the hell not?” The shorter one closed in on me with his right hand in his pocket.

“Back away from the lady.” Jackson stepped in front of me. With one hand in the middle of each of their chests, he shoved the two men backwards.

“Thinks he’s a tough guy.” The tall one laughed.

“Just getting to know your old lady,” the short one said, “yeah, and we’ll be getting to know her even better soon.” He whipped out a knife and waved it in Jackson’s face. In a blur, Jackson grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm at the elbow and chopped down hard with his other hand. The crack of the bone made his buddy turn his head away from me. At that moment, I released the dog. Angel lunged for the tall one directly in front of me—one hundred pounds of angry Rottweiler. Angel’s jaws clamped around his thigh, tearing through denim and the flesh underneath. The guy clutched at his bleeding leg and hollered a string of obscenities as he rolled on the ground.

I grabbed Angel’s leash and called her off. “Time to go,” I loaded Angel into the Hummer and climbed into the passenger seat. Jackson shoved the stocky guy down on top of his friend, pocketed the knife and hopped in the driver’s seat.

“Assholes,” Jackson snarled as he backed out of the truck area. “Sure, you’re okay, baby?”

“I’m fine.” I turned and gave Angel a treat. “Good girl.”

“What did they want? Other than you,” he asked with a scowl.

“A ride south. Said they’d be good company for me.”

“Fuck, I can’t stand it when guys are after you like that.”

I rubbed my hand down his leg. “I felt vulnerable without my Beretta. Maybe we should buy a couple of guns since we couldn’t bring our own across the border. Not as many rules in some states as we have in Canada.”

“Damn right, baby. Put that first on our list. That was too fuckin close for my liking.”

“When we stop for the night, we’ll look for a gun shop.”

Jackson drove as far as Lexington where we had dinner and a short break. I took my turn, headed for Knoxville and looked for a hotel. Around eight-thirty Jackson spotted a roadside inn with a sign welcoming pets and we pulled in. I requested an outside ground floor room so Jackson could watch the bike trailer and I could take Angel out with less bother. I paid in advance, picked up the room key and we were in for the night.

“They have coffee and free breakfast in the morning, honey,” I said, as we carried our bags into the room.

“I love breakfast,” he said.

“You love every meal.” I poked him in the belly.

I spread out Angel’s blanket beside the bed—she plopped down with a big sigh and rested her big square head on her paws. Jackson checked the window to make sure he had a clear view of the bikes while I sat in the only chair and flipped through the local phone book. “Here’s a gun dealer in Knoxville,” I said. “We can stop there in the morning. Or if we can’t get what we want, we can always go to Walmart.”

“Walmart?”

“I heard they sell guns in the states.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

AFTER JACKSON CONSUMED his ‘free’ breakfast in the morning, there wasn’t much left for the hotel staff to clean up. We packed our gear into the Hummer and headed for the I-40 out of Knoxville. Our destination was a well-advertised gun shop that I had chosen from Yellow Pages.

The store was open for business on the outskirts of town—not large, but brightly lit and packed with merchandise. The back wall was lined with row upon vertical row of rifles and shotguns, every make, and model, barrels gleaming. Glass cases held handguns and knives. Smaller shelves held ammo, and circular racks of hunting togs marked with fluorescent orange sale tags filled the center aisle. Jackson was as wide-eyed as a kid with a stack of Playboy magazines. He handled a couple of rifles, his fingers examining the trigger mechanisms. He eyed the racks of camo clothes, his eyes dancing and a permanent grin on his lips.

“Help you folks?” A man at least six foot four, dressed in camouflage garb that couldn’t make his huge belly disappear, approached us. “Name’s Tiny,” he held out his hand to Jackson.

“Jackson,” he shook the offered hand. “We need a few things.”

“I need a Beretta 9mm with a shoulder holster,” I said.

“Little lady knows what she wants.” He laughed and a deep guttural sound came out. I thought of George and smiled.

“That’s for sure,” Jackson answered. “Could I see a Smith & Wesson MP40?”

“Handguns are over here,” he walked over and laid the two guns on the counter.

I felt the weight of the Beretta and deemed it to be the same as mine. “Feels right.”

Jackson thoroughly examined the gun he had asked to see. “I like it. Could you round up ammo for both of those, Tiny?”

“Sure can,” he said with a smile.

“I want to take a look at the Bone Collector as well, and Portia, I want you to get the feel of the Remington Versa Max. Never know when a handgun won’t be enough, baby.”

“Got a bit of a range out the back door, if you want to test anything,” said Tiny, pointing.

“Great. I’d feel better if you took a couple of shots, baby,” Jackson said, “You haven’t had any rifle practice.”

I nodded and followed the two men out the back door of the shop. Tiny loaded me up and I let a couple go. Jackson retrieved the target.

“Fuck, Annie. You’re just as good with a gun you never shot before.” He showed Tiny the target.

“You’re quite a shooter,” Tiny said, with a ‘you got lucky’ look on his face.

“Only when I have to be,” I said. “Are you going to fire those two?”

“Think so. Just to be sure they’re right for me.”

Jackson fired a couple of rounds out of the MP40 and the Nitro Mag Bone Collector. The way he was grinning, I knew he loved them. He brought his targets in and showed me.

“See you’re every bit as good as me, flatterer.”

“Fuck, Annie. You can shoot just as good with both hands. I can’t do that.”

“She can shoot right and left?” Tiny asked raising his brows. “I’d like to see her shoot that Beretta left handed and hit anything in this county,” Tiny said in his slow Tennessee drawl. He loaded it and handed it to me with a smirk.

I raised the gun up and squeezed out two quick shots. Tiny retrieved the target himself and looked a little sheepish. “Didn’t think you were that good, Miss. I apologize for my rudeness.”

“No need… my little secret,” I giggled as I walked back to the counter. “What else do you need, Jackson?”

“A Tanto knife, two night scopes, cases and ammo for the rifles and two shoulder holsters.”

“The knives are over here. I’ll unlock the case for y’all.” Tiny looked like he couldn’t keep from chuckling at the prospect of such a huge sale.

Jackson leaned forward and peered through the glass. He pointed. “I like that Cold Steel Magnum II. Looks a lot like mine that I had to leave at home.”

Tiny took the knife out for Jackson to hold in his hand and get the feel of it. He watched with interest as Jackson balanced the weapon in his hand, and tried it for size in the sheath in the side of his boot. He nodded. “Good balance. Won’t fit in my boot, but I like it a lot. Have a case for it?”

Tiny nodded. “Yep, do so.”

I put the camo hat that Jackson had been touching on his head. “Love that,” I said. “We’ll take that as well. How much do we owe you, Tiny?”

“Have to figure this all out and write up the paperwork for the guns,” he spoke slowly.  “You folks have ID?”

“We have our passports.” I fished them out of my purse.

“Have to take your thumbprints,” he said. “It’s the law.”

After our thumbs were stained with ink and recorded for the State of Tennessee, we signed the paperwork for the guns and prepared to leave. Jackson made two trips to the Hummer while I settled up with Tiny, and left him a happy man.

We found our way back to the I-40 and Jackson said, “Holy hell, Portia. That was one fuckin’ heap of money you spent in the gun shop.”

“Nothing we didn’t need, baby.  Could be totally worth every last penny.” I smiled and rubbed his leg. “I’d spend every cent I had to keep you safe.”

He grinned. “I’m the one supposed to be keeping you safe. I love you, girl.” Jackson drove until we stopped for lunch on the other side of Nashville.

Before we left town, we stopped at a golf store in a strip mall and bought a large molded case. “We need to have the rifles secured,” Jackson said, “to get them in and out of hotel rooms. I’m not leaving them in the truck.”

We headed for Memphis.

“Do you want to stop and tour Graceland?” I asked. “Are you an Elvis fan?”

“More of a country music guy, Toby Keith, some of the older ones, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings.  What about you?”

“Springsteen, Bob Seger, they’re my top two.”

“We should buy more CDs the next time we stop. I want to know everything there is to know about you.” He ran the back of his hand down my arm. “I don’t even know when your birthday is, baby.”

“July sixteenth,” I said, and sighed.

Jackson frowned. “Fuck, Annie. You were in your room all by yourself, and I didn’t even know it was your birthday.  We have to make up for that in Vegas.”

I inhaled a big breath and tried to forget about my wasted summer. “When’s yours?”

“September thirtieth.”

“Yippee. We’ll be in Vegas for that one.”

“Let’s do them both the same day.”

“It’s a date,” I grinned as I parked the Hummer under a tree at a rest area outside of Memphis.

“Hope this rest stop is asshole free.” Jackson scowled.

“Me too.” I took Angel for a long stroll in the doggie area and no one accosted me. “There are machines up there by the building. Want a cold Coke?”

“I’ll get a couple when I use the bathroom. Be right back.”

Under the closest tree, I filled Angel’s bowl with cold water and she lapped it up while we waited for Jackson. She was panting a lot more than normal and I wanted to get her back into the air conditioning. I jumped in the passenger seat, turned the key and cranked up the air.

“Nice in here,” Jackson said handing me an ice cold can of soda. “Were you hot?”

“Angel seemed to be panting more than she usually does.”

“Dogs aren’t good in the heat and our girl is a little on the chunky side,” he said with a smirk. “When we stop tonight, we’ll make sure there’s air.” Jackson was almost behind the wheel when he received a call. He jumped out, closed the door and walked far enough away that I couldn’t hear his conversation. When he returned, he was tense and not in the mood for sharing.

I don’t know how to act around Jackson when he’s in his gang boss mode. But I know one thing for sure—I hate it.

Jackson drove through Wendy’s in Little Rock and ordered a triple cheeseburger to tide him over until dinner. He carried on to Fort Smith where he found a hotel that measured up to his security standards. We checked into the Hampton Inn, settled Angel with her dinner, and walked to a little Mexican restaurant down the street.

“I’d kill for a beer,” I said after we were seated.

“Fuck, yeah, me too. I’m about dying here,” Jackson said waving at a waitress. His earlier mood seemed to have passed. She came directly to our table, laid colorful menus in front of us, and hurried off to get our drinks.

“We’re in Arkansas, sugar. Anything you want to see?”

“I’d like to go see that old fort in the morning if we have time. I’m a cowboy at heart.”

“Did I ever tell you, cowboys turn me on big time?” I grinned. “Of course, we’ll go see it.” The waitress returned with our beer and we ordered burritos with extra sour cream.

“You could be practicing online if we had some kind of a computer or something portable,” I said. “My technical knowledge would fit on the head of a pin.”

“Like an iPad?

I cocked my empty head to one side. “Sure. Like that. Where do you get those?”

“Wal-Mart or any place that sells electronics,” he said, “But they’re expensive.”

“We’ll check the local phone book and find a store. If you practiced at night you’d be in top shape when you got to Vegas and ready to kick some butt.”

“You keep me in shape, baby. I need stamina to deal with you on a daily, or should I say nightly basis.”

“Talk dirty to me, sugar, and I’ll do you right here on this table,” I winked and undid another button on my shirt. I leaned forward and tilted my cleavage into Jackson’s sightline while I slid my hand under the table and rubbed the inside of his bare leg.

He showed me the hint of a grin “Fuck. You’re making me hot.” He took a big drag on his beer. The waitress brought our burritos and Jackson ordered another round of Coors. “I’m glad we’re out of Canada for a while,” he said as he stared out the window into the street. “Easier to keep you safe.”

I spit out the question I’d had in my mind for a long while. “Who in Canada wants to hurt me, Jackson?”

He stood up glaring at me like it was none of my business, pulled money out of his pocket for the check, tossed the bills on the table and walked outside.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“HERE’S YOUR COFFEE, Portia. Hope I didn’t toast your bagel too much.” Jackson returned bearing food and brochures from the lobby. “Look at these pictures of the old fort.”

At the little table in the corner of the room, I sipped my coffee and looked at the pamphlets. “I found an electronics store. We can stop by there on the way to the fort.”

“Do you think you need to spend money on iPads?”

“Are you careful with your money, Jackson? You seem to be concerned about how much I’m spending.”

“Maybe comes from the fact that owing money to somebody in the club, usually doesn’t work out well in the long run,” he said with a frown.

“Kind of a leftover reaction?” I asked.

“Maybe, so.” More on-going than left-over.”

“I have left over and on-going reactions myself. Like an aversion to having the shit beat out of me on a regular basis.”

“Oh, baby. I didn’t mean to get you riled up.” He came over and held me in his arms.

“I’m not upset. I just want to enjoy every single minute of my life with you, and if that means spending a bit of money, then fuck it,” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. “Let’s go before I have to throw you down on the bed and ravage you,” I whispered.

“I’m getting used to it,” he said with a wink. “And I can take it.” He chuckled as he went out the door.

Jackson chose two iPads after a long deliberation over brands and features and opinions garnered from more than one employee at the big box electronic store. He carefully stowed them in the back of the Hummer as if they were encrusted in gold.

Our second stop of the morning was Fort Smith. Jackson surprised me with his enthusiasm for the guided tour. He hung on the costumed guide’s every word and was mesmerized by the history and the way of life that Fort Smith preserved. I took pictures of him standing on the parapets and he snapped enough shots of the fort and the soldiers to make a history book of his own.

“I loved seeing where the soldiers slept and ate in the mess—and where they stood at their posts to defend the fort. Wish I’d been there,” Jackson said with a frown. “Always wished I’d been at the Alamo.”

“That was a bit before your time, mister. And sadly, nobody survived the Alamo.”

“Yeah, that was so sad.” Jackson appeared genuinely stressed.

“I took some great pictures of you, sugar plum. You could be in a magazine, like GQ. But then I’d have to share you with the public, and all the girls would be drooling over you, and then one by one, I would have to kill them.”

“You’re crazy, Annie.”

“Just telling you the way it is, Mr.Traynor.”

I closed my eyes while Jackson headed for Oklahoma. When he turned off the engine, I looked around to see where we were.

“Late lunch,” Jackson said, “it’s two o’clock. Did you sleep well, baby?”

“I did. Do you want out, Angel?”  She was standing up in the back seat, ready to jump out the door of the truck. I gathered myself, checked my face in the visor mirror and released the hound. “Come on, girl,” I said with the leash in my hand. Before I could clip the leash on Angel’s collar she took off on the run with Jackson after her. They went twice around the restaurant before she ran straight back to me and sat down at my feet.

I was giggling when Jackson caught up and he was barely breathing hard. “Boy, you have done a job on cutting back, haven’t you? I don’t think you could have run that marathon a week ago, without gasping for air.”

“Three smokes today. Not too bad.”

I rubbed his arm. “Excellent. You’re going to be dynamite at the poker tables.”

“I hope I don’t let you down, Portia. You’re putting so much faith in me.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what this is about. You don’t have anything to prove to me. Just to yourself. I will love you no matter what,” I said, kissing him and pressing him against the Hummer.

Muscular arms wrapped around me and held me close. The smell of his hair and his cologne made me want him in the parking lot. “We better eat, before I flip into high gear.” I ran my hand down his zipper.

“Jesus,” he said, “people are looking at us.”

IT WAS AFTER three when the Hummer pointed west and we started the next leg of our journey. Jackson dealt with his daily crisis line and reported that Rusty had matters in hand, at least for the moment. To me, the number of phone calls and texts indicated some kind of activity in the club—more than the norm, but what did I know? Jackson kept me in the dark.

Would Rusty call every couple of hours if things were going well?

“Where to next?” Jackson asked, unfolding the map.

“I think we’re heading for Texas. I saw a sign for Amarillo.”

“Always wanted to go to Texas.” He grinned at me from the shotgun seat.

“Well, you’re almost there, cowboy. Get the camera ready, in case you see anything interesting.”

Jackson clicked pictures through the passenger window all across the Lone Star State. Mostly cows, oil rigs, ranches, cacti, one armadillo, a dead snake at the side of the road and a few wind turbines. We stopped once at a rest area for Angel, grabbed cold drinks from a vending machine, then continued over the hot, flat terrain.

“Glad we have air,” said Jackson. “Texas is a hot son of a bitch.”

Around seven forty-five, I pulled into a hotel on the outskirts of Amarillo. Angel had been whining for fifteen minutes. “Does this look okay?” I parked under the portico.

“Looks fine to me—I’ll take Angel for a run while you get us registered.”

I emerged from the office with our room keys in hand, drove the Hummer around the back to our ground floor room, and went to look for Jackson and Angel. The hotel property bordered a shallow ravine with a creek running through the bottom, and as I looked down the hill through the trees, I could see Jackson at the water’s edge letting Angel swim.  I hollered down the room number and went to unpack.

By the time they came up from the river, I had all our belongings in the room including the guns. I brought the boxes in containing the iPads and set them on the table in the corner. “Why don’t you get those computer things going so we can practice, and I’ll see if I can order a pizza from around here.”

“I’m all over it,” said Jackson, flashing me a smile.

I called up to the front desk, asked for the best local pizza delivery and put in an order. Jackson worked on getting our new electronics up and running and he was ready to rock when our pizza arrived. I fed Angel and we had the rest of the evening to ourselves—except for the six phone calls from Rusty.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JACKSON WOKE WITH a start and sat bolt upright when I entered the room. “Holy shit. What time is it?”

“Don’t panic. You were dead to the world when I got up. I worked you pretty hard last night if I remember correctly and you could use a little extra consideration this morning.” I laid out the booty from the breakfast room on the corner table.

“You do remember correctly,” he grinned, “but I wouldn’t exactly call it work.”

“Come have some coffee with me.”

“I’ll check the bikes, have a quick smoke and be right back.” He pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed his phone and went out the door. Angel whined after him.

I spread out the map on the bed to see what states were next on our westward trek. We were about seventy miles out of New Mexico. Tears for George trickled down my cheeks as I shut myself in the bathroom. My mascara was still a mess as the door opened. I sucked in a breath and put on my best smile.

Jackson shot me a look and took me in his arms. “What is it, baby?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. Sometimes memories get the best of me.”

“The boss?” he asked.

I nodded. “As we got closer to New Mexico, I was trying not to let it bother me, but it has a little. George and I were going to winter down here and ride our bikes all around the southwest like gypsies. I’m just having a moment.”

“You’re entitled. It’s only been a couple of months. Lord Jesus, I miss him as much as anybody. He took me in when I was a kid and was like a father to me. I could never have survived without him.” Jackson held me close as I dried my eyes.

I fixed my face in the mirror, did a few minutes of deep breathing and tried for a fresh start. “Ready?” I smiled. “Nothing is going to ruin this trip. Not even me.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows and cast a sideways glance at his phone.

Shit, the Regulators might ruin it.

Jackson loaded the Hummer while I gathered up Angel’s belongings, covered my red eyes with sunglasses and jumped in the passenger seat. “Shotgun,” I hollered.

An hour later we crossed the state line into New Mexico. As the temperature rose, the landscape became stark and desert-like. “I’m seeing a lot of Indian casinos along this route, and it’s a shame you couldn’t get some practice in. We can’t leave Angel in the car in the heat, so let’s look for one with hotel rooms.”

A couple of hours later, Jackson said, “Look at that big mother. They have a hotel.”

“Time for a poker break,” I said. “We need lunch anyway.”

Jackson sat in the Hummer with the motor on and cool air blasting out while I checked out the room situation. The parking lot was crowded with dusty pick ups¸ so chances were good that the casino was full of locals trying to give their money away.

“Can I help you, Miss?” A handsome dark-haired young native man in a hotel uniform asked from behind the desk.

“Do you have any vacancies?” I asked. “I also need to know if you allow pets?”

“We do have a vacancy, but it’s a suite. We don’t allow pets in our regular rooms.”

“So you only allow pets with money? Is that what you’re telling me?” I laughed.

“That’s about it,” he chuckled a little, showing me beautifully white teeth.

“You’re in luck, young man. My pet has money—how much for the suite?”

“Two-fifty,” he said biting his lower lip.

“When my husband comes in here, let’s not mention the price,” I said winking.

“I’ve got you covered. Here’s your key. Park around the west side, come in the side door and the elevator is right there on your left.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning towards the door.

I motioned for Jackson to follow me around the side of the building. I opened the hatch, grabbed my makeup bag and my suitcase and set them down beside him. He was leaning on the side of the Hummer smoking and texting. “I’ll walk Angel before we go upstairs and she’ll be good for a few hours,” I said. When I returned from the back of the property, we took the elevator to the fourth floor.

“Holy hell, Portia, look at the size of this fuckin’ room, or should I say rooms. There are a living room and a separate bedroom. This can’t be one of their regular rooms.”

“Not exactly regular, sugar. They only allow pets in the suites. A money grabbing rule if ever there was one.”

“That’s for sure. Please, don’t tell me how much this cost.”

“Have no fear, my darling. The price will never pass my lips.” I kissed him and giggled.  “Let’s see how well we do at the tables, and then we can decide whether to sleep here or move on.”

With Angel settled on her blanket, I filled her water bowl and gave her a Dent-a-bone before I changed my clothes. I pulled on a short denim skirt, topped it with a tangerine tube top and slipped on a navy hoody. I added black eyeliner, mascara and a couple of squirts of perfume. Then I paraded around Jackson. “What do you think?”

He raised his eyebrows. “That should take their minds off their fuckin cards.”

“You’re the only one I care about. Let’s go kick some ass.”

The poker area wasn’t large—six tables near the back wall of the casino. We had to weave through the rows of slot machines to find it.

“I hate it when the poker room isn’t separate,” said Jackson, “those fuckin slot machines playing that happy music—it drives me nuts.”

Jackson’s words made me aware of the clanging and the ‘happy music’ as we walked through. “It is noisy in here.”

Four tables were open. The player’s waiting list wasn’t long in the middle of the afternoon, and the poker supervisor seated us at our respective tables a few minutes later. The waitress came around and I ordered a beer. I posted, lost the first hand, then folded for the next half hour, watching the men at the table. I took special note of the winning hands they showed to see what kind of crap they were playing, just like Jackson taught me. For the next two hours, I played only the best cards and I bet large when I had them. I called an all-in with pocket kings and won over two hundred. My chip stack was growing and the men were regarding me as a player. During a dealer change, I took a walk by Jackson’s table. He had more chips than me and was in a big hand. I didn’t want to distract him. I made a quick side trip to the powder room and returned to my table.

A little later, Jackson came over and stood behind me. I folded my hand and stood up. “Are you finished,” I asked.

“Nope. Just hungry. I wanted to know if you felt like having some lunch?”

“My stomach’s growling. Can we leave the table?”

“We can have an hour without losing our spot. I asked the dealer.” He took my hand and walked me to the restaurant on the other side of the casino. The food was mediocre, but not terrible. On the way back to the tables, Jackson said, “Are you up, baby?”

“I think I’m up about three hundred. What about you?”

“About four-fifty. Cash out when you want to and go see about Angel. We can come back later tonight, if you want to sleep here.”

“Okay. If I’m not getting super cards, I’ll take a break and walk her shortly.”

Jackson nodded and went back to his table.

I sat down, forfeited my missed blind money and checked my hand. Pocket queens. When it came around to me, I raised to fifty bucks. That raised a lot of eyebrows at the table. Two guys called me.

The flop came, Ace-Ten-Five rainbow—three different suits. Seat three was a short stocky guy with a shaved head, wearing a muscle shirt. He bet twenty-five bucks. I was guessing he had either an Ace or a Ten. I called. Seat nine called as well.

The turn was a Queen. Now I had trip Queens, but one of those guys could already have a straight. Seat three bet twenty-five again and I raised to seventy-five. If he was waiting for one more card, he would have to pay for it. Seat nine folded. Seat three called the raise.

I held my breath for the river card. The dealer turned it over and it was a Five. Seat three shoved all the chips he had in his stack over the line. The dealer counted them. She looked at me and said, one-forty.

“Call,” I said. Seat three turned over his pocket Tens for a boat and I flipped over my pocket Queens.

The dealer pushed the pot towards me as seat three threw his cards, jumped up and yelled, “You stupid bitch.”

I looked him in the eye and smiled. “I raised you, sweetheart.”

By then Jackson was standing behind him as well as the pit manager. “The next time you insult my wife, you won’t hear me behind you when I pop a cap in your ass,” Jackson snarled.

I left the table and cashed out, then spoke to Jackson on my way to get Angel. “I’ll walk the dog then come back and see what you want to do.” He nodded, but I could see by the tension in his jaw that he wasn’t over the incident with seat three.

After Angel’s tour around the property, we returned to our suite and took a nap. The king size bed was comfy as I stacked up four of the fluffy pillows and stretched out on the chocolate brown duvet. I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, I woke looking straight into Jackson’s big brown eyes.

“You didn’t come back to the poker room, and I panicked,” he said. “Do you want to have dinner and play a little more later?”

“How are you making out?”

“I’m playing tight and I’ve made about five today. A lot of these local guys are big drinkers and they play bad cards.”

“Why don’t I get cleaned up, and after dinner we’ll see what the evening crowd brings to the poker room.” I yawned and sat on the side of the bed.

“I’ll take the dog outside, have a smoke and come back.”

Jackson was doing well at the tables and didn’t want to leave—didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. I zipped into the marble bathroom, redid my make-up and tried to tame my mop of hair. I sprayed perfume on my neck as he came in the door with Angel.

“You smell good.” He hugged me and buried his face in my hair.

“In case seat three hits on me.”

“If that prick says one word to you, I’ll kill him.” Jackson spoke through clenched teeth and I shivered. “You know I mean it.”

Please don’t kill anybody because of me.

“I know you do.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s go take their money.”

We put our names on the list while we ate dinner, and returned to the tables for a couple of hours. Jackson made another two hundred. I was card dead and folded most of my hands.

“I’m going upstairs to take a bath. Don’t leave the table until you want to.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JACKSON MANEUVERED THE awkward Hummer out of the casino parking lot. “How far is Albuquerque?” He headed for the on-ramp of the I-40.

I struggled with the map, refolding it to see where we were. “About a hundred miles, more or less.”

“We should be there before noon.” He adjusted the rear-view mirror, watching the bikes sway on the trailer as we bumped over a rough patch of road.

“We’ll have to stop for breakfast. No freebies at the casino this morning.” I poked him in the ribs. “You must be hungry.”

“I was getting used to raiding the breakfast room everywhere we stayed.”

“The casino was worth the stop-over. Gave you a little bankroll for Vegas tomorrow.”

Jackson frowned. “Is tomorrow the eighteenth? Shit, time went fast. Do you think we’ll make it all the way tomorrow?”

“We do or we don’t, makes no difference. We’re gypsies, we can adapt.” I giggled but Jackson didn’t even smile.

“I was thinking of our reservation, that’s all.”

“You’re the practical one in this duo.” I squeezed his arm flipping through a brochure I picked up on our way out of the hotel. “I think we can make it by tomorrow night, no sweat.”

Jackson eyed the pamphlet with interest. “Do you see something there that you want to see, baby?”

“When we get to highway eighty-four, take a left. I’d like to drive down to Fort Sumner and see Billy the Kid’s grave.”

“Right on,” Jackson spoke with enthusiasm. “Good call. We can’t miss that.”

It was an hour out of our way but definitely worth the trip. We strolled through the Old Fort Sumner Cemetery and stood reverently as we read the date, April 28th, 1881. Billy’s grave was flanked by the graves of his two buddies, Tom O’Folliard and Charlie Bowdre. All three burial sites were caged to protect them from souvenir hunters.

So much for resting in peace.

We stopped around noon for brunch at a little diner on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Jackson finished his lunch, my lunch, and two pieces of lemon pie. “I picked up this brochure on Gallup. It’s not far from here and has dozens of trading posts. It’s in Navajo country and I’m pumped for the red rock mesas and pictures of the canyons,” he said.

“How long until we get there?”

“A couple hours. We should be there by two, two-thirty.”

“Well, rev up your camera, cowboy. We’re on our way.” I paid our bill and we headed out to the Hummer.

Jackson hopped in the passenger side, gave Angel the bone from his steak and then fiddled with the camera chip while I drove. “We can download our pictures into the i-Pad and look at them whenever we want.”

“That’s your department, techno-boy.”

“I’m glad we have air in this mother—might get up to a hundred today out here in the desert.”

“We better keep an eye on Angel. Make sure she drinks enough water.”

***

THE SKY WAS overcast as we pulled into downtown Gallup. Dark clouds hung low over the landscape, the hot air overburdened with moisture. A gray mist rose from the river giving it an eerie feel as we walked Angel along the bank. Birds in the trees chirped news of the coming rain. Jackson removed Angle’s leash and encouraged her to wade into the shallow water and cool down. She slurped up a lot of water, jumping a little when a school of minnows touched her leg.

A couple of bikers were smoking at a picnic table under a tree. Jackson ambled over and chatted with them while I watched Angel.

“What’s up with those dudes?” I asked when he returned to the river bank.

“They’re just touring around. Said they were stopped twice by the cops and searched for drugs and weapons. There’s some kind of a state-wide blitz on right now against bikers. Also, told me they stopped into Grand Canyon Harley yesterday for a look, and they have tons of new stock. I’ve been lookin’ for a different bandana for a while. Those screen-printed fuckers leave paint on your skin when you sweat. Maybe we need Grand Canyon t-shirts?” Jackson asked with a grin.

“Definitely, we do.” It warmed my heart to see him so happy.  Along the main street of Gallup, we checked out the little shops overflowing with Navajo art and jewelry. I couldn’t help myself when I spied a gorgeous eagle pendant in silver and turquoise. I had to have it. Jackson put it around my neck and did up the clasp. I checked the mirror and smiled.

“That is the nicest fuckin’ necklace I’ve ever seen,” he said, taking my picture. “Hard to believe everything is made by hand.”

We bought hot dogs for lunch from a street vendor, before continuing our drive through the red rock mesa area. Jackson had a heyday taking pictures of the amazing terrain.

“Even though it’s cloudy, I think these pictures will be clear. This is a good camera.”

Back in the Hummer heading for Arizona and Jackson was still raving about the canyons and the red rocks. “I can just picture John Wayne riding through here on his horse.”  He paused, deep in thought. “Wish I’d seen the Wild West.”

I chuckled. “You were born too late, cowboy.”

“Wish I wasn’t,” he said with a pout.

“They probably rent horses around this area, and you could go riding. Let’s watch for signs. That might cheer you up,” I said. “Can you ride a horse?”

“If I can ride a bike, I can sure as hell ride a horse.”

I smiled and flipped through the book of attractions. “Here’s one. Tomorrow on our way up to the Grand Canyon, there is a place offering trail rides. I’m marking that page in the book.”

The siren whining behind us startled me awake. Jackson eased the Hummer onto the shoulder and stopped all the while cursing the air blue. “Fuck, they’re going to search us because we have a bike trailer.”

Heat rose in my neck while a fragment of an idea flashed through my brain. “Let me handle it, Jackson,” I whispered, “I’m not losing all those fucking guns.”

The officer came up to the driver’s window and Angel growled. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”

Jackson and I both got out and I walked around to the driver’s side. I handed the cop my license and registration for the Hummer. He was a tall young man with blond curly hair and reflector shades. But he was a man.

“We’re on vacation from Canada, officer,” I said with a flirty smile. I fluffed the right side of my hair and shook my head. “My name’s Annie. Do you want to see my bike?”

“Sure, I do, miss.”

I walked with him around to the bike trailer, chatting him up and asking him personal questions in whispers, trying to make him hot for me. It wasn’t hard. If Jackson was hearing it, he wouldn’t be pleased—even if it worked.

“Beautiful bikes, Miss Annie. Where do y’all plan to ride?”

“Grand Canyon and Red Rock Mesa areas.” I giggled and winked at him. “Can’t wait.”

“Any guns or drugs in your possession Annie?”

I took a step closer to him, my leg almost touching his. I could feel the heat from his body. “No, officer, I don’t use drugs and I don’t know how to shoot a gun. But I bet you do,” I leaned closer to him, pointing at his holster and whispered, “You’ve got a big one there.”

“He gave me a wide grin. “Have a safe vacation, Annie.”

“Thanks, officer. Hope we meet again.”

He sped off in his cruiser in search of another law breaker and Jackson gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Color rose up the back of his neck and he set his jaw as he stared straight ahead.  Anger oozed from every pour. “Fuck, Annie, I didn’t like you talking to him like that. Made me so…”

“Jealous?”

“I could hardly keep it together, baby. I wanted to tear him apart.” He shook his head, his teeth clenched together. “Don’t do that again. I can’t fuckin take it.”

George was the same—cut from the same cloth.

Jackson turned off the engine and the big Hummer engine fell silent. “Where are we?” I asked sleepily.

“The Marriott in Flagstaff. I’m tired and Angel has been in the truck long enough.” He pointed to the hotel, “Do you think this looks okay?”

I glanced up at the entranceway and nodded. “Sure. I’ll go in and get us a room.” The desk clerk was accommodating and gave us a room on the first floor. I picked up the key cards and motioned to Jackson, “Drive around the side, room one-sixteen.”

Jackson came in and flopped on the bed. “I’m so damn tired. I think it must be the heat.”

“Maybe you drove too long without a break. Wake me up when you’re tired next time and I’ll drive. I don’t mind.”  I cranked up the air, got Angel a bowl of water and walked back over to the bed. I pulled Jackson’s shirt off over his head, rolled him over onto his stomach and rubbed his back.

“Oh, that feels so good,” he mumbled. “Don’t ever stop.”

I pulled his boots off, then rolled him over and unzipped his shorts. I tugged them down and left him lying there in only his briefs to cool off. After I unloaded our belongings from the Hummer, I found some body oil in my toiletries bag and gave Jackson a rub down from his neck to his toes.

“Whoa baby, I can’t believe how good that made me feel. I think I might live.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JACKSON BARGED THROUGH the door carrying coffee, bagels and cinnamon buns. Angel jumped up from her blanket to greet him. He had been feeding her blueberry muffins from the breakfast buffet every morning. “Hey, girl.” He spoke in a whisper to the dog, set down his wares and began removing the paper from Angel’s muffin. “Didn’t mean to wake you, baby. It’s still early.”

“That’s okay, glad to see you have more energy this morning.  Although, I can’t say you were a slouch last night. You made a pretty impressive comeback after your slump.” I giggled as I untangled my legs from the sheets.

“I couldn’t sleep. Today is such a big day for us—The Grand Canyon, and then Vegas. Holy shit, it’s like every dream I ever had is coming true.”

I walked over and mussed up his hair. “I love you, cowboy,” I whispered. I sat on his lap while I poured cream into my coffee. After inhaling a cinnamon bun, I had a quick shower and dressed. Jackson was so gung-ho, I didn’t want to keep him waiting for fear he might explode. By the time I finished my makeup he had walked the dog, loaded the Hummer and was lurking near the door staring at his phone. “Everything okay at the club?”

“Rusty asked me a couple of questions that he should have known the answers to.” He shook his head, disgusted with his VP and blew out a big breath. “Uh huh, all good.”

At Williams, we hung a right onto highway sixty-four and headed north to the canyon. After driving about an hour on a desolate, boring highway, we came to a gridlock out in the middle of nowhere. Jackson jammed the Hummer into park and stepped out to see what was causing the problem up ahead. “There’s a shitload of reindeer on the road.” He chuckled.

“There are herds of elk in this area,” I said, pointing to the brochure.

“Never seen either one, elk or reindeer. I’m from the city.”

When the way was clear and the herd had meandered into the field, taking their own sweet time, the traffic crawled forward. A few miles farther north I pointed to a sign for the riding stables, and Jackson veered off the main road.

We ventured into the tiny office. The front façade was wooden, board and batten, built to represent a replica of an old livery stable—Hollywood style. Inside a couple of would-be riders were occupying the only two chairs. An old fellow with a weathered face, wearing a sweat-stained cowboy hat, leaned on the small counter.

“How long are the trail rides?” I asked.

“Usually about an hour, ma’am.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Jackson, “and I’m not going without you, baby.”

“Yes, you are, sugar.” My tone was firm. “There’s no other way for it.”

He nodded. It was too hot to leave Angel in the Hummer without the motor running at least part of the time. I walked with Jackson to the corral and inhaled a healthy dose of hot, dry Arizona air laced heavily with horse manure. I took some pictures of him after he mounted the buckskin he had chosen from the line of weary looking candidates and headed back to let Angel out of the truck. There were picnic tables scattered around the property and a small souvenir shop selling snacks and cold drinks. I bought a Coke and a gardening magazine and made myself comfortable in the shade with Angel lying beside me in the grass.

Less than an hour later, Jackson sauntered through the gate into the parking lot with a huge grin on his face. “I can see you had fun.”

“Rougher than riding my chopper, but fun. My ass is kind of sore,” he chuckled. “Hope you weren’t too bored, baby.” He kissed me and I gave him a hug.

“We were fine, weren’t we girl?” Angel rolled in the grass beside the table. “When we get to the canyon, she’ll be able to walk around on her leash while you snap pictures.”

“Are my two girls ready to go?” Jackson asked.

Angel wagged her stub of a tail as I picked up her bowl and dumped leftover water onto the grass. “We’re ready.”

On our way north to the rim of the canyon, we passed through Grand Canyon Village, a bustling Mecca of souvenir shops, restaurants, and hotels. “Let’s stop here on the way back, grab some lunch and browse in the shops,” I said. “We can get some cool shirts.”

“You got it.”

The traffic was fairly heavy approaching the parking areas, but eventually, Jackson found a spot large enough for our rig in the RV section. “We’re here,” he said as he shut off the Hummer. He was smiling non-stop and seemed a little more relaxed. Every time he got a call from the club it changed his mood and filled the air around him with tension.

Jackson took my hand, I held Angel’s leash, and the three of us walked along the shady path to one of the many viewing areas. When he passed through the trees and had an unobstructed view of the vast expanse in front of him, he gasped. “My God, Annie. Did you ever see anything so fuckin’ big?” He raised the camera to eye level and got busy.

“Not since last night,” I whispered back.

He grinned and winked. “Stand at the railing, baby, I want to take shots of you with the canyon behind.” He sucked in a breath. “Don’t get too close to the edge.”

Angel and I posed for Jackson as he took dozens of pictures. Then I took as many of him at different angels, with the canyon in the background. There were crowds of people everywhere. Walking, talking, and posing for pictures. I held my breath on two occasions observing parents allowing their small children to walk up to the railing alone and peer over the edge. Were they nuts?

If I ever had a child, I would never let go of his hand.

As we returned to the parking area, I squinted and shaded my eyes with my hand. Two men were lurking near the bike trailer. One was standing and the other was squatting down. Just as I turned my head to say something to Jackson, he dropped my hand and broke into a run.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, as he got closer to the Hummer. The guys bolted and ran for it. By the time I caught up, Jackson was checking the bikes to see if any damage had been done. “I’d like to beat the shit out of those pricks.”

“Were they trying to steal the bikes?” I asked my heart pounding.

“Must have been their plan. One of the ratchet straps is cut, and another is loosened.”

“Good thing we got back when we did. Could have been worse.” I sighed. “Are the bikes secure enough in the trailer to continue driving?”

“They’ll hold for now. When we get to the dealership, I’ll buy chains with a lock. This is no fuckin good.” Jackson’s face had color and his jaw was clenched as he rummaged for the tool he needed in the red box he kept in the Hummer. He finished a few adjustments and we headed south to the village.

Jackson opted for burgers at Wendy’s, positioning himself at a table with a clear sight line to our rig. He was on edge and wasn’t taking any chances. He asked for a pass on the souvenir shopping and drove straight to Grand Canyon Harley.

Jackson chatted to one of the boys on staff and headed out back to the repair shop to get what he needed to secure the bikes. While he was busy, I bought four shirts, a tank top, a hat, three bandanas and two pairs of jeans for Jackson. I walked Angel around the flat, treeless property while he finished up and proudly showed off our bikes to the locals. I took a few more pictures and waited in the Hummer.

“Nice guys,” said Jackson, as he hopped into the driver’s seat. They gave me a number in case we needed help with anything. They knew the boss.”

“What kind of help would we need, sugar?”

“Manpower, or backup, like that,” Jackson said casually.

“Are we expecting trouble down here?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jackson sounded unsure. He hadn’t been himself since his talk with Rusty this morning.

“Can’t believe they knew George way down here? That’s amazing.” I felt tears welling up and wiped my eyes.

Jackson reached for my hand.

“I’m okay, but I’d love to ride down here after we get settled in Vegas. Take more time and have another look at the canyon and the red rock area.”

Jackson looked over at me. “You’re a mind reader, baby. I love this area and need to ride back down here in a big way. When I was a kid, my dad would be passed out in his room or out somewhere drinking with his boys and I used to watch cowboy movies when they came on TV late at night. 3:10 to Yuma, with Glen Ford, was my favorite.  I always wanted to go to Yuma, Arizona and be a cowboy.”

“Put it on our list, and we’ll go there,” I said, looking at our location on the map. “We’re four hours out of Vegas. By the time we stop a couple of times for Angel, and a half hour at Hoover Dam for pictures, we should check into the Bellagio between seven and eight—right on time.”

“I can’t believe it. Today is the day,” he put his window down and hooted. Angel stood up and wagged her tail.

We stopped for gas in Kingman, bought cold bottles of water for Angel and a couple of Cokes, then continued northwest through the desert. After miles of sand, heat and scrub vegetation, we saw signs for the Dam. The checkpoint was lined up for a mile. I glanced at Jackson and saw the tension in his face. “Do the uniforms bother you, sugar?”

“Fuck, yeah. Been afraid of them my whole life. Bred into me by my dad, I guess.”

I frowned. “Did he bad-mouth cops when you were a boy?”

“Not so much what he said, but if we were walking to the store or saw a cop on our block he would take a detour so we didn’t come face to face.”

“Maybe he had outstanding warrants that you knew nothing about,” I said.

Jackson nodded. “He probably did. He was always in a club and away at night.”

I nodded and reached for his hand. When we cleared security, the visitor center was closing as we approached the door. “Sorry folks. Come back tomorrow.”

“That damn checkpoint made us late,” said Jackson, “I wanted to go on the tour.”

“Come on, sugar. We’ll do our own tour.” Jackson and I walked around with Angel and after he got fabulous pictures of Lake Mead on his own, he was appeased.

“That was our last stop before Bellagio,” I said. “I’m happy it’s your turn to drive. I don’t want to maneuver this big mother in the city.”

An hour later, Jackson pulled the rig into the casino parking garage and spoke to the attendant. “He swears everything is secure. They have cameras, guards, the whole nine yards.”

“Hope so. I wouldn’t want anything bending you out of shape.” I smiled and motioned to a bell person as I clipped on Angel’s leash. Jackson helped load the luggage trolley.

At the reservation desk in the lobby, I pulled my confirmation number out of my purse and presented it to the clerk. “Welcome, Mrs. Talbot. Your room is ready for you. And yes, I see you do have your pet with you,” he peered over the counter at Angel. “No problem. I see that you’re staying with us for a week.” He smiled as he handed me the room keys, booklets of coupons, and other sundry pieces of paper. “If you sign up for a player’s card, we can in all likelihood upgrade your room for you.”

“Thank you so much. Where do I sign up for that card?”

He pointed in the general direction of the noise. “In the casino, you’ll see the signs.”

I gave him a wave as we headed off to the elevator. In our room after the trolley was unloaded, I tipped the bellman and took a look around. Jackson had wanted to go with a regular room because we wouldn’t be in it all that much and he didn’t want me to spend the extra money. He was right, as always. Our room was more than adequate, with a king-sized bed, fresh blue and gray décor and a breathtaking view. I stood at the window taking in the Vegas panorama. We faced the strip and I could see the famous fountain in front of the hotel. Jackson stood beside me at the window and slipped his arm around my waist.

“We’re here,” he whispered. He took me in his arms and kissed me, then carried me to the king-sized bed to celebrate our arrival.

ANGEL WOKE US an hour later whining to go out. After her tour of the Bellagio property, Jackson and I showered and changed.

“Why don’t you wear some of that new stuff I bought you at the Harley store,” I pointed to the bag on the corner table.

“What new stuff?  Did you shop?”

“I bought a few things while you were fixing the ratchet straps.” I handed him the bag.

“This is more than a few things, Annie.” He dumped the clothes onto the bed and picked up a pair of jeans. They were tight and I giggled as he wiggled his butt into them and sucked in a breath to zip them up. “These fit like a glove. How did you know my size?”

“Umm…I measured your waist while I was fucking you.”

Jackson couldn’t stop laughing. “Annie, you’re crazy.” He hugged me and spun me around the room. “Thanks, baby.” He pulled one of his new Harley rider’s shirts over his head, and he was ready to party.

We ventured down to the casino floor for our first night of poker and Jackson was so hyped, he could barely contain himself. “We’re playing in Vegas, baby,” he shouted in the elevator to anyone who was interested and many who weren’t. “You made it happen. I can’t fuckin believe it.”

We sat at the bar closest to the poker room listening to the noise of the slot machines while we waited for our names to come up on the list. Jackson went for a quick smoke before we took our assigned seats and readied ourselves to play some serious cards. I was in seat nine at a one-two, all-in table, and Jackson was at a two-five. I could see him across the room from where I was sitting and seeing the way he was holding his jaw, I knew he was tense.

I rested my arms on the leather bumper, watched the players fiddling with their chips and took stock of my adversaries. There was only one other woman at my table, and she was older and somewhat dowdy. I was dressed in what I deemed to be an ‘eye-catching’ poker outfit. Black leather boots, a short black skirt and a black and silver shimmery top that showed a definite hint of cleavage. I could tell from the looks I was getting from the male contingent at the table that they regarded me as an easy mark—exactly my intention. The first time the waitress came by, I ordered a Coors and I was ready to rock.

Seat six was the chip leader at the table. He was a Mike Tyson look-alike with numerous tats. I checked under his chair for a tiger. Nope. After a quick tally of his chips in my head, I put him at eight hundred plus. I folded my first four hands and watched the gentlemen play. Jackson insisted it was always advantageous to get a read on the competition. The lady at the end in the flowered dress was playing super tight. She folded everything that was dealt to her and had yet to play a hand.

My big blind—I peeked at my cards and had pocket nines. Seat two called the blind, seat five raised to thirty, seat seven called the raise and I called.

Four players. The flop came Queen-Nine-Two. Two of the cards were hearts. Seat two checked, seat five bet fifty bucks, seat seven folded, I called and seat two folded.

Heads up. The turn card was a King of clubs. Not a good card for me if buddy in seat five had Jack-Ten. Seat five bet another fifty bucks and I called. The river was a deuce. Seat five pushed all-in. I knew he had the straight. The dealer stacked his chips and gave me the count. Ninety bucks. I called. He flipped over his Jack-Ten and started reaching for the pot. When I turned over my full house, he stood up and went for a walk. The dealer pushed me the pot and I got busy stacking my chips.

A couple of the guys said ‘nice hand’ and I knew they would be a little warier of the hands they played against me in the future. In the next hour, I played two or three hands and folded after the flop. I wasn’t hitting much. I stretched my legs with a walk to the powder room and on my return trip, I cruised by Jackson’s table to check out his chip stack. He was in good shape and was up about three hundred. I gave him a smile and went back to my seat.

My first hand after I returned to the table was pocket aces. I was hoping my poker face was holding me in good stead. Jackson had worked with me at home getting rid of my tells. When I first played on-line with him, I yelled ‘yahoo’ every time I got a good hand—that’s a tell. Seat seven was under the gun and raised to sixty bucks, everyone folded around to me. I called, the rest of the table folded and we were heads up. The flop came Seven, Eight, Ten of clubs and I was holding the two red aces. Buddy shoved all in and I figured he had at least one club. I hated to do it, but I folded my aces. He smiled as he pulled in the chips and I knew that he had bluffed.

You won’t make me fold again, buddy.

The very next hand, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw aces again. What are the odds? (1/48,841) I figured seat seven would be overconfident and take another run at me. He was a blond kid in a hoody with ear buds and he was in the big blind. Seat eight folded, I raised pre-flop to fifty. Everyone else folded around to seat five. He called and seat seven called. Game on.

Three players. The dealer burned a card and the flop came Ten-Three-Jack.  The action was on buddy-boy—he checked.  I bet seventy-five. Seat five folded. Seat seven check-raised to one-fifty. I nodded and called.

Heads up. The turn was Ace of Hearts. Possible straight for buddy, trips for me. Seat seven had the action—he bet two hundred bucks. I thought he must have King-Queen, if a King comes we split, if the board pairs, I win. I called. He smirked. The dealer flipped up the river card. Holy smokers. The case ace. I couldn’t believe it. Buddy in seat seven said all in. I knew he had a boat. I took my time and made him wait, then said, “Okay. I call.”  I turned over my pocket aces.

The dealer said, “Quad aces.”  Then she yelled. “High hand” and a pit manager came over and took down information for a payout.

Jackson was so right—this was fun. With all the commotion at my table, Jackson had wandered over to see what was happening. He just stood back and smiled, watching me make rows out of my chips. He winked and returned to his game.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GETTING USED TO the time change took longer than I’d imagined. I figured driving westward through the time zones would, in itself, help to normalize our sleeping patterns, but I was waking up at four in the morning waiting for the alarm to go off. During the night, I started several times when sirens raced each other down the strip to yet another Vegas emergency.

Jackson had done well his first day at the tables, and he was hyped. In a little shop on the main floor of the hotel, I bought him a notebook to keep track of his buy-ins and his winnings. He was still pretty much in a dream world, and in the unpredictable land of poker, reality would soon kick him in the head.

He slept soundly, snoring softly as I eased out of the big bed and pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Angel stood up on her blanket and yawned when she saw me getting up. I clipped on her leash and we tip-toed out of the room. Downstairs, after her walk, she waited by my side while I bought coffee and muffins to take upstairs. She needed more running room than the hotel offered, and I was trying to come up with a workable solution.

I was successful sneaking back into our room without waking Jackson. Sitting at the corner table in one of the easy chairs, I sipped my coffee and marveled at how deserted and peaceful the strip seemed in the early morning hour. The mountains rising out of the desert in the distance reached up into the low-hanging clouds and rendered a timeless background to the sleeping city. My glance turned from the window to the king-sized bed and watching Jackson sleep made me smile. He was one of the bad boys—no way around it—but he was nothing but good to me—the same way George had been, and I adored both of them.

When I came out of the bathroom after my shower I found him slouched at the table by the window in his briefs, drinking coffee. He looked up and smiled. “You were up early, Annie,” he said in the soft tone that he reserved exclusively for me. “Everything okay?”

“Still on Toronto time, I guess.” I sat on his lap, cuddled into him and kissed him.

“Want to go back to bed for a while, baby? It’s still early.” He stroked my hair.

“You’re impossible to resist, cowboy. I want you night and day,” I whispered in his ear.

He grinned, scooped me up and tossed me on the bed. “What happens in Vegas, baby.”

I laughed as he rolled me out of my towel and flopped down on the bed beside my naked body. My hair wasn’t dry and the dampness around my neck gave me shivers. Jackson lay on top of me and kissed me with his mouth open while he pushed his thigh up between my legs and rubbed on me. I clutched at his back, pressing his chest down on my breasts. His erection grew in my hand as I stroked him gently. He was panting now and growling low in his throat as he entered me, pulling me closer and closer with his hands firmly under my ass. With a final thrust, my orgasm brought him home and I hollered loud enough to be heard in the casino. We slept.

***

AT NOON, JACKSON registered for a two o’clock tournament, and we headed to Café Bellagio for lunch. He left the table twice to take private phone calls and I called on inner reserves to keep my cool. He offered no explanation of what was so pressing in Toronto.

At one-thirty I walked him back to the poker room and kissed him for luck. With Jackson happily occupied for the next few hours, I was free to explore other avenues.

In the smoke shop, I bought a newspaper, picked up another coffee, and returned to our room. Renting a house would solve several problems. It would give us a place for the bikes, a yard for Angel and a kitchen for me. I circled three possibilities and made a call.

An hour later, I checked on Jackson in the tournament and told him I was going out. He scowled and shook his head in the negative, but he couldn’t leave his game. He was not wearing his happy face as I left the poker room.

I stood in front of the hotel until the real estate agent I had called picked me up. I climbed into the passenger seat of her Honda Accord and she introduced herself.

“Mrs. Talbot, I’m Pam McAvoy.”

I smiled and nodded. She was an attractive woman in her fifties, with dyed blonde hair, a little overweight, but well dressed and friendly. Her red skirt accentuated her generous behind. On our way to the rentals, she chatted non-stop and gave me a fifteen-minute run down on everything Vegas. She had grown up here and wasn’t a transplant like most of the population.

The first house we viewed was on a busy street, boasted an inground pool, three bedrooms and a double garage. The pool took up most of the yard and there was no grass for Angel.

The second offering was on the outskirts of town, the property was large, but in a desolate area with very few trees and the house was boxy and ugly. By the time we reached the last house on the list, it was after four in the afternoon and the temperature had climbed into the high nineties. The heat hit me like a sledgehammer when I stepped out of Pam’s air-conditioned car. I sucked in a big breath.

“It’ll be a little cooler in the house, even though the air isn’t on,” she said, unlocking the front door. This house is furnished, that’s why it’s more per month, but on the other hand that might save you a lot of hassle.”

“It definitely would. I’m thinking of buying in Vegas, but I want to live here for a while, get to know the neighborhoods before I decide on a permanent location,” I said.

We toured the house and it ticked most of the boxes. Medium sized modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a breakfast bar, three bedrooms, master with ensuite, and a large yard with grass and a few mature trees—trees being at a premium in Vegas. The features Jackson would love were the three-car garage, the internet and the proximity of the house to the strip.

“This one is the best of the three,” I said after Pam had finished her spiel.  “I’ll take it. Do I have to be approved, or can I just rent it on the spot?”

“The owner trusts me to screen the applicants, so I believe I can safely say that you can rent it now. The other people I have on the list have not come up favorably in the financial area of their applications.”

“My problem is not financial, her name is Angel, and she is not happy being stuck in a room at the Bellagio.”

“That’s what you told me on the phone. It’s just you, Angel and your husband?”

I nodded. “Just the three of us.”

Pam opened her briefcase on the kitchen counter and pulled out a rental agreement. “Since the house is sitting empty, I can offer it to you for the first of October, or you could backdate to September fifteenth and pay month to month on the fifteenth. There is a two-month notification clause, so you are bound by that and I need two month’s rent up front.”

“September fifteenth works for me. Would you like a check or cash?”

“Check works better for me if you don’t mind.”

I wrote a check on my US account, handed it to Pam and signed the rental agreement. She presented me with the keys and showed me which doors they fit. “Enjoy your new home. I’d love to find you a house when you’re ready to buy.”

“You’ll be the first person I call,” I said, tucking her card into my wallet.

We chatted about shopping in Vegas on the way back to the hotel. There was a whole list of things I needed to buy, to set up housekeeping in my new digs, and Pam knew where to get the best prices on anything and everything. I was bursting to tell Jackson about my afternoon.

THINKING THE TOURNAMENT would be over when I returned, I made a quick stop at the poker room to check. One table remained and Jackson was still playing. He made the final table. I was so excited for him. He looked up, saw me and grinned. I gestured that I would be back, and went to talk to the reservation clerk about checking out the following day and canceling the rest of our stay. The hotel was understanding and allowed me a refund for the balance of the week. I went upstairs to tell Angel the good news. She was excited to see me and more excited when I put her on her leash and took her out.

“Tomorrow, you’ll have your own yard,” I told her in the elevator. After our walk, I tucked Angel back upstairs and returned to see how Jackson was faring at the final table.

Down to three players. I sucked in a breath, hoping for Jackson to go all the way. He had already made it to the money. Players that had been eliminated were standing around the final table watching the end of the tournament. Seat four looked at his cards and pushed all-in against seat two and was eliminated—pocket eights against Ace-King. Seat two chatted with Jackson for a couple of minutes, they shook hands and split first and second place money.

Jackson was beaming after he was paid out and made his way over to me. “Did you see that, baby? I made it all the way.”

“I certainly did see it. Congratulations.” I gave him a quick hug. “You were amazing. Feel like getting some dinner?”

“My treat, I’m rolling in it.” He laughed as he flashed the wad of bills. “Where were you all afternoon?” His smile faded as he reached for my hand. “I looked for you on the break.”

“I was touring Las Vegas.”

He scowled. “Baby, you shouldn’t go out without me. It’s not safe.”

Why isn’t it safe? Because it’s Vegas?

“I was with a real estate woman that knew kung fu.” I laughed but Jackson didn’t. “Seriously, I rented a house.”

“You always surprise me, Annie. I never know what you’re thinking. Sounds good to me. I’ve been on edge about the bikes being in that fuckin’ parking garage.”

I nodded. “I realize you’ve been checking on them every couple of hours. The reservation desk is cool with us going in the morning and they refunded the balance to my visa. What we need to do is shop for stuff like sheets, towels, and household items. Houses are so cheap to rent in this town, and it’s only five miles from the strip.”

Our server came by and Jackson ordered drinks. “The hotel is too expensive. I couldn’t see how we could stay here very long, baby. I was worried.”

“Never worry when I’m on the job,” I leaned over and kissed him. “You only have to concentrate on poker, that’s your job.”

“My first job is looking out for you, baby,” he whispered and murmured, “poker will always be second.”

The waitress arrived with our beer and we ordered.

“How long did you rent the house for?”

“Month by month.”

“Jesus, Annie, I told you I couldn’t be gone more than a couple of weeks.” He raised his voice, the vein tensing in his neck.

“You can fly back whenever you want to. We’re not joined at the hip.” I retreated into my silent mode and tried not to think about hanging around Vegas alone.

After dinner, we retired to our room and made plans for the morning departure. I listed things we would need immediately for the house, and wrote down the locations of the stores Pam had told me about. My grocery list was so long it had Jackson laughing and eased the tension between us. “I don’t want you to starve.”

“I’ll never starve with your cooking, Annie. You cook better than any restaurant.”

“Thanks, honey, I’m going to reward you for saying such nice things about me.” I stripped off my clothes and threw them in the air as I strutted over to the bed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JACKSON TIPPED THE bellman after the Hummer was loaded. I jumped into the passenger seat, realizing I was not the best one to guide this awkward rig out of the parking garage and through downtown Vegas. Pam had drawn a little map, showing the easiest way to get to the rental house from the strip. I gave directions to Jackson, hoping I wouldn’t lead him astray. After only one wrong turn, we arrived and he pulled the Hummer into the driveway.

“Baby, this looks like more than twelve hundred bucks a month.”

“Toronto prices, it would be double that, sugar. I’m sure.”

“I love those red tiles on the roof. Looks so…..”

“Spanish?”

“Yeah, Spanish. Let’s check out this mother of a garage.”

“I thought you would like the garage.”

“Thing’s so fuckin’ big I can hear an echo in here,” he hollered. “Love it baby. Smells like fresh paint.” He raised one of the doors.

“Come on, Angel. I want to show you the yard.” I opened the back door in the garage and waited for her. “You can run free out here, girl.” Angel took off on an inspection tour of her new yard. She sniffed carefully all the way around the wooden fence.

Jackson walked out to take a look. “Not as big as the yard at Hawthorne Lane, but big enough for one dog,” he nodded. “And there is some shade.”

“Come and see the inside,” I motioned for Jackson to come in through the patio door after he’d given his approval to the yard.

“Yep, looks okay. The kitchen is roomy.” He sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“I’d offer you a beer if we had any.”

“I like it. Everything we need and only five minutes from the poker rooms. You are a genius.” He came around the counter and held me in his arms. “I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too, cowboy. More than you know.”

“Let me put away the bikes, unload the Hummer and we’ll go get some beer and celebrate.”

While Jackson was busy with the trailer, I unearthed Angel’s food and bowls in the back of the truck and brought them in. I filled her water and made a mental note to buy her a new toy while we were at the store.

Jackson brought the luggage in, and we took it to the bedroom. He peeked into the ensuite. “Huge tub and separate shower.”

“Big enough for two.”

“We’re on the same wavelength, baby.” He opened the closet door and stood the gun case on its’ end inside and to the right. “Maybe we can find a better spot for the guns when we get back from the store. If we need them in a hurry, the closet is no good.”

WE RETURNED FROM our shopping trip with the Hummer loaded with linens from Bed and Bath, housewares and groceries from Wal-Mart, and beer from the corner liquor store.

“That was some shopping marathon, baby. I need a beer to recover.” Jackson checked his phone and returned it to his pocket.

“Let’s have one before we unload, and a couple more after.” We sat on the stools in the kitchen, downed a couple of cold ones, and unpacked the groceries. “I’ll start putting these away and make lunch while you get the other stuff, sugar. You must be hungry.”

“I’m starving, Annie, fuckin starving,” he shouted, as he went out to the truck.

Jackson brought the rest of the bags in and put them on the table. I made pastrami sandwiches on rye bread and dished up potato salad and coleslaw. I opened two more beers and set it all on the breakfast bar.

“Ready for a starving customer,” I said.

Jackson laughed and was walking towards the food when his cell phone rang on his belt.

“Who would call?” he said, a puzzled look crossing his face. “Only Rusty and Billy have my cell number.”

The look of fear in Jackson’s eyes when he answered the call had me sucking in a huge breath. “What? Sit down, sugar. You don’t look so good.” I hurried around the island and wrapped my arms around him.

“That was OPP in Kingston. My Dad escaped from Millhaven with two other cons, and the cops wanted to know where I was and if he had contacted me. They killed two guards during the escape and they’re wanted for murder. FBI has been put on alert and the OPP will be talking to Las Vegas Police now that they know I’m here. He gave me a number to call if he shows up.”

“Oh, my God, Jackson. He was going to get out in three years or sooner if his appeal was successful.” My legs had turned to mush.

Jackson covered his face with his hands. “He’s a follower, Annie. Always been in a bike club and has that mentality bred into him. Just like me.”

“You’re not like him, sugar.” I stroked his hair.

“I was headed down that path, before you, Annie. If the boss hadn’t made me swear I’d take care of you, I’d be…” he couldn’t continue.

For the next twenty minutes, I held Jackson in my arms and tried to console him. He knew his father better than anyone, and the effect this news was having on him didn’t bode well.

He went into the bedroom and I followed. He took the gun case out of the closet and opened it on the bed. “Where’s all the ammo, baby?” he asked softly.

“In the suitcase with the bike gear.” I picked the right one, hefted it onto the bed and unzipped it.

“Load all the guns, and wear your holster. He’s coming. I can feel it.”

“How would they get across the border without passports?”

“They can get fake ID in prison. You can get anything in there for a price.”

“Why do you think he’s looking for you, Jackson?”

“Probably needs money, a vehicle, place to hide out until the heat’s off and he’s not getting any of that from me. Not this time. Every time he was in trouble in the past, he would take my ride, all my money and make me help him, and he would end up right back in lockup. I had to start all over and get a new job, save for another Harley and make a fresh start.

The one time I was broke and had no place to live, the boss took me under his wing and trained me to be his right hand in the club. He got me the manager’s job at the Harley dealership and gave me a place to sleep. I owed him everything.”

“Is that why you agreed to look after me, in case something happened to him?”

“Partly, but the biggest reason was… I was in love with you. I couldn’t help myself. The boss knew it and I’m sure that’s why he picked me.”

My eyes filled with tears and I went into the bathroom to pull myself together. Now was not the time to mourn George. I had to be strong and help Jackson figure out what to do about his father. I did some deep breathing and walked back into the bedroom.

Jackson was sitting on the side of the bed, loading guns. “Let’s get these fuckers loaded, and eat our lunch. My stomach’s growling.”

“Want another beer?” I asked after we had eaten. “Should we talk about what we’re going to do if your dad comes here, so we’re both on the same page? You know how quick I am on the trigger.”

“Let’s have a few and hash this out. No use pretending, he won’t show up, because he surely will. The story of my life.” He scowled. “One time, when I was in my twenties, I had this great job working construction. I was learning to run heavy equipment, I had my own place and I had saved up a couple of thousand when my dad found me. He beat me up and broke three of my ribs, then made me go to the bank and empty my account. I couldn’t work for two weeks after that. I lost my job, couldn’t pay my rent and he just disappeared. He never cared about me.  Never.

“Oh, my god, what kind of a man would do that to his own son? Don’t worry, sweetie, the cops will find him and lock him up again right away.” I gave Jackson a hug. “They escaped on Tuesday night late and this is Thursday, so they’ve been on the move for almost two days. If they aren’t sleeping much, they could be here tomorrow or the day after, if they don’t hole up somewhere.”

“We have no way of knowing what those assholes are thinking, so let’s be ready from this moment forward, thinking that they are going to bust through the door any fuckin second,” Jackson growled.

“How would they have a clue where we are in Vegas?”  I asked.

“I didn’t mention the hotel when I visited him in prison, so all he has is Vegas. He doesn’t know your last name either. Can’t figure how he would put it together, but I know he will. Guaranteed. Some of his old contacts in the police department may help him out if he has any left.  He was always big on greasing palms when I was younger. He would brag about having people in his pocket, and I didn’t really trig into what he was talking about until years later.”

“You must have had one hell of a life growing up, sugar,” I said and mussed up his hair.

“No worse than you, baby, growing up in foster homes. I had one parent and I realize now that I would have been better off without him.”

“Jackson, there’s something I need to say, before this goes any further, and I’m going to be brutally honest with you.”

“What, Annie?” He raised his eyebrows. “You sound scary serious.”

“I am serious. Deadly serious. If it comes down to you or him, I want you to know that I won’t hesitate. I will kill him.” I inhaled.

“I know that, baby.” He nodded. “I saw you kill Kenny Portsmith when he had the knife at the boss’s throat.”

“I didn’t know you saw the shooting. The rest of that day was a blur after what happened, and I never realized who was there. Best not to think about it.”

“I can remember that day like it was yesterday,” said Jackson with a faraway look. “One of the hottest days last summer… I heard the yelling when the fight was going down, and I came running out of the shack and rounded the corner just as you pulled the trigger. I couldn’t fuckin believe it. From that distance, where you were standing, way over by the bikes, and with Kenny jumping around and hollering like a maniac, I don’t know how you drew a bead on him. I had my gun drawn, but I couldn’t get a shot off with those screaming girls in the way. I was a helluva lot closer than you.” He shook his head.

I didn’t like to think about killing Kenny Portsmith, although it had to be done, so I got back to the problem at hand. “As long as we’re clear on that one point, I’m ready for your dad and his buddies. If they want cash and a vehicle, I can give them money and buy them a used pickup or something as long as they’re out of here in a couple of hours. No way are they taking either of our bikes or the Hummer.”

“I agree, baby. My biggest fear is that I won’t stand up to my dad the way I should. I’m Mr. Tough Guy—worked my way up to number one in the club by being brutally tough. My dad threatens me and it’s like I’m eight years old. I panic and do what he wants. Whenever he’s near me, I cave. I can’t think—I’ve been scared shitless of him since I was a kid. Must come from all the beatings he laid on me when I was younger. Probably need fuckin therapy.” He punched his hand with his fist.

“We’ll stand together against them. They’ll think I’m a helpless girl and that will be our ace in the hole.”

“These guys are killers, Portia. They killed guards and they won’t think twice about killing us to get what they need. I can’t see this ending any way but very fuckin bad.” He hung his head and exhaled a big breath.

“Fuck them, Jackson. We’re going to be ready in case they show. I need some time with the rifles. Let’s head out into the desert for a couple of hours and empty a box or two.”

“Better than sitting around here. Let’s do it.”

ON THE WAY out of town, we stopped at a gun shop and picked up a couple boxes of practice ammo. Jackson drove out of the city, chose a deserted road far away from civilization, parked the Hummer and set up some targets. The air was hot and dry and the sound of rifle fire echoed through the desert like cracks of lightning. Angel ran free while we practiced and annoyed an armadillo she found huddled beneath a cactus.

I emptied my first box. “I’ve got a good feel for this Remington. I love it.”

“Just getting some practice in has settled my nerves a lot,” said Jackson.

While he continued shooting I sat on a rock and loaded the rifle over and over until I was lightning fast. Jackson watched me, and then practiced with his Smith and Wesson, and then with the Bone Collector.

“Sun’s going down. Almost ready for home?” I asked.

Jackson nodded. “Time for a beer or two.”

DUSK HAD FALLEN on Vegas when Jackson parked the truck in the garage. As we carried the guns to the cleaning table, I felt considerably more prepared for unwanted visitors than I had a few hours before. Maybe Stan and his buddies would never show up, but if they did we were ready.

“Dinner’s on the table.” I stuck my head out into the garage. Jackson had arranged the bikes in one bay and the Hummer in the second, leaving lots of open space to work on the Harleys or clean guns, or whatever. He had thrown a mat down for Angel and she loved hanging out there in the man cave with the man.

“Garage is all locked up.” He sat down at the table and let out a big sigh. “I feel a lot calmer than I did a couple hours ago.”

“Angel will give us warning if she hears anything outside, and that will give us an advantage.” I set a plate of food in front of Jackson.

“This looks good, baby. How did you cook the steaks without a barbecue?”

“The stove has a grill built in, but I would still like to buy a barbecue for the patio. You can use it all year round in this climate.”

Jackson polished off his steak and salad, and a mountain of mashed potatoes floating in butter. I got off my stool to put on a pot of coffee just as Angel took off in the direction of the back door growling and snarling. I tensed and froze mid-step.

Jackson jumped off his stool so fast he knocked it over. “Turn off the lights,” he whispered, as he went with Angel to check out the yard.

Concealing myself behind the drapes, I peered out the front window and saw no movement of any kind on the street. I tip-toed through the living room and stood at the patio door watching Jackson check the perimeter with the dog. “Anything?”

“Don’t think so. She probably heard a noise from one of the neighbor’s yards.”

My hands shook as I returned to the kitchen and turned the night light on over the stove. I sucked in a big breath to steady myself before I poured the coffees. Still shaky, I added cream, picked up the sugar spoon and dumped a pile on the counter. “Shit,” I mumbled to myself as I cleaned it up. Was I really ready for them or was I just kidding myself?

I carried the mugs into the living room. “Let’s see if there’s anything on the news about the escape, or the pursuit.”

Jackson fiddled with the remote, got the TV up and running, and we checked out the news on every channel. “This is American stuff,” he grumbled. “We need Canadian news to find out what’s happening.”

“What about on our Pad things we bought.”

“You’re right. I can Google it. I hope we have the internet here.”

“I’m sure Pam mentioned it.”

Jackson stared intently at his screen for ten minutes before he said anything. “Fuck,” he hollered. “This report says the police lost their trail in Alberta and they might have crossed into the US.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“DID YOU SLEEP at all, sugar?” Running my hand down his bare back I could feel the tightness in all his muscles. He was slouched on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, elbows on the counter, his face resting on his fists. “Off and on. I kept reaching under my pillow to make sure my gun was there. I’m a fuckin mess.” He stared at his shaky hands.

“It’s just the waiting that does that to you. If they do come here, you’ll suck it up and pull it all together.”

“Sounds like you did this before, baby. You’ve been in a lot of situations.”

“I lived three years with Matthew, waiting for him to attack me, and I never knew when he would strike—then I waited for Kenny’s bitch to come after me—thinking there were no bases that I hadn’t covered. I let her almost kill me with a bomb. I was stupid believing I was bullet proof and could take her down in any situation—I walked right into a trap—so fucking stupid.”

“You are never stupid, Annie. You’re the smartest woman I know.”

“She taught me a valuable lesson,” I shook my head, “When you think you’re totally prepared, go over the plan one more time and look for holes.”

Jackson nodded. He was not smiling.

I put a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of him and filled up his coffee. He stared into space.               “Eat your breakfast, sugar. When the time comes, have confidence in yourself. You’re in top shape, a trained fighter, and an excellent marksman.”

“You’re right, baby. I don’t know why I’m stressing so much about this. I’ve never backed down from any fight, and I hardly ever lose one.”

“Because he’s your father, you’re letting emotions enter into it. That’s what’s screwing up your head.” I messed up his hair. “You have me for a sidekick.”

“No better back up than you, Annie. That’s for fuckin sure.” He gave me a hug.

I don’t know if he believes that. He might be more confident with one of his own men.

I showered, dressed and wriggled into my shoulder holster. The Beretta was loaded. I double checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber, flicked the safety on and put the gun in the holster. Cocked and locked. I repeated the procedure with my rifle and laid it on the dining room table.

Jackson sat in the living room checking the Canadian news on his i¬¬Pad, the muscles in his arms taut.

“Anything recent?”

“Can’t find any new reports. I hate not knowing what the hell is happening.”

“Chances are they won’t come here until after dark if they have any brains at all.”

“They’re short on brains, baby, or they wouldn’t have killed guards and be running for their lives.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ANGEL GROWLED. A long low growl rumbling from deep down in her throat. She scrambled up from her blanket and bounded out the bedroom door. The clock read three twelve. I grabbed my clothes off the floor, tugged them on and shoved my Beretta into my waistband.

“Jackson, wake up. Angel heard something,” I whispered and touched his arm.

He sat up, groggy for a moment, reached for the lamp and then pulled his hand back. The room was pitch dark. He grabbed the Smith and Wesson from under his pillow and jumped to his feet. Tripping over his jeans, he shoved a hand against the wall to steady himself, grabbed this pants from the floor and tugged them on. He tore out of the room with me on his heels struggling to get my feet into my boots.

The side door stood open when I reached the kitchen. Jackson had gone into the garage and Angel was locked in the yard, barking and scratching on the patio door. The amount of foam she had spewed onto the glass door showed her hatred for our guests. Shards of glass protruding from the smashed garage door—the one leading to the yard—sparkled in the glow of the street light. Three shadowy forms huddled in the garage with Jackson speaking in low tones. I sucked in a big breath and wiped my hands down my jeans.

“Hey, son, good to see you.” Jackson’s father gave him a rousing slap on the back.

“What do you want?” Jackson growled.

“Is that the best you can do? Your old man came all the way to Vegas to see you and the girlfriend,” he chuckled.

“How did you find me, Dad?”

“Wasn’t that hard. Had a buddy of mine in Toronto put a chip in your bike. That way, I always know where my little boy is in case I need him.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Wouldn’t want to lose track of you now that you’re in the money.”

Jackson wouldn’t have told him I have money.

“Quit fuckin around, Stan. We need to eat and sleep,” said the taller of the other two men.

“Tell shorty to make us some food.” The words came from a second man in the shadows.

Anger flashed through me like a lightning bolt. I flicked on the kitchen light. “Nobody calls me shorty,” I snarled. “I’ll make you something to eat, and pack food for the road, then the three of you are leaving. That’s my best offer.”

“Well, well, looky what we have here. This is an added bonus, ain’t it?”  The tall skinny man with salt and pepper hair, pushed past Jackson’s father into the kitchen. He was dressed in clothes two sizes too big for him and hadn’t washed in days. The reek of body odor gagged me as he moved closer.

“Don’t lay a hand on her,” Jackson yelled charging towards the door. The other man blocked the doorway to the kitchen. He was in his early forties, a muscular, stocky build with a bushy beard and a nasty scar under his left eye. Red mud caked the front of his clothes hinting he had recently crawled through a culvert.

“Or what, kid?  Don’t tell me you’re gonna stop me.” The skinny guy laughed. “Long time since I had a woman, and never in my fuckin life one that looked as good as her.”

He grabbed me by the arm and spun me around, trying to kiss me. His bony fingers dug into the flesh on my upper arm. His grasp was like iron, his breath like road kill. I twisted and fought, but I couldn’t shake him off. He kept pulling me towards him as I was struggling to break out of his grasp.

“Let go of me,” I yelled and kicked at him.

“Not until I get what I want.” He grinned, showing me nicotine stained teeth.

When he made a grab for my hair to pull my face close to his, I reached behind me with my left hand, pulled the Beretta out of my waistband and squeezed off a round into his eye.

Blood and brain matter covered my shirt and my hair before the con collapsed in a heap at my feet. A blood pool radiated out from the hole in his skull forming a red lake around him on the tile floor. My ears rang from the report and the air in the kitchen reeked of gunpowder.

“One down,” I said grabbing a tea towel to wipe off my face and arms.

The second convict grabbed Jackson by the hair and pushed him through the door holding a gun to his temple. Needles pricked the back of my neck when I heard the click and knew the gun was cocked. “That wasn’t a smart move, missy. You just made things a whole lot uglier,” he barked. “Stan, get her gun.”

Stan was an older version of Jackson. Tall, good looking, dark hair, graying a little at the temples. A razor wire tat circled his neck. His smile belied warmth as he walked towards me. His eyes dark, cold and dead told the true story.

“Give Stan the fuckin’ gun, sweetheart, or I’m gonna’ shoot your boyfriend.” The bearded guy pressed his weapon tighter against Jackson’s head.

“You wouldn’t let him shoot your only son, Stan? Would you? What kind of a shit father does that?” I yelled, waving my gun arm in the air to distract Jackson’s dad. When he flicked his glance upward, I buried the heel of my boot in his groin. He groaned and bent forward to grab his nuts. Clutching the barrel of the Beretta in my fingers, I brought the butt down hard on the back of Stan’s head. He went down like a stone, face first onto the kitchen tiles—right next to his buddy.

Jackson took advantage of the confusion to elbow the bearded guy in the ribs. He turned and tried to wrestle the gun out of his hand. The convict’s biceps were huge, and he outweighed Jackson by at least a hundred pounds. Jackson couldn’t out muscle him. As they were struggling and grunting, I hollered, “down, Jackson.” When he dropped to the floor on his belly, I put a bullet in the bearded guy’s face.

“Two down,” I said softly as I punched 911 into my cell phone and gave the address. I threw my arms around Jackson and hugged him tightly. “You okay, sugar?”

He hung on to me and buried his face in my hair. “I love you, Annie,” he whispered.

Sirens wailed louder and louder as the police approached our new neighborhood. I flicked the outside light on over the front door and stood on the step waiting for them. Two cruisers careened into the driveway and four officers jumped out hurtling past me into the house with guns drawn.

As I turned and re-entered the kitchen, my heart stopped, my shoulders tightened and I let out a scream. I staggered into the island and held on. Stan was gone from the kitchen floor and there was no sign of Jackson.

“Are you all right, Miss? What’s the matter?”  The second officer put his hand on my shoulder and steadied me while his partner called for the medical examiner.

I tried to speak and nothing was coming out of my mouth. My hands shook uncontrollably. One of the officers filled a glass with water and helped me take a couple of sips.

“Jackson’s gone,” I shrieked, “his father took him.”

The officer stared at me trying to get a read on the situation. “Let’s start at the beginning. I’m Officer Johnston, and this is my partner Officer Rodriguez.”

Officer Johnston was a rotund man in his fifties, with a pleasant face. Officer Rodriguez was Hispanic, stocky muscular build, with short black hair and a mustache.

We sat on the stools in the kitchen and I related the whole story, starting with the escape from Millhaven Penitentiary, in Ontario and ending with the two bodies on the floor. I supplied them with the Sergeant’s number at the OPP. Johnston verified my story while Rodriguez questioned me.

“So where are your husband and his father?”

“I don’t know. But I do know, he will kill Jackson. He won’t think twice about killing his own son, if it suits his purposes,” I sobbed. “You have to find them. Please hurry.”

Another emergency vehicle arrived from the coroner’s office, followed moments later by a black sedan transporting two detectives from the homicide squad and then the crime scene van pulled up. I retold my tale to the detectives and watched while the bodies on the tile floor were photographed and prodded by the Medical Examiner. My kitchen would be off limits for a while.

“You’re saying that you shot these two convicts, Mrs. Talbot?” confirmed one of the detectives—the tall bald one.

“I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name already. I’m losing my focus.  I’m so worried about Jackson. Yes, I shot them. I had to. They were going to kill my husband and me, take our vehicle and make a run for the Mexican border.”

“My name is Detective Shannon, and my partner is Detective Crocker.”

I nodded, recalling the names they’d already given me.

“You must be a crack shot. These are both clean kills,” he said, looking skeptical.

“I practice,” I said, glumly.

He bagged my Beretta and tagged it for evidence. “You didn’t touch the bodies, did you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Do you have people searching for Jackson?” I asked, laying my cheek down on the cool granite counter. Blackness was creeping into my head, and I knew fainting wasn’t far off.

“Do you want to lie down, Mrs. Talbot?  You look pale.”

“I have to look for Jackson.” I stood up a little too quickly and grabbed onto the counter top for support. I eased back down onto one of the stools hoping my head would clear.

“The Feds are looking for him. Because the escaped prisoner is Canadian, this is a Federal matter,” he said. “We need you to go into your bedroom and change your clothes. We need to bag the ones you’re wearing for evidence. Then please sit in the other room while we clean up the evidence in here. Would you mind doing that?” He pointed towards the living room. When I looked up, I saw Angel, frantic at the patio door.

“I’ll change and then sit on the patio with my dog.” I pulled myself gingerly to my feet with the help of the counter top. I headed for the bedroom and tried to think while I stripped off my blood-spattered jeans and t-shirt. My desire to take a shower was strong but time didn’t allow for luxuries like being clean. After pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt I retrieved a spare Beretta from my nightstand drawer, shoved it into the waistband of my pants and pulled my shirt over it. I shoved cash and credit cards from my wallet into my pocket, rolled up the discarded clothes and returned to the beehive of activity in the kitchen.

“Here are my clothes, officer. I’ll be out on the patio,” I said as I filled Angel’s water bowl.

“Thank you, Mrs. Talbot.” He took my clothes without a second glance and passed them to on of the CSI guys.

Detective Crocker announced, “The Feds are here.”

Angel wagged her stubby tail when I arrived outside with her water bowl. She slurped non-stop while I let out a breath and sat down at the patio table. It was refreshing to get away from the hullabaloo and confusion that was taking place inside. Tension tightened my chest and I was frantic to leave but the wiser path would be to speak with the FBI first. Perhaps then they wouldn’t realize I had gone to find Jackson on my own.

Moments later the Feds came outside and introduced themselves. “Mrs. Talbot? I’m Special Agent Sam Wolinski, and this is Special Agent Gloria Connor.”

Agent Wolinski was average height and weight, not bad looking, with a swarthy complexion and dark curly hair. Agent Connor was a pretty black woman in her mid-forties, tall, slim with dark hair pulled back from her face.

I shook their hands, “Have you made any progress finding my husband?”

“Not yet, but any information you could provide would be helpful.”

“I don’t know what I else I can tell you. He and his father left here on foot, and I have no idea where they might be headed. The only destination I heard mentioned by Stan Traynor was Mexico.”

“And you don’t think your husband went willingly to help his father?”

“Are you kidding? His father will kill him if he gets in the way. If you’re going to ask me a bunch of bullshit questions, you can leave now and I’ll find him myself.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Talbot, I have to have a clear picture of the situation.”

“Here it is in a nutshell, Agent. Father escapes from prison, kills two guards. Uses his only son to get him to Mexico and then kills him. That’s what’s fucking happening here,” I was on my feet waving my arms and yelling.

“No need to get upset, Mrs. Talbot.”

“No need? Are you nuts?  I am upset. I’m crazy upset. The man I love is gone and I want him back,” I hollered. Tears of frustration came of their own accord.

“We’ll get him back for you Mrs. Talbot. You just have to be patient,” said Agent Connor. “Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

“Thank you, for your concern. “I’ll sit out here awhile with Angel and try to calm down.”

“You do that,” said Wolinski with a frown and motioned for Agent Connors to watch me. Trapped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

JACKSON STUMBLED AS Stan dragged him through the neighbor’s yard. Sirens wailed at the front of the house. They emerged into the street a block away. Jackson tried to fight his way out of Stan’s grasp, but from all his prison time, his father was too strong for him.

“Fuck, Jackson. Don’t slow me down, or I’ll kill you, you little shit.” Stan spat on the ground. “You’re going to help me get to the border, then I don’t care what the fuck you do. I hope I never see your chicken-shit ass again.”

Jackson was happy that Stan was on the move, happy to hand over his poker bankroll to get rid of him and he wanted him as far away from Portia as possible. A few blocks over, Stan boosted a blue Ford Taurus parked at the curb and they headed for the highway. Once they passed the city limits and were miles south of Vegas, he stopped for gas and picked up a map. “Find the fastest route to Mexico,” he said, thrusting the map at Jackson. “And don’t screw with me or you’ll wish you were dead.”

“I do already,” Jackson mumbled. He tried to focus on the map when all he could think about was Portia and what she must be going through with the cops. He ran his hand in a straight-line south of Vegas and saw Yuma. He thought if Stan threw him out of the truck and didn’t kill him, Portia might find him in Yuma. She was a thinker. “Drive straight south to Yuma. You can cross there,” he said.

On the highway south of the city, Stan drove through a McDonald’s and ordered food for himself. He ate three big Macs while he drove. “I haven’t eaten a fuckin thing in two days.”

“Yeah, you must be hungry.” Jackson didn’t want to antagonize him any further.

“Your bitch is a looker, kid. Wouldn’t mind doing her myself.” He chuckled and Jackson felt like hurling. “What’s she like in bed? Really hot?”

“Not something I’m talking to you about.”

“But probably something you think about a lot, eh?” He chuckled and Jackson felt his stomach heave. “Don’t want to talk about pussy, talk about her other asset—her money. Can you get your hands on any of it?”

“Nope.”

“If you needed money, would she come across?”

“Don’t know.” Jackson stared at his hand knowing exactly where this was going.

“I think she’d cough it up to get her stud back. Yep, I fuckin do.” He laughed.

Fuck, he’s gonna ransom me. I won’t let him. I need to slow him down.

At the first rest stop on the ninety-five south, Stan stopped the Ford Taurus beside a dark green pickup parked with the window rolled down. The owner was probably using the facilities. After he boosted the truck and got it started, Stan opened the passenger door to transfer Jackson and Jackson kicked him in the midsection with his Harley boot. Stan barely flinched. Grunted, grabbed Jackson by the neck, dragged him over to the pickup and shoved him in bodily.

“Don’t fuck with me, kid, I can out-muscle and out-think you.” Stan drove like a madman for a solid two hours with the radio blasting out songs from the eighties.

Jackson hated the music almost as much as he hated his father.

Michael Jackson was screaming out ‘Billy Jean’ when Stan veered to the shoulder. He had spotted a truck parked at the side of the road by a bridge. “Son of a bitch is probably fishing,” he mumbled as he parked and hopped out.

I have to make a move or Portia will never catch up.

“I need to take a leak, Dad,” Jackson said, as he headed down the bank.

“This better be for real,” Stan said, “don’t fuck with me or I’ll kill you and dump you in that fuckin river.”

Jackson took his time relieving himself and ambling back up the bank. There was nowhere to run. He’d have to try again.

“Hurry up, you stupid fuck. You think I don’t know what you’re doing. You think that trigger-happy, black-haired bitch is coming to save your sorry ass? Forget it.”

They switched trucks and Stan drove like he was possessed. He steered with his left as he stretched out his right arm of steel and punched Jackson in the face. With blood gushing from his nose, Jackson retaliated instantly pounding Stan in the head. The truck veered off the road and bounced into a shallow ditch. Jackson took advantage of the reduced speed, flung his door open and rolled into an open hay field.  He jumped up and was halfway across the field heading for a stand of trees before Stan caught up with him and dragged him by the neck back to the pickup.

“I’m gonna hurl,” he hollered and Stan relinquished his hold on his son’s neck.

Jackson gasped for breath and threw up in the ditch. He wiped his mouth with the back of this hand, spun around and aimed his fist at Stan’s head. Stan was ready, grabbed Jackson’s arm and twisted it up behind his back. He shoved him onto the ground close to the truck and punched him in the face.

Jackson coped with the new surge of blood gushing from his nose and mouth while Stan searched the glove box of the stolen truck, came up with a spool of fishing line and bound Jackson’s wrists tightly together. With Jackson unable to defend himself, Stan vented his anger and beat and kicked his son until he was semi-conscious. He shoved Jackson’s limp body into the passenger seat, geared the burgundy Ram into four-wheel drive and sailed out of the ditch. He headed south on highway ninety-five for several hours until he came to a rest stop where he relieved himself then bought Cokes and chocolate bars from a vending machine.

Jackson was borderline. He drifted in and out of consciousness. His thoughts dream-like and hazy. He thought he knew now what dying felt like. His face was so swollen around his mouth and nose his breathing was labored and he was unable to speak.

His father berated him non-stop as he drove. “You’re a waste of time, Jackson. You always have been a huge pain in the ass. All those years I took care of you after your bitch of a mother died, and what for? What good did it do me? What a fucking waste of effort.”

WHEN JACKSON OPENED his eyes, he looked around and tried to figure out where he was. A beige room. Maybe a cheap motel room. He was lying on a bed with his wrists still bound and Stan was sitting in a chair by the window fiddling with Jackson’s cell phone.

“Hey, you’re awake, Einstein. We’ll be having company soon. I told your pretty little piece of ass she could buy you back for a bargain price and she was eager to do it. Go figure.”

“Don’t talk about her. I don’t want you to say her name,” Jackson mumbled.

Stan laughed. “Fuck, you are a mess.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AGENT CONNOR SET her coffee cup down when my phone rang on the table between the two of us. “Go ahead,” she pointed at my cell with her pen, “answer it.”

“Jackson? Are you okay?” I sucked in a big breath and listened. I could barely hear him, his words slurred together and he mumbled like he was hurt. “Stan wants money.”

“I figured he would. How much?”

“Half a mil.” Jackson, sounded like he wanted to hurl.

Agent Connor nodded and whispered, “Where?”

“Where should I bring it?” I asked.

“Yuma. Colorado River Beach Park. Stan will call you with the details.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can get the money and drive down. I love you.”

“Where are they?” asked Connor.

“Somewhere near Yuma.”

“He wants the money before he crosses the border?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Half a million.”

She appeared concerned. “Can you get that amount easily?”

“I can get it—I just don’t know how long it will take. I’ll have to talk to the bank.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I nodded and reached for my purse.

The manager at Bank of America was most co-operative and an hour later Agent Connor and I departed with a briefcase containing half a million dollars. Now I had to deliver it and get Jackson back if he was still alive.

When we returned to the house Agent Wolinski had organized a plan of sorts. He was an FBI legend in his own mind. “I’ve got so many units patrolling for Stan Traynor in Yuma, he’ll probably be under arrest before we even get there. The border crossing is locked down tight. Let’s go,” he said, parading to the door like a puffed-up peacock.

I patted Angel on the head as I left her in the care of the CSI team in the kitchen. On the way to the truck, I sucked in a few deep breaths and assured myself that I’d be in time to get Jackson back alive. The alternative was unthinkable. I tossed the navy duffel bag onto the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. Backing the Hummer out of the garage, I had to avoid the TV vans parked alongside the curb waiting for a tidbit of juicy news from the cops on the premises. Agents Wolinski and Connor followed behind me in a black Crown Vic as I headed down highway ninety-five. One of the agents had programmed the drop spot into my GPS. Colorado River Beach Park. A public place. It would be dark when we arrived.

After two and a half hours of driving, I pulled in for gas and a bathroom break and my tail followed me. I bought a Coke and a couple of chocolate bars to keep me going. Agent Connor walked towards me while Wolinski gassed up their ride. “You okay?”

“Yep, a little tired.” I hadn’t slept since Stan’s arrival on my doorstep and probably would never sleep another wink until I had Jackson home. I read in his voice on the phone how disgusted he was that Stan was using him to get my money. I would trust Jackson with my life.

Please, Jackson, don’t do anything crazy. Let me pay the money and take you home.

IT WAS FULL dark as the GPS lady directed me through the city of Yuma to the park. The Crown Vic shadowed me from a respectable distance behind. Wolinski had briefed me on how local law enforcement would provide back up and the park would be surrounded. There was no conceivable way Mr. Traynor could get away in Wolinski’s mind. He was underestimating the slippery reptile that was Stan Traynor, I was sure of it.

I parked in the designated area—my tail nowhere in sight. As I eased my way out of the Hummer, I detected no one. Perhaps they were well hidden, but after an initial glance around I had the uncomfortable feeling I was completely unprotected and alone in the dark. The park was closed. The parking lot was as big as a football field with trees, bushes and flower beds dotted around the perimeter. Every few feet were trash receptacles.

Stan had texted instructions saying my job was to find the one with the note in it telling me where to pick up Jackson. No note—no money for Mr. Traynor. I pulled out my flashlight and started looking in the trash. I felt like a homeless person looking for food and I felt just as desperate. I wanted Jackson as badly as someone might want their next meal. The fifth can I shone my light in had a scrap of paper on top. I grabbed it, shone the light on it and it was a bill of some sort. I tossed it back and kept going. Seven, eight, nine. I screamed and jumped back as I shone my light in bin number nine and a pair of eyes stared back at me.

“Holy shit, a raccoon.” I gulped a couple of deep breaths and kept going. How much garbage could there be in a park in a day?

When I hit the tenth one, I thought Stan was playing some kind of sick game. I knew he would laugh himself silly if he could fuck with my head. I shone the light on the paper. It was a sheet torn from a complimentary hotel scratch pad. Days Inn and the Yuma address. Bingo. I threw the duffel bag in bin number ten and ran to the Hummer. I punched the address into the GPS and burned rubber out of the parking lot.

As I parked at the hotel, my phone was ringing. I ignored it and ran to the front desk. “Do you have anyone registered here named Traynor?” I asked.

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that,” said the desk clerk. A young girl barely out of her teens.

“My husband is in one of the rooms, and he’s badly hurt. Could you help me please?”

“What’s his name again?”

“Jackson Traynor.”

This was a cheap motel that hadn’t converted to a computer system. They still used a registration book. “Sorry, no names like that from last night.”

“Could I take a peek? I know I’m not supposed to, but I’m not going to do anything. I have to find him before he dies of his injuries.”

The desk clerk screwed up her face. “Why do you think he’s hurt?”

“His father beat him up and threw him in a room. Would you help me?”

She turned the book towards me and I ran my finger quickly down the page of names. Mr. Millhaven. Good enough. “Room one fifteen.”

She nodded, grabbed her key and we ran down the corridor together. She stopped outside the door and inserted her card. The green light came on and I burst past her through the door.

The desk clerk screamed when she saw him on the bed. His face was purple, swollen and he was bleeding from his mouth and nose.

“Oh, my God, Jackson,” I sobbed. “Call 911.” He was unconscious, sprawled across the bed just where Stan had tossed him like a sack of garbage. His wrists were bound together with fishing line and his ankles were secured to the end of the bed frame with cable ties.

I pressed the call I had missed and told Connor I had him and I was waiting for an ambulance. “Did you get Stan?”

“Not yet,” she said, “we’re waiting. We’ll come to the hospital after we get him.”

In your fucking dreams, lady. That fucker is long gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JACKSON LAY ON the stretcher in the treatment cubicle for most of the night while I slumped on the only chair and held his hand. His eyes were swollen to mere slits and quickly turning black, his face was purple and swollen and his wrists oozed blood where the fishing line had cut deeply through his skin.

When the nurse wheeled him to X-ray, I rested my head on my chest and closed my eyes. If Stan wasn’t dead already, I would kill him for this.

“His legs are badly bruised, he has a severe concussion, two broken ribs and his nose is broken.” The doctor rhyming off a laundry list of Jackson’s injuries woke me with a start. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and tried to focus. “I’m admitting him. I’ve bandaged his wrists and I think they’ll heal, in time, but he needs rest and fluids. You can visit him tomorrow after eleven. He’ll sleep all night.”

“Thank you,” I said. I phoned Connor and updated her. “I’m going to check into The Hampton Inn. It’s close by. I can’t see Jackson until eleven tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Talbot. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”

I wondered to myself if Stan had made it into Mexico, or if he had been shot down by the border guards. We would find out soon enough, and I was hoping in my heart of hearts that he had been permanently removed from Jackson’s life. I was filled with hate for a man I didn’t even know.

I checked into the hotel, soaked in a hot tub and tried to calm myself. My negative feelings concerning Stan’s capture were filling me with dread. That man was slippery as an eel and I was sure he had carefully planned how he would get the money from the drop and not be detected. I flopped on the bed and lapsed into a coma-like sleep until my phone rang at seven in the morning. “Yes?”

“This is Special Agent, Sam Wolinski. I wonder if we could drop by your hotel room this morning for a brief meeting.”

“You lost him, didn’t you?”

“We were unable to apprehend Mr. Traynor.”

“Is the money gone?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” I wanted to throw the phone across the room. I sucked in a breath.

“Can we drop by around nine o’clock?”

“Bring it.”

At nine the FBI Special Agents were at my door bringing me coffee. Not a big enough peace offering for losing Stan Traynor. Nothing was fucking big enough.

“How’s your husband?” asked Agent Connor.

“Not good. They sedated him. He has a severe concussion, broken ribs and assorted other injuries. They aren’t ready to release him. I’m going to the hospital at eleven.”

“We’ll go with you. We need to question him.”

“I have to veto that. He can’t talk and he needs to rest.”

“We have to see him for ourselves. It’s procedure.”

“What kind of procedure made you lose Stan Traynor?”

“The park was surrounded. There was no way he could have slipped through the stake-out,” said Wolinski.

I tossed my head back and laughed at them. “And yet he did?”

“And yet he did indeed,” said Conner.

“A very wily customer,” said Wolinski. “We’ll get him. We always do in the end.”

I’m calling bullshit on that one.

AT ELEVEN WE all went to the hospital. I sat in a chair in the corner of Jackson’s room while Wolinski interrogated Jackson. He couldn’t speak. He shook his head ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to a few of the questions and they had to be content with that.

“We’re going back to Vegas,” said Connor. “Are you staying until your husband is released?”

“Yes. His doctor indicated that might be as early as tomorrow.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

Can’t wait, you incompetent yahoos.

I sat with Jackson throughout the day and watched him sleep. He opened his eyes a couple of times and looked right through me. Every time I took stock of his injuries, the rage bubbled up inside of me and I wanted Stan Traynor more with every breath I took. I needed to kill him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I CHECKED OUT of the hotel at ten and drove straight to the hospital to pick up Jackson. I had been to Wal-Mart to grab him a change of clothes the day before and I helped him dress. He said nothing. The nurse guided him into a wheelchair, pushed him to the exit door and he leaned on me as we walked to the truck. He eased himself into the shotgun seat and we were homeward bound in silence.

Fucking Feds. They should be bringing Jackson home. Not me. Useless assholes.

I thumped my fist on the steering wheel and Jackson cast me an inquiring glance. He slept as I drove north and covered the miles to Vegas. At ten to five, I pulled the truck into the driveway and breathed out a little sigh of relief noticing that the yellow tape had been removed. Our home was no longer a crime scene. The lab must have finished up while we were away.

I hope Angel’s okay.

Jackson had slept all the way home and I was grateful for that. Rest was what he needed to recover from his injuries and his ordeal. He leaned heavily on me for support as I half-dragged him into the house and settled him on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow. Angel ran into the back yard without delay and her urgency made me wonder how long she had been locked in the house.

On my way to the kitchen for a beer, I pulled up short and gagged as I almost stepped into the sticky pool of crimson coagulated on the ceramic tile. Yuck. The air in the kitchen reeked of blood and death. I flicked the fan on over the stove hoping for temporary relief. There was fingerprint powder all over the counters, the appliances, the stools, furniture was pulled out from the walls and Luminol spray was my new decorator accent. What a mess. Were the forensics people allowed to leave my kitchen like this? I needed to hurt someone.

I opened two Coors, poured them into glasses and stuck a straw in one. I laughed at Jackson’s lopsided smile and tousled his sticky hair. He needed a bath in a big way.

After he finished his beer I readied the tub—half filled with warm water and a healthy helping of vanilla bubble bath. I helped him into the bathroom, undressed him and eased his battered body into the tub. He winced at first but eventually relaxed into the hot water and the bubbles. I got down on my knees and gently washed him all over, then shampooed his hair and rinsed it. I kissed him on his swollen mouth.

“You stay in there for a while and relax, sugar. Then I’m putting you to bed.”

He nodded.

I rolled up his filthy clothes and stuffed them into a garbage bag in case the feds wanted them for evidence. In the garage, I rounded up a bucket, a mop, and rubber gloves and set out to clean up the mess in the kitchen. It took a long time for the cleanser to dissolve the coagulated blood, and a scrubber was the only thing that would loosen it. Bile rose in my throat while I scrubbed, but the job had to be finished. After the dirty work was completed in the kitchen, Jackson was next on my list. When I returned to help him out of the tub he smiled and held up his pruny fingers.

“I left you in too long?” I laughed.

He nodded. I dried him, towel dried his hair and tucked him under the sheets just as the doorbell rang.

“Stay in bed,” I said. “Don’t get up, sugar.”

He nodded as I left the room.

“Come in Agents,” I said as I opened the door. I showed them into the living room and motioned for them to take a seat. “Coffee?”

“No thanks,” said Wolinski.

“You brought your husband home from the hospital?” asked Agent Connor?

“Yes, I just got him into bed and I want him to rest.”

“We have to question him again when he can talk.”

“That won’t be today. He hasn’t said one word. Any news on the Stan front?”

Wolinski exhaled. “Not yet.”

“We’ve updated the Ontario Provincial Police with a report containing what went down in Yuma, and we’ll give them a further update after we’re able to question Mr. Traynor.”

Agent Wolinski stood up and asked, “May we see your husband before we leave?”

“Only if you don’t wake him,” I said.

Agent Connor nodded and they followed me down the hall to the bedroom. I pushed the door open and she poked her head into the room. She gasped. “I can’t believe his own father did that to him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

JACKSON ROLLED TOWARDS me in bed and a sick gagging sound gurgled from his throat. I opened my eyes and sat up. “What is it, sugar?” I rubbed his bare back.

He moaned as he tried to hold up his right wrist and I choked. From under the saturated bandage, green pus was oozing down the python tat on his arm giving it a repulsive glow. I headed for the bathroom and returned with the pain meds, water, and a damp cloth. After I cleaned him up temporarily, I helped him into the bathroom then went to start the coffee maker.

Jackson stumbled into the kitchen, sat on a stool and laid his head on the counter. I wanted to cry. I stroked his hair and said, “I’m taking you to emergency. You need more meds.”

He raised his head off the counter slightly and nodded. Overnight, some of the swelling had gone down around his mouth and nose. His eyes were still black and swollen, but I was hoping he might be able to eat something solid shortly.

My cell phone rang. “Agent Wolinski, what can I do for you?” I snapped.

“Just a courtesy call to let you know we haven’t found any trace of Stan Traynor. Looks like he made it into Mexico. I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.”

“No, it isn’t, but I appreciate the update.”

“How’s your husband?”

“Not so good this morning. One of his wrists is badly infected and we’ll have to go to an emergency room today. Thanks for asking.”

“I need to question him as soon as he’s able to talk. If I hear anything else, I’ll be in touch.”

Jackson looked at me, waiting for the news. “Looks like Stan made it into Mexico. They haven’t found any trace of him,” I said softly.

“I hate him,” Jackson mumbled. The words came out garbled, but I had no doubt about the meaning. The first words he had uttered in two days.

I held him in my arms and tried to comfort him, knowing that he would have no peace until his father was dead and buried. Whenever I thought of Stan, anger, and hatred surged through my veins like I had opened the floodgates of hell. I wanted him dead and I needed to kill him myself. This was personal. Stan had made it personal.

WHEN WE RETURNED from the hospital, Jackson settled on the couch after taking the first dose of his new prescription. I put a movie in for him and after twenty minutes, I peeked at him and he was sound asleep. I covered him with a blanket as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

I was left on my own for the remainder of the day to work on a few surprises I had in mind for Jackson’s birthday. With a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, I made my phone calls.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JACKSON’S RECOVERY HAD been slow and painful the past few days. The swelling had gradually subsided around his mouth and nose. The black and purple circling around his eyes dissipated into shades of green and yellow. His wrists had begun to heal now that the infection had been curbed, but the python would be left with a nasty scar around its neck. Wolinski had been by the day before and taken his statement. Jackson’s smile was back and so was his appetite.

I eased out of bed at seven to start the coffee and left him sleeping. The big birthday weekend was fast approaching and I had a long list of things to do, places to go and people to see. After my shower, I dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top before tip-toeing back to the kitchen to make breakfast.

The aroma of bacon frying always woke Jackson and lured him to the table and today was no exception. The toast popped up as he walked into the kitchen and hugged me. “You’ll never know how much I love you, Annie. It’s not possible for me to tell you.” He buried his face in my hair and held me close.

I kissed him and said, “I’ve missed you, sugar.”

He nodded. “I’ve been neglecting you, baby, and I want to make up for it. Do you want to go back to bed after breakfast?”

“I sure do,” I said. “Eat your breakfast. You’re going to need a lot of stamina.”

After breakfast, we went back to bed and it was wonderful to have Jackson back. I had missed him so much both emotionally and physically. He was my life.

While he was in the shower, I organized the day in my head and planned how I was going to pull off the things that needed to be done without Jackson finding out and spoiling my surprise.

I stuck my head in the bathroom and said, “I have a hair appointment, sugar. I’ll be back by lunch.” He nodded.

My appointment at High Voltage was ten a.m. and I made it in the nick of time with five minutes to spare. The tat artist that was going to ink my design had worked with me and knew exactly what I wanted. She was ready when I arrived and wasted no time. By twelve-thirty I was finished. I picked up burgers at a drive-through and zoomed home.

Jackson was playing poker on his iPad when I returned. “I brought you junk-food, baby,” I called from the kitchen. “Are you in a tournament?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m in a hand. Can you bring the food in here?”

“I sure can. Do you know how happy it makes me seeing you feeling good enough to play poker?  I’ll get a couple of drinks and we’ll have lunch while you play.”

I spread out the food on the coffee table and sat down next to him. “Hey, this is fun,” he said, taking a bite of his double cheeseburger.

“I’m just happy you can eat.”

“I was so fuckin’ hungry, but I couldn’t chew anything.  Your chicken soup kept me alive all week,” he said, then leaned over and kissed me.

“Mmm…I loved that one,” I said, running my hand down his thigh. Thank God, he didn’t notice that nothing was done to my hair. I didn’t have time to sneak that in. “I’m going to get groceries after lunch. I want to make a special dinner for your birthday on Sunday.” I was hoping to cover the fact that I had to buy tons of food to feed our surprise guests.

“Okay, baby. If I make it to the end of this tournament, it’ll be a couple of hours.”

“I’ll be back by then, sugar. I bet next week, you’ll want to go back to the poker room.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and my plan is to try a different one each day and pick out the best ones.”

“Excellent plan. You can teach me tournament play as well. I might give that a shot one of these days.” I messed up his hair.

I cleared away the bags and wrappers from lunch and headed out to the market. My cart was loaded with steaks, ribs, salads, chips, and all the makings for a man weekend at my house. My only desire was for Jackson to have a great birthday with his friends.  He had been through so much. My last stop was the liquor store on the corner and the shopping was done.

When I arrived home, I quickly stashed all of the food, so Jackson wouldn’t notice how much there really was. After I cleaned the house, I made up the beds in the other two bedrooms and started dinner. I called to Jackson, “Want a beer before dinner?”

“Sure, baby. Will you come in here and drink with me?”

“How are you doing in the tourney?  You’ve been at it for hours,” I said, bringing the beer into the living room.

“I made the final table,” he said.

“Hope you win. I’m kissing you for luck.” I kissed him and took a long drink from my glass. It had been a tiring day, but the weekend would be worth the effort.

I chugged the rest of my beer and headed back into the kitchen to finish dinner. I was mashing potatoes when Jackson came into the room. “I came second.” He grinned at me.

“How much did you win, sugar?”

“Two thousand in my internet account.”

“Wow, you’re the man.” I hugged him. “Have I told you lately, how proud I am of you? I love you so much.” Jackson’s self-esteem was dragging on the ground since his degrading encounter with his father. The emotional wounds might heal in time or they might not heal at all. My money was on never.

After dinner, we took our coffee into the living room and relaxed watching TV. Shortly after nine o’clock, I said, “Hey, sugar, do you feel like going for a little drive with me? I have to go out for an hour.”

“Okay. I don’t like you going out by yourself in this town, and especially not at night. I’ve been negligent and I have a bad case of the guilts.”

“You weren’t negligent, Jackson, you were too injured to go anywhere,” I said. I brushed my hair, put on fresh makeup and came back into the living room, “Ready to go?”

“You look good.” Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I said.

“Oh, oh, now I’m worried.”

When I took the cut-off for McCarran International, Jackson said, “What the fuck?”

“Got to pick somebody up,” I said with a straight face.

“Who?”

“Can’t tell you. I’d have to kill you.”

“You’re making me crazy, Annie. I know you’re up to something.”

I parked the Hummer and we headed for arrivals. Jackson peppered me with questions that I cleverly avoided answering as we sat in the waiting area. Twenty minutes later he looked up at the sea of passengers coming through the gate and his mouth dropped open. “Holy fuck,” he said as Billy and Rusty came through the arrival doors with their carry-on bags.

“Jackson, you bastard, good to see you,” Billy hollered as he hugged him.

“Fuck, Jackson. You look like shit,” said Rusty, pounding him on the back.

Jackson winced. “Take it easy, boys, I just got out of the fuckin hospital.”

“Right, sorry asshole,” said Billy, “forgot about your broken ribs.”

“Hi Portia,” said Rusty. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” He gave me a hug.

“Come on boys, let’s party.” I winked.

When we were all seated in the Hummer with the luggage stowed in the back, Jackson said, “I can’t believe that you fuckers are here in Vegas.” He shook his head and chuckled.

“We’re your birthday present, ain’t we Portia?”

“You sure are, Billy.”

“We’ve never been to Vegas,” said Rusty, “Never been out of Ontario.”

I laughed. “How was your flight?”

“Thought we’d never get here,” said Billy. “I’ve never been on a fuckin’ plane. I think I’m, you know, that thing where you want out in a bad way.”

“Claustrophobic?” I ventured with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that one—I wanted to punch out one of those little shit windows.”

“All that airport security shit, Homeland and what not, I thought I’d piss myself,” said Rusty.

Jackson was laughing. “You guys are assholes,” he snorted.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the rental house and I pulled the Hummer into the third bay of the garage.

“Holy hell, this garage is bigger than my Mom’s fuckin’ house,” yelled Billy.

“It’s just a rental,” Billy, “I want to live in Vegas for a time before I decide if I want to buy a house.”

I opened the door into the kitchen, and Angel bolted into the garage. She jumped up on the boys and gave them a proper Vegas welcome.

“Hey, Angel, that’s more kissing than I’ve had in a month,” hooted Billy.

“Jackson, if you want to get drinks for everybody, I’ll show the boys where to put their bags.” I motioned for them to follow me down the hall and showed them each a bedroom.

“He seems awful quiet, Portia. Is he gonna be okay after what his asshole dad did to him?” asked Rusty.

“I sure hope so. That’s what I needed you guys for. Get his mind off the ordeal, and help him have a fun birthday weekend. I was worried you guys didn’t have passports when I called.”

“Sure we have passports. Kind of a requirement. Never know when you might have to split.”

“Guess so. Never thought about it in that light.”

“What’s going on down here?” Jackson stuck his head in the bedroom door.

“I’m trying to get Portia into bed, but she’s a tough sell,” Rusty laughed. “I’m so bloody hard to resist, too.”

“Let’s have a couple of beers and decide our plan of action,” I said, slipping my arm around Jackson’s waist and walking to the living room. “Are you guys tired, or do you want to go over to the strip for a couple hours?”

“I want to see the hot chicks and play poker,” said Billy.

“Me too,” said Rusty. “We tried to talk to a couple of hot ones on the plane, but they weren’t too friendly.”

Jackson laughed. “With you two hitting on them, they probably locked themselves in that little airplane bathroom.”

I held up my beer for a toast. “Here’s to a great Vegas weekend,” I said. “Cheers.” We clinked our bottles to ward off the devil and chugged our beer. Jackson seemed to relax a little, but since I brought him home from Yuma, he had never let his guard down for a second.

“How’s everything going with the boys at the club, Rusty?” Jackson asked.

“Not too bad, considering,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with me.

“It’s okay, Rusty. I know you guys are having a tough time without George and now without Jackson. Some of the boys blame me, and I can accept that.”

“We don’t blame you, Portia. We know what went down, and we’re good with it,” said Billy. “The club misses the boss. He was the glue that held us together.”

Before things got more sentimental, I jumped up and said, “Let’s go have some fun.”

Friday night would be a traffic nightmare on the strip, so I called a cab. Ten minutes later we were standing in front of Caesar’s Palace and the boys were in awe.

“Look at all those fuckin’ statues,” said Billy. “Who are they?”

“Some old Romans,” I said, giggling at Billy. He always made me laugh. “Where do you poker pros want to play tonight?”

“Mirage,” said Billy.

“Bellagio,” said Rusty.

“Jackson? What’s your pleasure?”

He smiled. “After Annie, I’d say Bellagio. We can do the Mirage tomorrow, Billy.”

Billy acquiesced and we walked to Bellagio and put our names on the list. While we waited, the boys amused themselves playing blackjack and tried their luck at a few slot machines. They were dazzled by the free drinks and the outfits that the waitresses wore. Jackson couldn’t keep from laughing at their antics. This was exactly what he needed. We played poker for a couple of hours and the boys won a few bucks. They had downed so many free drinks that they were pretty drunk by the time the cab picked us up in front of the hotel.

“Here’s our ride, boys,” I said, and struggled to get them into the taxi. Billy was sitting in the front with the cabbie and talking his ear off, while Jackson, Rusty and I sat in the back.  Jackson flopped his head down on my shoulder and was asleep in seconds. I gave the driver the address and exhaled.

Rusty and Jackson were both asleep by the time we hit the driveway and thankfully Billy helped me get them into the house and onto their respective beds.

“Thanks, Billy. You’re a doll.” I hugged him. “See you in the morning, or whenever you get up.” I closed Rusty’s door and left him lying on top of his duvet. I crawled in beside Jackson, cuddled up to him and I was out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

IT WAS AFTER nine when Jackson stirred beside me and I pressed my naked body up against his back. He moaned as I stroked him a few times while I kissed him. He was tired from his night out with the boys and wanted to sleep.

“I know you’re wiped, bad boy. Let me do it,” I whispered.

“I’m beat Annie. Cant’ you wait?” he whispered as he went limp in my arms. I took pity on him and let him go back to sleep while I showered.

Sure, I can wait. Maybe I’m too aggressive for Jackson. He’s been through the mill and I’m being selfish.

Whether the boys would be up in time for breakfast was the question. Coffee and pancake batter were at the ready but I had no customers. I sat nursing my mug of caffeine and thinking about Jackson. He was entertaining the boys, but he was not himself. His head was miles away, either with the club or still buried in the crap his father had inflicted on him. My heart ached for him, but there was not much I could do for him—emotionally or physically. Frustrating.

He ambled into the kitchen after his shower and wrapped his arms around me. “Sorry about this morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to make it up.”

It was only then that he noticed the gauze bandage wrapped around my arm from my elbow to my shoulder. “What’s wrong with your arm, baby?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing wrong. Just a little present for your birthday.”

“Can I see it?” he asked, lifting up a corner of the gauze.

“One day early, but I’ll let you have a little peek.” I unwound the bandage and then turned around so he could see the whole tattoo. His eyes welled up, and he wiped the back of his hand across his face.

“I love it,” he said hoarsely. “That’s the best present you could ever give me. That means you’re mine.”

“That’s exactly what it means. I’m yours forever.”  He held me close and buried his face in my hair.

“What the fuck’s going on out here?” Billy was up.

“Annie was showing me my birthday present,” Jackson said.

“Shit. I better come back later,” he said with a wide grin and a wink.

“You can see it, Billy,” I said, laughing. “I’m going to show the whole world today.”

I twisted around so Billy could see my arm.

“Shitwads, that’s a nice tat, Portia.”  Jackson was spelled out in big letters down my arm, turquoise and pink flowers accenting the whole piece. “You must like that asshole,” he chuckled.

“I do like that asshole. I love him, and I don’t care who knows it.” I kissed Jackson as he stood in the kitchen grinning.

“Who did the ink, Portia?” asked Billy.

“High Voltage, here in Vegas.”

“Fuckin’ hot.” He nodded.

“I’m taking breakfast orders now. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, let me hear it,” I said, pouring coffee into mugs and passing them to the boys.

“I’ll eat some of everything,” said Billy, perching on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Me too,” said Jackson, “I’m starving this morning.”

Billy and Jackson were almost finished eating when Rusty dragged himself into the kitchen wearing only his jeans, his long auburn mop flopping in his face. I couldn’t believe how muscled up he was, especially his arms. His biceps were huge. “You guys are making so much noise a person can’t sleep,” he grumbled.

“Shut the fuck up, and eat your breakfast, pervert. I want to go play poker.” Billy jumped off his stool, punched Rusty in the gut and knocked him backward into the kitchen wall.

Rusty retaliated, grabbing Billy by the hair. “I’ll rip these blond girly curls right off your fuckin’ head,” he hollered as he nailed Billy in the shoulder.

Jackson and Billy laughed hysterically at Rusty’s bad mood. “Cheer up Coulter, you can sleep when you get home. Nobody sleeps in Vegas,” said Jackson. “Have some coffee. You need caffeine in your veins.”

I set a plate of food in front of Rusty along with a mug of coffee, and he dug in. “Thanks, Portia. I think I might be able to cope with these assholes now that I’ve had some nourishment. I’ll go grab a shower.”

It was noon by the time the Hummer rolled into the parking lot at Harrah’s. “We can walk to a lot of poker rooms from here. Where do you want to start?” I asked.

“Let’s try the Flamingo,” said Rusty. “We just passed it. It’s not too far down the street.”

Jackson pointed, and we all strolled down Las Vegas Boulevard. The traffic was brutal at all hours of the day and night. Billy collected dozens of cards from the pimps along the sidewalk.

“Shitwads, they can deliver a ho to your door in twenty minutes,” he yelled.

Jackson couldn’t stop laughing at Billy.

We entered the front doors of the Flamingo, followed the signs and wove through the maze of slot machines and crowds of fun-seekers to the poker room. The boys put their names on the one-two no limit list and when a new table opened up, they were all given seats.  I waited a little longer for my seat on a two-five no limit table. I was the only woman at my table and that’s the way I liked it. A definite advantage, to my way of thinking, especially if you’re wearing the right outfit. My weapon of choice for the day was a hot pink slinky top showing lots of cleavage, paired with a short black skirt and black high heeled boots.  Before we left the house, the boys had hooted their approval when I modeled for them.

During the first hour, my hands were less than memorable. I won a couple of small pots, lost a couple and folded dozens of others. The waitress had just brought me a Coors. I tipped her, looked at my cards that were face down on the table and I had pocket eights. Everyone called the five bucks around to me, I was in seat ten and raised to forty. Seats one to five folded, seat six called the raise, seat seven folded, seat eight re-raised to eighty, seat nine threw down his cards in disgust. I called the eighty and prayed for an eight. Seat six called.

Three players. The flop came, Ten-Two-Queen. Two clubs. No eight. Seat six checked, seat eight bet fifty. I called the fifty and seat six folded.

Heads up. The turn card was an eight. I put seat eight on a pocket pair, not on Nine-Jack, so unless he had a set as well, I thought I was good. He checked and I bet a hundred bucks. Seat eight glared at me and called. He was a wannabee Unabomber with shades, a hoody and his i-pod plugged into his ear. The river was the two of clubs. Seat eight pushed all in. He had the flush. The dealer counted his chips. Two hundred and five. Another hundred and five to me. I called. He flipped up his Ace high flush and I turned over my boat. He stood up and went for a walk. These men were so emotional. The dealer pushed me the pot and I stacked up my chips.

Later on, I took a walk over to the table where the boys were and sized up their chip stacks. Billy was rambling on to the dudes on both sides of him and he had a lot of chips. Rusty had about a hundred more than the buy-in and Jackson had three hundred to the good.

Around four o’clock, I cashed out and rounded up the boys. “I’m taking you guys for a late lunch. Time to cash out,” I whispered in Jackson’s ear. Billy protested because he was on a winning streak, but Jackson promised him more poker later. They pocketed their cash and followed me to Margaritaville. I ordered a round of tequila, a mountain of nachos and four cheeseburgers with fries. The boys finished their drinks and were singing along with Jimmy Buffet when the food arrived.

“I love this place,” said Rusty. “The food is great, and I like the music.”

“These cheeseburgers are fuckin’ awesome,” said Billy. “I like some of the waitresses too.” He stood up and pointed. “Look at the ass on that one over there.”

“No wonder you can’t get a date, you asshole,” said Jackson chuckling.

After lunch, we strolled up the strip sightseeing. “Let’s cross the road,” I said. “I want to show you guys something.” They followed me over to Las Vegas Harley Davidson and we went inside.  They spent an hour looking at all the different stuff that the US franchise had that they didn’t have at their store. They bought shirts, hats, and bandanas. I bought Jackson a couple of shirts and a black bandana.

“Let’s go men. We have an appointment.” We walked back across the street to Harrah’s, stowed the shopping bags in the Hummer and went upstairs to ‘I Love This Bar.’”

“I always wanted to drink in this bar,” said Jackson.

“That’s why we’re here. It’s your birthday and you get to do what you want.”

After a short wait, the hostess found us a table and I ordered a round of beer. Toby Keith’s music blared in the background and the boys were getting into the party mode. After a few more rounds, I glanced at the time on my phone and said, “One more stop on my birthday tour guys. Let’s go.”

The concert hall was filling up quickly when we arrived at that level. The excitement in the air was electric. I fished in my purse for the tickets and we lined up at the door with hundreds of other fans. Jackson had seen the posters that Toby Keith was playing tonight and I had caught him staring.

“Are we going to the concert, Annie?” he asked. “I can’t believe it. I’ve never been to a concert before.”

“Hell, yeah, we’re going.” I handed Rusty and Billy their tickets and we went through the doors. The usher showed us to our seats and the boys were impressed.

“Fuck, Portia, this is the third row. These tickets must have cost a million,” said Billy.

“Not quite a million, but close.” I giggled.

Jackson reached over and held my hand. “This is amazing,” he whispered.

The concert was fantastic. Jackson knew the words to all the songs. When we exited the concert hall he was on a high and still singing “Red Solo Cup’.

“I love that guy,” said Rusty. “Nobody better.”

“Never been to a fuckin’ concert,” said Billy. “Awesome. Someday you guys will see me playing on a big stage like that.”

“Do you sing, Billy? Jackson never mentioned it.”

“I don’t sing in front of those asswipes. They would only make fun of me.”

“You can sing for me sometime in private. I promise I won’t make fun of you,” I said. Billy smiled and seemed genuinely pleased.

“Okay guys, if you want to stay on the strip and play some more, get a cab when you’re finished. I have to go home and let Angel out.”

“Thanks, Portia. It was a great day,” said Rusty. “Do you want to play some more poker, Billy?”

“Let’s go back to the Flamingo for an hour. I was making some cash there.”

“Jackson, you stay if you want. It’s fine with me.” I smiled at him.

“Think I’ll go home, guys. Don’t get into any trouble you can’t get out of,” he punched them both in the shoulder.

“I know why you’re going home, fucker. It’s your birthday,” Billy taunted, pointing a finger at Jackson.

“You’ve got my number, Billy.” I winked at him and he blushed.

Jackson laughed, “You better write down the address, Annie. These dumb asses won’t know where they’re going.”

I smiled and scribbled the address on Rusty’s cigarette package. “I’ll leave the door open and the light on for you. Have fun.” They waved as we walked towards the parking lot to pick up the Hummer.

Jackson and I were tired from the long day. We let Angel out into the yard for a run, before we headed for bed. “Thanks for the best day of my life,” said Jackson, pulling me close to him and kissing me. My whole body was trembling with desire for him.

“Happy Birthday, cowboy,” I whispered. “It’s after twelve.” I unzipped his jeans and let my hand slide down inside his pants where it was the warmest. I massaged the inside of his groin and then cradled his package in my hand and stroked him gently.

He moaned, “More.” As he pushed the swollen shaft against my hand.

I flicked off the light so the neighbors couldn’t see us through the patio doors, whipped off my underpants and shoved a table out of the way. With his erection in my hand, I guided him in the dark and he thrust me up against the living room wall. He groaned as he rammed my butt hard against the drywall. I kissed him and shoved my tongue in his mouth as I grabbed his butt and held on as he slammed me into the wall again and again. A picture fell down and crashed to the floor beside us.

“Jesus, Annie,” he gasped as he came and his knees buckled a little.

I held him close and kissed him. “You’re mine, Jackson,” I whispered.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted. “I think the front hall just went to number two.”

I laughed, picked up my underwear, let Angel in and headed for the bathroom.

When I got into bed, Jackson was already asleep. I kissed him on the forehead.

“I hope this year is a lot better for you than the last one,” I whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, COWBOY.” Jackson climbed on a stool in the kitchen and leaned on his elbows. He read a text on his phone, frowned and shoved it in his pocket. I walked around and gave him a big hug. “I love you, Jackson,” I whispered as I mussed up his hair.

“Thanks, baby,” he said as he spooned sugar into his mug. “I’m still going over the new number one in my head.”

“Does this mean you’re raising the bar and I have to try harder?”

“I don’t think you could try any harder. You always give it all you’ve got.”

“Give what all you’ve got?” Billy asked as he ambled into the kitchen.

“Something you know nothing about, Billy,” Jackson snorted, “work,” he punched Billy in the arm.

“Ready for coffee, Billy?  I didn’t hear you guys come in last night. Angel didn’t bark.”

“We tried to be quiet, but we were a little drunk and Rusty tripped over that table that was away out from the wall. I don’t remember it being out there like that when we left. And there was a picture on the floor too.”

“Angel must have bumped into it when she came in from the yard.” I glanced at Jackson and he was staring down at his coffee, trying not to look at me.

“You assholes make any money last night?” Jackson asked.

Not too much. The players at the table were so tight, you knew they had big pockets if they were calling.”

“What’s the plan for today, Portia?” Billy asked.

“Anything you want to do for the day. At six I’m making steaks for Jackson’s dinner, and then the airport at nine-thirty.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Billy said, “I like it here.”

“You have to go home,” Jackson snapped. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”

“Breakfast is almost ready,” I said.

“Put it on hold,” Jackson mumbled as he closed the patio door tightly behind him.

From the kitchen, I could see him reading Billy the riot act through the window, complete with arm waving and boot stomping. Jackson was pissed about something.

“Who’s ready to eat?” I asked when the boys came inside.

“I’m in,” said Jackson perching on a stool.

“I’m in,” said Billy, looking a little sheepish.

Why is Jackson so pissed at Billy?

“I’m in double,” said Rusty, as he appeared at the kitchen door looking a little pale. “What am I in double for?”

“Scrambled eggs and sausage,” I said.

Rusty turned and bolted back to the bathroom. “Guess he’s not in double,” Billy laughed and snorted.

“That free beer will get you every time, even if you’re Irish,” I said.

“I need him to sober up,” said Jackson. “There’s shit happening while he’s away.”

“Can we fix it from here?” Billy showed his serious side.

“Don’t think so. We’ll talk about it later.”

I raised my eyebrows but Jackson clammed up. He never involved me in club discussions and neither had George. Better if I didn’t know. I served the boys their breakfast and poured them more coffee. Rusty eventually showed up after he showered and he opted for toast and coffee only. He still looked a little green around the gills.

“Anybody come up with a plan yet?” I rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher.

Jackson said, “They want to go to the Mirage—they haven’t been there yet. Why don’t I take them over there and bring them back at five-thirty? Do you want to come, baby?”

“No, I have lots to keep me busy. You guys go and have some fun.”

An hour later, after the three of them had been smoking and arguing on the patio for reasons unknown to me, they were ready to travel.

I smiled when I saw they were all wearing their new Harley Las Vegas shirts. “Stay out of trouble,” I hollered as they went out the garage door.

I set the table in the dining room, marinated the steaks in the refrigerator, prepared the potatoes and vegetables¸ made the salad, brought the cake in from the fridge in the garage where I had hidden it, tidied up the house and took a nap.

AT FOUR-THIRTY, I called Jackson to see what was happening. He replied that they were playing at the Mirage for another half hour and coming home. His voice told me that stress from the club and from his father was playing heavily on him.

Wonder what’s going on in Toronto? Can’t be good.

I was glad I decided not to play poker. I was tired and it would have been a rush to get dinner ready when I got home. We could have gone out for steaks, but Jackson preferred eating at home. A luxury he never enjoyed, because he didn’t have a mother growing up. My guests arrived at five forty-five. I welcomed them with ice cold beer and hot snacks from the oven.

“These little sausage things are fuckin good, Portia,” said Billy as he ate his fourth one.

“Did you guys get any lunch while you were out?”

“Just liquid lunch,” said Rusty.”

“Hair of the dog, Rusty?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Win anything, sugar?” I asked Jackson.

“Not today, lost about fifty bucks.” He sounded testy.

“You won a lot yesterday. You’re still up,” I said. “I’m throwing the steaks on the grill, guys. Dinner in ten minutes.”

“I’m starving,” said Jackson. I knew him well enough to know there was something he wasn’t telling me. We needed to clear the air.

“Take your beer and sit at the dining room table, boys. I’m serving the salad.”

“I love it when you cook, Portia,” said Rusty. “You’re so damn good at it.”

The boys took their seats and demolished their salad and everything that came afterward. I cleared away the first course, put the candles on the cake, and carried it into the dining room. We sang happy birthday to Jackson¸ and he looked like he might cry.

“I’m so fuckin’ full, Portia, but I’m definitely eating a big hunk of cake,” said Billy.

“Me too,” said Rusty.

Jackson sat quietly and watched me serve the cake, and it took me a minute to figure out why. Then it dawned on me and I sucked in a little breath—he’d never had a birthday cake before. My heart hurt for him, and for all the pain he’d been through his whole life. I struggled to keep my tears at bay.

“How old are you now, you old fart?” asked Billy.

“Thirty-seven,” said Jackson, “why, Billy, how old are you?”

“You got ten on me, old man. I’m twenty-seven.”

“Maybe in ten years, you’ll be as sensible and mature and as good lookin’ as me,” Jackson snorted

“Fuck off, Jackson.” Billy punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m thirty this year,” said Rusty. “Time marches on.”

“How old are you, Portia?” Billy asked, “Or am I committing some kind of social fuckin’ nightmare by asking?”

“No social nightmare, Billy. I’m twenty-six.” I laughed. It was easy to laugh when Billy was around.

“You’re just a baby, Portia. But a gorgeous one and you can cook.”

“Thanks, Billy,” I giggled. “Who wants coffee?”

“I’ll have a coffee, baby,” Jackson said. He sucked in a big breath and dropped the bomb. “Have to get to the airport…I…I have to go back with the boys.” He reached for my hand and I pulled away. “You know I wouldn’t unless it was important.”

“Didn’t see that coming.” I retreated to the bedroom to collect my thoughts but I wasn’t alone. Jackson was right on my heels. He tried to hug me and I turned away.

“I know you’re pissed, baby. I’ll be back as soon as I can. One other thing…”

Fuck, what now?

“I put a man on the house. He’s from the local club.”

I felt the heat rising in my neck. “I don’t need anybody babysitting me,” I hollered.

“Please, Portia. Don’t be mad at me. I have to go and it makes me feel better to know you’re not alone and...”

“And what?” My eyes felt watery.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” He sounded annoyed with me.

“No, Jackson, I’m not going to cry. I’ve been depending on you and leaning on you ever since George died. This is my wake-up call. You go do whatever it is that you have to do and I’ll do what I have to do to get my life together.”

Jackson turned on his heel without another word and left the bedroom.

I slammed the bedroom door, wiped my eyes and sucked in a breath.

I have been depending on him way too much. Suck it up.

I tossed some clothes into a duffel bag for him and carried it to the door.

After we finished our coffee, Rusty and Billy packed up their bags and loaded them in the Hummer. We drove out to McCarran and Jackson paced and talked on his phone while we waited for the Toronto flight to board. Rusty and Billy played slot machines, bought souvenirs and loaded up with cartons of smokes at the duty-free shop. When it was time for them to go through the gate, I hugged them both.

“Thanks for coming guys. You made Jackson’s birthday something special.”

“No, we have to thank you, Portia. We would never have made it to Vegas without you,” Rusty said. “Sorry that we have to take Jackson away.”

“I second that,” said Billy. “No way would I ever have played poker in Vegas without you, Portia. I won’t forget it. I had a great time.”

Jackson kissed me before he went through the gate. “I’ll call you,” he said with a catch in his voice and I knew he wasn’t happy about leaving me. “Never had a birthday before, baby—this was my first one. Thanks for everything.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

SINCE WE HAD been at this address, I hadn’t seen a park anywhere near our neighborhood. Angel needed more exercise than she was getting and so did I. My favorite thing to do in the morning was run with my dog. My energy level was at rock bottom when I skipped my run and now that Jackson had abandoned me I needed physical activity more than ever.

I brewed the coffee and sat outside at the patio table, throwing Angel’s ball for her, to make her run off pent up energy. Jackson called me and exhaustion was evident in his voice.

“Hard night?” I asked trying not to sound pissy.

“Always a hard night, when I’m away from you, baby.”

“Uh huh. Any progress solving your problem?”

“Not yet. Give me a couple of days.”

“I’m not your keeper, Jackson. Stay as long as you need to. You’re a free man.”

“Don’t say that baby. You know I want to be with you.”

“Regulators come first. I learned that the hard way.”

“I’m sorry I had to leave you there alone.”

“So am I.” I hung up.

I changed into my leathers, headed into the garage and flipped one of the overhead doors up. The presence of a menacing looking guy sitting on the garden bench in front of the house startled me. I walked over and stuck out my hand. “Jackson said he was putting a man on me. I’m Annie Talbot.”

“Race Ogilvey.” The big biker took stock of me with the hint of a smile on his lips. He was tall even sitting down. Long dark hair, beard, and reflector shades. His leather vest was weighted down with heavy chains. He was wearing a ‘P’ patch on his cut, but I couldn’t see the name of the club.

‘The Rule’ was the number one club in Vegas, but club presidents didn’t take babysitting jobs.

“I’m riding,” I said and he nodded.

I struggled to start my bike. Usually, it started on the first try. Maybe it had been sitting too long. Maybe I was so angry with Jackson I was doing something wrong. Fuck.

Race ambled into the garage. Fiddled with the gas, checked the oil, lowered his bulk onto my bike and started it. He grinned as he revved it up. “Let’s ride.” The words came out in a low growl.

I locked up and took off with my new shadow behind me. I wanted to get a feel for some of the neighborhoods before I looked for a house. Now I wasn’t sure if I’d be living alone, but it didn’t matter. The one thing I was sure of—I didn’t want to go back to Toronto.

I headed out towards the highway. It was slow going, stop and go, with low-speed limits and traffic lights at every corner. When I reached the ninety-five I squeezed the gas, let my baby out and had some fun. I hadn’t had the opportunity to ride my bike in quite a while. I cruised through different neighborhoods, looking for the surroundings that I wanted. When I arrived in Summerlin, I slowed down, looking at the houses, the green spaces, and the amenities. At one of the larger parks, I took a break and relaxed on a bench.

Race pulled up, sat down beside me and lit up a smoke. “What are we doing?”

“Looking for a new house.”

He nodded. Quiet guy.

My phone rang. Jackson again. “Didn’t like the way our conversation ended this morning.”

I didn’t answer. What could I say?

He waited, then asked, “You don’t want to talk to me?”

“Sure, I’ll talk to you. As soon as I’m happy being number two in your life, that’s when I’ll talk to you.” I hung up and Race gave me a glance.

Fuck, I hated fighting with Jackson.

FILLED TO CAPACITY with anger and about to boil over, I jumped on my ride, drove through the rest of Summerlin and headed into Red Rock Canyon. The sun was high in the sky. Perfect day for a ride. Highway one fifty-nine wound its way through the canyon, unveiling amazing rock formations on both sides of the road. Should have brought my camera. I would have to come back in the Hummer and take Angel for a big hike. After riding for an hour, I arrived back at the rental house in south Vegas. I was pumped.

“Good ride,” said the shadow. “Thought I might have to sit on my fuckin ass all day.”

I parked the Softail in the garage and hung up my helmet wondering how expensive the houses were out by the canyon. I can sell Hawthorne Lane and there will be money left over. Too bad I had to give half a million to that lowlife Stan and for what? A guy that puts me second to his fucking gang. Now mean thoughts were creeping into my brain. I was a becoming a bitch.

Race and I sat in the kitchen with a couple of cold ones while I made a late lunch for the two of us. “I can sit outside.”

“Fuck it.” I said, “You draw a short straw for this gig?”

“Something like that.” He smirked and chugged the rest of his beer. “Ain’t as bad as I thought.” He ate his sandwich.

Thoughts rolled around in my head like silver balls in a pinball game. I’ll call Pam today and see how busy she is. The sooner I choose something, the sooner I can close it. Once I buy something here, I’ll have to fly back to Toronto and unload Hawthorne Lane. If I need a place to stay in Ontario there’s always the cabin up north. Needs to be checked on anyway, if I’m back for a few days. See if anybody ripped me off or stole…the boat. Fuck, now I was making myself cry. I hated to think about the last day at the lake with George. Shut that down, Annie, don’t go there. Too late. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’ll smoke out back.”

“Take Angel.” I lay on my bed and cried myself to sleep.

WHEN I WOKE, Angel and Race were still on the patio. I sucked it up and donned the cloak of self-reliance. I dug Pam’s card out of my purse and dialed. “This morning I rode out to Summerlin area and toured through the Red Rock Canyon. Anything available out that way?”

“Give me an hour, Mrs. Talbot and I’ll print out what listings I have.”

“Okay, thanks. Call me when you have something.” I set my phone on the counter. It rang and scared me.

“I love you, Annie,” said Jackson, “You’ll always be first in my heart.”

My eyes welled up with tears hearing him sound so sad.

“I love you too, Jackson. I’m sorry I was acting like a…a… bitch.”

“Is…my man around?”

“He’s outside.”

“Good. What are you doing while I’m gone?”

“Pam’s going to show me some houses out by the canyon.”

A pause on the other end of the line. “You’re buying a house in Vegas?”

“I think so. I don’t want to live in Toronto anymore.”

“You’re sure about that?

“I’m sure about the Toronto thing.”

Jackson paused again and I could hear him suck in a breath. “What if I’m stuck here?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t want you living out there all alone. It’s not safe.”

“Then do something about it.” I hung up and choked back a sob. I hated the distance between us and I hated the fact that I had put it there. My phone rang and I did my best to sound coherent. “Hello.” I choked it out.

“Mrs. Talbot, are you all right?”

“Fine, Pam. What’s up?” I could barely breathe with Jackson’s unhappiness pressing down on me.

“I set up a couple of appointments for tomorrow starting at eleven. There might be three altogether. I’ll pick you up.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I WAS PUMPED for house hunting and ready to go when Pam picked me up at eleven. Race opted to follow behind anonymously on his bike. It would have been more fun if Jackson was with me, but he might not even be living with me in Vegas so what did it matter. We had already discussed what we both needed in a home in Vegas. Jackson wanted open space around him, close to the canyon, twenty minutes or less from the strip, a big garage and a park or trails to run on. I wanted a great kitchen, a fabulous ensuite, a roomy yard for Angel and access to a shooting range. I’d try to fill both our needs, hoping Jackson would join me out here at some point. Maybe by the time I was ninety-fuckin-nine.

Pam chatted all the way out to Summerlin. “I’m so happy you decided to buy a property. In all probability, you can close it before your rental expires and move right in.”

“That’s why I wanted to get looking right away, I only have six weeks to close it or another month’s rent will be due. I rode out here yesterday on my bike and toured the area. It has a rural feel that we’re both looking for,” I said.

“Too bad Jackson isn’t here to view the houses with you.”

“That is too bad.” I regretted the edge in my voice.

The first house, Pam showed me was huge. It had three garages for Jackson and a large master suite, but the backyard was the drawback. Space was completely filled with a swimming pool, waterfall, and patio. Beautiful landscaping, but no grassy area for Angel. A pool would be nice for Jackson because of the heat, but I didn’t swim and didn’t intend to learn. There were neighbors close on both sides and that was a deal breaker for both of us.

The second house was in an area called Scarlett Canyon. Jackson would have loved the view, had he been here. The property felt open and rural. There were no houses behind, just green space. The kitchen was all granite with cherry cabinets and a large island. The master ensuite had a massive separate shower. The rooms were large and the back yard was fenced and large enough for Angel to run. The monster three car garage formed an L-shape with the rest of the house and gave a sense of privacy to the front courtyard.

The third house ticked most of the boxes, but it was in a busier area and there were a lot of small children playing on the street. Angel was not used to children, and the park that was close by didn’t allow dogs.

“Let’s go back to the second one. I want to take another look around,” I said as I glanced down the block and verified Race’s presence.

Pam nodded. “The large back windows with the golf course and the mountains in the distance were impressive.”

“The yard was better for Angel, and there were trails close by for running. I need to run.”

“You look like you’re in good shape,” said Pam, approvingly. “What do you do for a living?”

“Umm…I play poker,” I said.

“What does Jackson do?”

“He’s a poker player and a much better one than I am. He’s also the world’s best bodyguard, among his other considerable talents.”

“You need a bodyguard, Mrs. Talbot?”

“Jackson thinks I do.”

We returned to the second house and had another walk through. I went over all the details with Pam. “This one has the best location at the edge of the canyon. Neighbors aren’t too close, the lot is large and I like the layout. It’s a little larger than we need, but I think I’ll offer on it.”

Pam nodded. “Let’s go back to my office and do the paperwork.”

When we arrived back at Pam’s office, she poured us both a coffee, pulled the forms she needed and started at the top. “Full name?”

“Portia Anne Talbot.”

“Do you want Jackson on the title?”

“I’m not sure. Put the offer in my name alone. When the time comes, I can add him to the title, is that right?”

“Sure, you can add him later.”

“I don’t want his name on the offer because I don’t know how long he’ll be out of town.”

Pam nodded. “Save a lot of problems with signing.” She carried on filling in the blanks.

“What’s your opening offer going to be, Portia?”

“I think I’ll start at three sixty-nine, with a thirty-day closing.”

“Will you need to put in a condition for selling your other house, or getting additional financing?”

“Nope, cash in thirty days.” She cast a glance in my direction and I smiled.

“Property inspection clause?”

“Yes, please.”

“That about does it, sign here. How much of a deposit did you wish to put with the offer?”

“Five thousand,” I said, reaching into my purse for my checkbook.

I wrote the check and Pam paper-clipped it to the offer. “Call me when the vendors sign the offer back?”

“Right away,” she said.

Pam dropped me off at home. Race veered onto the driveway and parked his chopper. I motioned him in and opened beer to celebrate.

“Buy one?”

“Offered.”

He nodded and chugged his first brew. Quiet guy.

The wheels were spinning in my head thinking of all the things I had to do. I needed to fly back to Toronto and list the house. That might work well in two ways. Do what needed to be done and work things out with Jackson. I made a salad for dinner and threw steaks on the grill.

Jackson called as I was brewing a pot of coffee. “How did the house hunting go?”

“I have an offer in on one. Hope you like it.”

Silence. “I’m sure it’s nice,” he said in a whisper.

“How much progress are you making?”

“Not much. Slow going.”

“What’s going on?”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

“Right.” Controlling my anger was becoming more of a challenge each day. “I have to fly back to Toronto, list the house and pack up the stuff I’m keeping.”

“When are you coming?” A happier inflection in his voice.

“My biggest worry is Angel. Who will watch her while I’m in T.O.—any thoughts?”

“Shit, baby. What about a kennel?  I hate that idea, but I don’t have anything else.”

“I’m thinking it would cost several hundred dollars to put Angel in a kennel for two weeks and she would be so unhappy. What if I used that money to fly Billy back here to house and dog sit while I was in Canada?  Could he get the time off at the store? Could you spare him from the club?”

“That’s a great idea, and yes I could get by without him for a week or so. That asshole got fired from the Harley store before he came down for my birthday. He didn’t want Rusty to find out and razz him about it. I think he would come back out there in a minute.”

“Tell him he doesn’t have to go back after two weeks, he can stay as long as he likes. I know he doesn’t like flying much,” I said.

“I’ll call and see what he thinks of the idea. He still lives with his mother.”

“At least he has a mother,” I said.

“True. Luckier than you or me,” he said. “I’ll call him and call you back. You don’t know how happy I am that you’re coming my way, baby. I’ve been going mental with you so upset over me leaving. I want to straighten us out.”

“I’m hoping that can happen.”

“My man still there?”

“Right here.”

“Put him on.” I handed the phone to Race and he walked outside. A private conversation.

I poured cream in my coffee and waited for my phone to come back to me. Jackson had sounded pleased that I was coming to Toronto. Maybe we could work things out. Race returned my cell and I handed him a coffee. Jackson called back. “Does Billy want to come?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s pumped, says he’s just sitting around smoking and watching his mom drink.”

“Sounds depressing. Are you sure you can spare him from whatever is going on?”

“Yep, I can. Can’t explain to you why I can and I don’t want to. I need you to be as far removed from club business as you can be, baby.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do, but I’m going to drop it.”

After dinner, Angel, Race and I were watching Criminal Minds when Pam called.

“They signed your offer back at three eighty-five, Portia,” she said.

“I’ll go to three seventy-nine. Final offer. Do you have to get that initialed?”

“Yes, I’ll be by in a half hour.”

Pam arrived a half hour later, as promised, and I initialed the changes.

“I’m taking it back to them right now, so there might be news within the hour. Will you be up?”

“Call anyway, and let me know. Thanks, Pam.” I showed her the door, found a blanket and pillow for Race then ran a vanilla bubble bath while I waited for her call. I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang.

“Hi Pam. Okay, that’s great.” I set the phone on the nightstand. “We’re the proud owners of a house in Las Vegas,” I whispered to Angel lying on her blanket.

She wagged her stubby tail and I flicked off the light.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

RACE AMBLED OUTSIDE for a smoke after breakfast. I loaded the dishwasher and called Billy. “Did Jackson talk to you about coming to Vegas and staying with Angel while I’m in Toronto?”

“Yep, I’m down with the plan, Portia.”

“I’m going to call the airport and see what flight I can get you and call you back.”

“Okay…and Portia…”

“What, Billy?” I refilled my mug with coffee.

“Jackson’s all messed up because you guys are fighting.”

“Maybe we can smooth it out when I get to Toronto.”

“That would be good. He’s fucked out of his head.”

“Good to know. Thanks, Billy.” I smiled. Not because Jackson was miserable, but because Billy was so funny. Even when he didn’t mean to be.

The airline found a flight for Billy for the following day and I booked one for myself to Toronto for Friday afternoon. I charged both flights to my credit card and called Billy back.

“Tomorrow night at eight forty-five. Are you good with that?” Angel scratched at the patio door and I let her in.

“Yep, sounds perfect. I’ll pack some stuff and be ready.”

“Write down the flight number and the time.” I repeated the details.

“Will you pick me up, Portia?”

“Sure will. Maybe we’ll go to the strip after you land. Just the two of us.”

Billy inhaled. “That would be fun.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I hung up and called Jackson. “Billy is coming tomorrow night and he seems happy about the trip.”

“He’s so into leaving Toronto. I think after they fired his ass at the Harley store, he wanted a change. He acts happy all the time, but I think living with his drunken mother busts his balls.”

“Why did he get fired?  Did he tell you?”

“All he said was ‘the manager that replaced me was fucked in the head.”

“That clears it up,” I chuckled.

“When is your flight, baby?” asked Jackson.

“Six on Friday, Vegas time. I won’t arrive until after midnight, your time.”

“I’ll be at the airport.”

“I can take a cab.”

“No, Portia. I want to pick you up.” Jackson was standing firm.

“I’m making a list of what has to be done before I leave. Pam called and recommended a lawyer to handle the close on the new house. She’s faxing the paperwork to him and booking a guy she recommends to do the inspection. The money is sitting in my US account, so that end of it is cool.”

“I’m glad you’re so smart and organized, Annie. That kind of shit plows me under.”

“I’m not going to ask you how things are going at the club because it’s pointless. We’ll talk when I get there.”

“You’re still upset over my leaving.”

“I was living in a dream world. Now I’m awake and I don’t like the feeling.”

“Fuck, baby. I hate it when you’re not happy.”

“Get used to it. If I’m living in Vegas and you’re in Toronto it will be a fact of life.”

“We’ll work it out. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

I busied myself doing laundry and packing for Toronto. After the guest bedroom was freshened up for Billy, I took a run to the grocery store with Race by my side. I stocked up on dog kibbles and beer. With no clue on what Billy liked to eat besides junk food, I winged it. Race helped me unload the groceries and put the beer in the fridge.

“You sick of this assignment?” I asked. “You’re wearing the P there on your cut, so I can’t figure why you’re on this detail. You must have better things to do and I really don’t need a babysitter if you want to go.”

“Can’t go. I have my orders.” A man of few words.

“Don’t you give the orders?”

A grin spread across his face. “You’re a smart one, Annie.”

First time he said my name and it gave me the shivers.

“Repaying a favor.”

“I understand. Thank you for your diligence.”

Race stared at me like I was speaking Russian.

“My afternoon is free. You guys have a range?”

“Desert,” he said, “nothin permanent.”

“Let’s empty a couple boxes.”

Race nodded with a half grin. “Could do.”

I loaded my guns and ammo into the back of the Hummer and brought Jackson’s rifle and SW for Race. I pointed to the driver’ side and jumped into the shotgun seat. Race worked best with hand signals—not much on verbiage.

A half hour later we arrived at the end of a dirt track out in the Mojave. A few sawhorses were lined up and the sand was scattered with punctured beer cans and hundreds of cigarette butts. The sun beat down mercilessly and the temperature was soaring.

“Should have brought beer,” I said and Race nodded.

He adjusted the sawhorses and lined up a few cans while I loaded up the practice ammo. I handed him a pistol and readied my Beretta.

“You first,” he said and took a step to the side.

I shot five cans off with my right hand, then changed hands and shot five off with my left.

“Holy fuck,” Race said.

After an hour, we had used up all our practice rounds and we were both drenched in sweat. “Too fuckin hot,” I said.

Race nodded. He drove the Hummer home and parked it in the garage.

“Free beer at the casino. No limit?”

Race grinned. “That would put in the time.”

“Mirage?”

“Let’s do it,” he mumbled. “You better ride with me.”

I changed into my leathers, tied a red bandana around my hair and hopped on behind my bodyguard.

We played at the Mirage until seven and I made a few bucks. “How’d you do?” I asked.

“Couple hundred up.” A little smile. “You?”

“Same.” We didn’t waste words. “Prime rib on the way home?”

“I could live with it.”

I WAS CLIMBING into bed when Jackson called me again.

Give it a rest. I don’t want to argue anymore today.

“Just wanted to say good night, Annie, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Jackson. That’s not the issue.”

He changed the subject. “Billy is raring to go. He was at the meeting tonight and he’s hyped.”

“He’s so funny,” I chuckled.

“He loves you, Annie. Nobody’s ever been nice to him. You flying him and Rusty to Vegas for my birthday, he’s probably told every last fucker at Buck’s about that trip fifty times at least. They’re sick of hearing about it by now if I know Billy. And I do.”

“Let’s go to Buck’s when we’re together in Toronto. I need a decent cheeseburger.”

“For sure. Maybe I’ll dance with you again if there’s a band on Saturday night.”

“I have a lot of good memories at Buck’s,” I said.

“That’s where I held you in my arms for the first time. Sometimes I still can’t believe that we’re a couple.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE DAY WAS hectic, getting ready for my trip to Canada and planning for Billy to stay in the Vegas rental house. I made maps and wrote down directions to places I thought Billy might need or want to go. I contacted Brian Pickersgill, my lawyer back in Toronto and made an appointment for Tuesday, then Remax to talk to an agent in my old neighborhood. I asked her to drive over to the house and do a preliminary evaluation before I listed it. When I spoke to Vince, at Apex Security, he sounded surprised that I was thinking of selling the old Victorian, and sounded like he might be interested in the property himself.

I had just finished lunch and was cleaning up the kitchen when my cell phone rang.

“Officer Lloyd Roberts, Ontario Provincial Police. Just a routine call to see if I you’ve heard anything from Mr. Traynor? We’ve spoken to his son in Toronto but wanted to check this location as well. All branches of law enforcement are actively searching for him in Canada, US, and Mexico.”

“I hope you find him before he spends all my ransom money,” I said without a trace of humor. I vowed to myself to kill that fucker and get him permanently out of Jackson’s life. As long as he was alive and on the run, Jackson was not safe for a moment. I would have to make a plan to track him down or figure out some way to make him come to me.

A nap in the afternoon was in order in preparation for Billy’s arrival. It might be a late night after he landed. Billy would be hyped and would want to stay up and party or hit the strip and play poker until dawn.

After a late dinner, Race and I headed to McCarran to collect our house sitter. We bought coffee at the Starbuck’s booth and waited in the arrivals lounge.

“When Billy gets here, I’m gone.”

“Thanks, Race. You’ve been good company.”

“Yeah, right,” he gave me a huge grin.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I mean it.”

The overhead screen said that Billy’s flight was right on time. As I took my last sip of coffee, his plane landed and we waited for him to clear customs.

He came waltzing through the door towards me, grinning and wide-eyed, with a girl on each side of him and his guitar slung over his back.  He was telling the chicks all about Vegas and what to see, relying heavily on his two days’ experience. I laughed out loud. Billy always made me feel better.

Race shook hands with Billy. “I’m out of here, man.”

“Thanks, bro. I’ve got this covered,” said Billy wearing his serious club face.

“Do you have more luggage?” I gave Billy a hug and he kissed my cheek.

Billy nodded. “One more. Don’t know where the hell it would be.”

“We’ll check the carousels,” I said, leading the way. Billy followed along behind me and I smiled listening to him humming a little song. He found his luggage with little trouble, and we arrived back at the house before eleven. We had hatched a plan in the Hummer and after we dropped off his luggage and let Angel have a run, we were off to the Flamingo for a couple of hours of poker before bed.

“I’m so happy we’re going out, just the two of us,” said Billy.

“Me too. It will be fun.”

We played one-two no limit for a couple of hours until Billy was wasted from the free beer and the time change. He cashed in his chips and we headed back home. I parked the Hummer in its spot at the far end of the triple bay while Billy waited for me in the dark. He said nothing but reached for my hand as we walked into the house. I locked up and we walked together down the hall.

“This is your room,” I said. As I turned to go to my room he hugged me and whispered, “I love you, Portia.”

I sucked in a breath and hoped it was only the beer talking.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ANGEL HADN’T BOTHERED barking when Billy and I came in. She knew the difference between strangers and family and I thanked her for making that distinction. I made coffee while Billy slept and held off preparing breakfast until I had a customer, thinking that he might not show until later in the day. And I was right.

During my morning alone time, my cell phone rang and I didn’t recognize the number. At first, the caller hesitated, not speaking.

“Annie?”

“Race? That you?” I recognized the low growl.

“I shouldn’t be calling.” Pause. “Ain’t right.”

“It’s okay. I’m happy you called.”

“You are?”

“Definitely, I am.”

“I wanted you to have my number…like…you know…in your phone.”

“Thanks for that. I thought of it after you left me at the airport.”

He sucked in a breath. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“Better go.” He hung up.

Such a sweet guy. Quiet guy, but a sweet guy.

At ten after twelve, Billy staggered into the kitchen in his jeans, looking a little rough around the edges. He perched on a stool. “Any coffee left?” he asked.

“Fresh pot. I knew you would get up sooner or later and need coffee,” I chuckled. “How did you make out last night? I couldn’t see your table from where I was sitting.”

“I was lucky. Last night I got a straight flush to the king, in clubs. Made a pile on that one—big pot, plus got paid off on high hand.”

“I’m glad we had a fun night together before I have to leave.” I hugged him and filled up his mug. “Want breakfast or lunch?”

“Breakfast, I love breakfast,” he said with a grin.

“I’ll make western sandwiches and that will cover all the bases.”

“I love westerns,” said Billy, “I want to watch you make them.” He ambled around the island wearing only his faded ripped jeans, and I hadn’t realized what a muscular creature he was. He was a couple inches shorter than Jackson, tanned, with a Fender guitar tattooed on his back. With his turquoise blue eyes and long curly blond hair, he was adorable.

He stood close to me as I cracked the eggs and cut up the ham and the onions and I could smell his shampoo. That was one thing about Billy. He was a fanatic about being clean. I turned my gaze away from him and concentrated on the frying pan. “Do you want to make the toast?”

“Sure do. I want to learn how to cook and nobody cooks better than you do.”

We finished the sandwiches, put them on plates and I set ketchup on the counter. Billy refilled our mugs with coffee and we were ready.

“I want you to make yourself at home here, Billy, while I’m gone. Drive the Hummer and do whatever you want. Just feed Angel, and let her out. She likes it in the yard and she might want to sleep on her blanket beside your bed. She’s a bit sucky.”

“I don’t mind members of the opposite sex sucking up to me. I’m used to it.”

“I’m sure you are.” I giggled.

“Thanks for breakfast, Portia.”

“You don’t have to thank me, honey. You’re doing me a favor.”

“I needed to get away from Toronto. There’s nothin there for me anymore. While you guys are gone and the house is quiet, I might get a couple more songs written.”

“You write songs? There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Billy,” I said glimpsing a more serious side.

“The boys don’t know.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “It would be better if they didn’t find out.”

“I’ve got your back,” I said, giving him a wink.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

IT WAS CLOSE to two a.m. when customs at Pearson International recognized me as a Canadian citizen and welcomed me into my own country. Jackson was waiting for me looking like he’d been dragged backwards through a wringer. His hair was longer—too long, and he had tied the tangled mess back out of his way with a black bandana. Tired lines creased the corners of his eyes. We picked up my luggage without much conversation and headed out to the parking garage.

“Rusty loaned me his truck to pick you up, baby.”

“That was nice.”

“Billy arrive okay? You didn’t answer my call yesterday.”

“Yes, Billy is there. And no, I decided to wait until I got here to talk to you. Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’m too tired to get into it tonight.”

Jackson nodded. We found the black pickup in the almost deserted parking ramp and headed home to my old address on Hawthorne Lane. He dumped the luggage in the front foyer; we trudged upstairs and fell into bed.

At ten a.m. I woke and left Jackson sprawled and snoring. I made coffee and tried to concentrate on what items to sell and what to keep and ship to Vegas. The task was looming large, and I felt no match for it this early in the morning. Some of my antique pieces I would never be able to leave behind.

I took my mug, walked across the lawn and sat on my favorite bench in the back of the garden. The fall flowers were at their peak, and the beds glowed with mums, purple coneflowers, and cabbage roses. The bed of lily of the valley was a mass of green leaves, the little white bells long gone. Nothing had been touched by frost as yet. While I sat and thought autumn thoughts and inhaled the crisp October air, I realized it was Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and I was overcome by the urge to cook a turkey.

After revising my list for the market, I ambled through the old house and touched things that had fond memories for me. There was a lot of George in this house, although we were together for all too short a time. Was I ready to part with all that I had left of him? Tears welled up and I knew the answer.

Jackson found me in the study a while later. He was clad only in his jeans and he had an unlit smoke in his hand. His hair was wild and untamed. I was sitting at my desk staring into space. “What’s up, Annie? You were so quiet, I thought you’d gone out.”

“Doing a lot of thinking about the house and the future.”

“And?” Jackson had a look of panic on his face.

“And, I don’t…think I can sell the house.”

Jackson came around the desk and put his arms around me.

“I thought you wanted to sell this house, baby.” He kissed my hair.

“I thought so too, until now. It was my first home and I don’t think I can part with it.”

“Keep it, baby. I want you to be happy. We don’t need a house in Vegas.”

“This has nothing to do with the Vegas house. I have money for that.  I was going to cut the ties with Toronto and all that went on here, but now that I’m back, I know I can’t do it. At least, not yet.”

“Anything you decide, Annie, is fine with me. You know that.”

“Well, here we are in Toronto, and its Thanksgiving weekend, so let’s get a load of groceries and make a turkey dinner. What do you say, sugar?” I kissed Jackson and tried to ease the stress I was causing him with my insecurities.

“I say yes to a turkey dinner. I’ve never had one, but I’m guessing it’ll be good if you’re cooking it.”

“You’ve never had Thanksgiving dinner?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing it.

“Nope, never.”

“Let’s get showered and go to the market and get what we need. We’ll pick up Tim’s on the way. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“You take good care of me, Annie. I love you so much,” he said on the way up the stairs.

“Do you want to show me how much, before we take a shower?”

“Hell, yeah I do.”

WE UNLOADED THE groceries from Rusty’s truck, and I made sure I had everything I needed for dinner the following day. “Let’s have a beer. I need to touch base with the ReMax agent, Apex¸ and my lawyer. He won’t be in until Tuesday, but I’ll leave a message on his machine.”

After my phone calls had been completed, Jackson and I had another beer outside in the late afternoon sun. For the first week of October, it was warm and comfortable. The maples around the perimeter of the property were dressed in brilliant reds and yellows, the crisp air laden with the aroma that only exists when the leaves are turning. I inhaled and smiled.

“Want to have our talk out here in the fresh air?”

“I’m nervous for this talk, baby. You’ve been in a bad place since I left Vegas.”

“I feel better since we made love this morning, but this isn’t about sex, Jackson. It’s about commitment.”

“I know that,” he said softly and reached for my hand.

“You can’t commit to me and be number one in the club.”

“I know that too.”

“The ball is in your court. There is nothing I can say or do. If you want to stay in Toronto and do your thing, I want you to feel free to live here now that I’ve decided to keep this house.”

“Thanks, but I’ve decided to turn the leadership over to Rusty and move to Vegas.”

I was stunned and sat mute for a moment. “I’m surprised, but happy that you made that decision. Is the club happy about it?”

“Not exactly happy, but they can manage.”

“And you’re sure this is the right choice for you?”

“I’ve been here by myself for a week and I hate it. I fuckin hate it. I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t seem as happy as I thought you’d be.”

“I am happy that you’re saying that you’re choosing me over the club. But from past experience, I know things can change and when it comes to the Regulators, I always finish second.”

“This won’t be one of those times.” Jackson held me in his arms under the maple tree and kissed me. My eyes welled up and he brushed a tear from my face. He took my hand and we ambled back to the house through the garden.

“Saturday night. Is it date night at Buck’s?”

“Hell, yeah, baby. I hope old Buck has a band for tonight. We’re going dancing.”

“Yahoo,” I hollered. “I feel like going crazy.”

Jackson wanted to commit to me but after being with George I knew in my heart it wasn’t possible. I would never come first.

“I hope I can keep up,” he said.

I took two more beers from the fridge, sat on Jackson’s knee and kissed him. I rumpled his hair and he seemed to be in a better place. “I’m going to show off my tattoo tonight to your boys. Can’t wait.”

My outfit for Buck’s was a short red skirt, black leather boots, low cut black lace tank and a red bandana. I wore lots of mascara and eyeliner and fluffed up my mop of hair. I finished off with a generous spray of Light Blue and went downstairs.

“Ready, cowboy?”

Jackson looked up and whistled. “You’re gonna’ start a fuckin’ brawl, baby,” he grinned. “And I’m gonna be in the middle of it.” He blew out a big breath. “Let’s go.”

When we walked into Buck’s, the bar was packed full of bikers and the air was smoky. The crowd was loud and rowdy, drowning out the country music with their hooting and hollering. Jackson found us a booth near the pool tables and I sat and gazed around at the familiar old haunt while he went for pitchers of beer. Rusty came over with a blonde girl hanging on his arm—one of the Reg girls. She glared when he grabbed me to give me a hug, turned on her heel and walked away in a huff.

“You smell good, Portia,” he said, pushing Jackson backward and slopping beer out of the pitcher.

“You’re drunk, you little shit.” Jackson laughed and filled the glasses.

“Did you leave that asshole, Billy, all alone in Vegas?” Rusty asked.

“No, he’s with Angel,” I said, and Jackson hooted.

The band came in with their gear to begin setting up, and all the bikers cheered at the sight of them. It was going to be a wild night. Rusty finished his beer and stood up to go back to his own table.

“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, Rusty?” I asked.

“Hell, no. Just going up to the range for a ride, then back.”

“Come over at six and eat with us. I’m cooking a turkey for Jackson.”

“Jackson, you are one lucky fuckin prick, to have something that looks like Portia, and can cook too,” He was starting to slur his words. He punched Jackson in the shoulder and departed.

“I am a lucky prick,” Jackson said, holding my hand across the table.

“I’m the lucky one.” I finished my beer, just as Sheila came to take our order.

Buck delivered a fresh pitcher himself. “Hey, Portia, Jackson, heard you guys moved to Vegas. How’s that working out?”

“Great,” said Jackson. “I love it there. Billy’s there now at our place house sitting.”

“Beautiful tat, Portia,” Buck said, staring at my arm. “Guess you and Jackson are an item now, eh?”

“We’re a little more than an item, Buck. We’re getting married,” I said, trying to read Jackson’s face for a reaction.

Why in seven hells did I say that? Where did that come from?

Maybe I was pushing him too much. His jaw dropped open and then he flashed me that drop-dead smile. Heartened by his smile, I continued, “That is, if Jackson will have me?”

“Fuck, Annie, I never know what you’re gonna’ say next. You caught me by surprise on that one.” He chuckled but didn’t commit himself.

Good one, Annie. He doesn’t want to get married or he would’ve said yes right away.

Buck nodded, “Congratulations, you two,” he shook Jackson’s hand, and kissed me on the cheek.

The band broke into their first number and Jackson took me by the hand and led me out onto the dance floor.  He held me close and kissed me while we danced, “I love you, Annie.”

I said nothing. Still trying to decide if I made things worse talking about getting married.

“When I made my decision to leave the leadership and move to Vegas I wanted to talk about getting married, but I was afraid I would mess things up worse than they are already. I thought you might not want to, or you might not be ready.”

“I didn’t know I wanted to be married until we came back here and the important things became clear to me. And you are the most important of all, Mr. Traynor.”

I love Jackson, but can I take another setback like losing George? I don’t think so.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AT EIGHT A.M. I floured the countertop and rolled out pastry for two pies. After filling one with pumpkin and one with apple, I fried a pan of bacon and cracked a couple of eggs for Jackson’s breakfast. I slid open the oven door and eased the pies onto the rack. While the pies were in the oven, I scooped Jackson’s breakfast onto a plate and poured him a coffee. I broke up the bread for the stuffing, laced it with poultry seasoning and onion and got the turkey washed and ready. Jackson was watching me like I was doing something he had never seen before. He hadn’t.

“Thanksgiving dinner looks like a lot of work, especially for the cook.”

“It is a lot of work, but you never mind the work if you’re cooking for people you love.”

By ten, the pies were done and the turkey was in the oven. I took a break. “Hey, honey do you want to call Billy and tell him we’ll be back sooner than we planned?”

“Yeah, we should. What day are we going back?”

“Tuesday, I guess. That will give you a chance to see the boys tomorrow, and finalize anything that you need to.”

“I’ll get a flight, then I can tell him everything at once.”

“You’re such a planner.”

“Do you want to talk about the wedding, Annie? I want to marry you, of course, I do. I just don’t know if this is the right time.”

He’s not sure and neither am I.

“Maybe we should reconsider,” I said, “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you in public like I did. It wasn’t fair.”

“I’m getting used to the idea now. Let’s discuss it after my meeting tomorrow.”

Yeah, let’s see if the Regulators want you to get married.

“Sure, okay,” I said. “If we decide to go ahead with it, what kind of a wedding would you like? I’m down with whatever you want.”

“If we were married while Billy was staying at our house in Vegas, he could be the best man.”

“Good thought. He would like that,” I said, with a smile, picturing Billy in a suit.

Jackson looked up from the iPad. “Okay, I have a flight for Tuesday at noon.”

“Book it.”

“You’re easy, baby.”

“Want to see how easy?”

“Damn right, I do.”

“Meet me in the front hall.”

Jackson put his iPad down on the counter and bolted for the foyer. I did my best to recreate one of his favorite sexual encounters of the passionate kind.

“That marble is cold on the bare ass.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Fuck, no.” He chuckled. “Who in their right mind could complain about that?”

RUSTY ARRIVED AT five-thirty in time for a beer before dinner. We sat in the kitchen and chatted while I put the finishing touches on the food.

“Buck’s telling everybody who will listen that you guys are getting hitched. It’s a lie, right?” asked Rusty.

“Not a lie, but it’s not carved in stone either. Jackson wants to wait until after the meeting tomorrow before we make any kind of a plan.”

“You asked him, Portia?” Rusty scowled. “Fuck, Jackson, you should be shot for being so fuckin slow. I should beat the shit out of you here and now.” He punched Jackson.

“I should be shot.” Jackson scowled and hung his head.

“Time to eat, boys. Hope you’re both starving. I made enough food for the army and the marines.”

“Look at these napkins with the turkeys on them,” said Jackson, “I didn’t know there was shit like this.”

The boys didn’t let me down. They ate heartily, had second helpings of everything, and had room for two pieces of pie each.

“I love the whipped cream on the pumpkin pie, Portia,” said Rusty.

“Glad you liked it. Got room for coffee?”

“Maybe later, right now, I feel a nap coming on,” said Jackson.

“Me too. I think I’ll just rest my eyes before I go home,” said Rusty.

They both pushed back in a recliner, turned on the tube, found a game and were sound asleep in five minutes. I cleaned up the kitchen, and when the droning hum of the dishwasher started, I trudged up to bed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

JACKSON HAD BEEN talking for the past two days about going to the clubhouse, seeing the boys and finding out how smoothly everything was going to run without him. He was obviously stressed by his decision and he was going to miss his boys. Annie was equally stressed and was pulling him in another direction. Jackson was between a rock and a hard place. Very hard. Granite. After his shower, he sat at the kitchen table spooning sugar into his coffee.

Annie gave him a hug, ran her fingers through the damp hair curling around his neck and looked into his eyes. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You want to ask me something, I can tell. Spit it out, sugar.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll choke it out of you.” Annie laughed, then plopped down on his lap and kissed him with her hands around his throat.

“I need a bike today,” he whispered, “to go see the boys.”

“Right,” she nodded, seeing what the quandary was. He wouldn’t ask to take George’s bike in case it upset her but it was the only bike available to him in Toronto.

She exhaled. “Take the Eagle—hasn’t been running for a long while, you may have to coax it a little.”

“I don’t know if I can ride it, but thanks for the offer, baby.” Jackson went into the garage and straddled the Eagle. He buried his head in his hands and tried to think.

What the hell should I do, boss? You left me in charge of the club and I can’t walk away no matter how much I want to be with Annie. I have to protect her and run the club at the same time. I have to lie to her and I fuckin hate doing that.

Annie peeked her head out the door. “Breakfast is ready.” She walked towards Jackson with her eyes full of tears and stroked his hair. “You’re no better with George’s death than I am,” she said.

He nodded, letting her think that was what it was. Deceiving her was killing him. He spooned more sugar into his coffee and sipped it. “I can’t ride the Eagle,” he whispered, barely audible.

“I know, baby,” Annie held him in her arms and cried. “We’ll think of something else.”

I can’t go to the club in a cab. It won’t look right. I’ll have to drive Rusty’s truck.

Jackson set his empty cup down and his cell rang. “Hi Rusty, yeah, good,” He clipped his phone to his wide leather belt. “Rusty’s picking me up in an hour.” He blew out a big breath.

“Okay, good,” said Annie. “I’m going to take a shower.”

While Annie was dressing, Jackson climbed the stairs and joined her in the bedroom. “It’s weird, Annie. Billy isn’t answering his cell.”

“Maybe he had a late night, and he isn’t awake yet. It’s not nine yet out there.”

“I forgot about the time change. He’s not up yet. I’ll try him in an hour.”

The rumble of Rusty’s Harley filled the air on Hawthorne Lane as he rounded the corner and veered into the driveway. Angel wasn’t here to bark and announce guests. Jackson grabbed a helmet from the garage, kissed Annie goodbye and he was off. She was waving from the porch as they turned the corner and smiling that trusting smile. Fuck, this was not going to be good.

The clubhouse looked the same as it always did when Rusty pulled up and parked his bike. He made sure the Volcano was far enough away from anything that could scratch it. He had put his best work into the paint job on his own bike and it was stellar.

More than twenty bikes were lined up in the narrow driveway. The little war-time bungalow was desperate for a paint job and a couple of the windows had been boarded up with plywood. The rotted board on the front steps was going to kill somebody some night in the dark. Jackson hoped it wasn’t him.

Inside the same as always. Messy, dingy and cramped. George’s green recliner had a few more rips in the leather. The poker table was littered with ashes and beer bottles. The old blue blanket covering the front window was filthy and a sponge for stale smoke. All the seats were filled around the table and those members without chairs leaned on the walls smoking and drinking beer.

Jackson sucked in a gulp of air. “Okay guys, I know you’re not happy that I’m moving to Vegas and I’m not too happy about it myself, but George gave me an order to protect Portia and for me to carry out that order I’m going to have to follow her to Vegas.”

There was a lot of shuffling and body language. “What the fuck are we going to do about the Dogs while you’re on your fuckin honeymoon?” shouted Jimmie.

“Rusty and I are putting a plan in place. I’ll be in touch twenty-four seven and if something is going down I can be back here inside of four hours.”

“When the Dogs find out you’re out of town they’re gonna fuckin trample us, boss,” said Donnie. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Do what Rusty tells you to do. That’s what you’re gonna do. Stick to the fuckin plan and don’t back down. Don’t get sloppy and don’t make mistakes that can get you arrested. Every member that’s sitting in the slam is a member that ain’t helping the club. Remember that before you do something stupid.”

“We need George,” said Jimmie.

“Well, you ain’t gonna get George, are you asshole?” Jackson snarled.

“Guess not. Things were a lot tighter when the big boss was running the show. A lot tighter. Just say’n.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimmie.” Jackson smacked him in the head and knocked him off his chair. Jimmie glared as he scrambled to right himself, but never made a move to retaliate.

“Rusty’s first job will be to tighten things up. No bullshit. No mistakes. A lot of hard work and I want everybody at the range at least once a week. No exceptions.”

“Cops know there’s gonna be an all-out territory war, boss,” said Donnie. “More patrols every day while we’re taking care of business.”

Jackson ignored the comment even though he knew Don Ferguson spoke the truth. This was the worst time possible for him to flit off to Vegas. Now Annie wanted to get married. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What a nightmare.

I have to marry her in a hurry and tell her we need to move back to Toronto. It’s the only way around it. The only way.

“Rusty, give them their orders for the week.” Jackson barked as he stomped into the tiny filthy kitchen to cool out. He lit up a smoke and paced.

Fuck, now I have to act like I’m happy to turn over the club to Rusty and move to Vegas. I’m gonna fuckin lose it in front of Annie. Feel it coming.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I HAD THE afternoon to myself to pack for the trip home. I folded the two pairs of jeans I’d brought and grabbed Jackson’s muscle shirts from the laundry basket at the end of the bed. Pressing the top of the suitcase closed, I worked the zipper all the way around then sat the case by the door.

Next, I did a walk-through to sort things out I wanted for the Vegas house. I had intended to ship my favorite pieces of furniture to the new house, but now that I was keeping Hawthorne Lane, for the time being, I would have to shop for furniture when I got back to Sin City. My brain was on overload. I took a couple of Advil and lay down. Sleep wouldn’t come.

I picked up my cell and pressed Race’s number. “Annie?” He sucked in a breath. “You okay?”

I choked back the tears that wanted to come when I heard his voice.

Why did I need to talk to him?

“I’m in Toronto. Back tomorrow.”

“You sound…upset.”

“Just needed to hear your voice.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Ditto.”

After my nap, I opened the fridge to grab a beer and was reminded of how much food I had to get rid of before our flight the following day. I texted Jackson and told him to invite Rusty to stay for dinner when they returned.  I texted Billy and didn’t get a reply.

What’s up, Billy? Are you playing poker round the clock?

The boys wouldn’t be back from their meeting until dinner time and I was restless. Rusty’s truck was in the driveway and the keys were on the table in the front hall. I rolled the windows down and went for a drive. Ten minutes later I was parked in front of George’s Guns and Ammo. The shop was closed and I didn’t get out of the truck. Tears filled my eyes and poured down my cheeks as I stared at the dirty front window and the chipped red paint on the front of the old building.

I miss you, George. I miss you every day.

When the boys came back from the clubhouse they found me in the garden. They each had a cold one in their hand as they walked towards me. Jackson had never looked so stressed.

“How was your meeting?”

Rusty grinned like he always did. “Good,” he said.

I kept my eyes glued on Jackson and I knew ‘good’ wasn’t the right descriptor.

Jackson lit up a smoke. “I tried that asshole, Billy again, and still couldn’t get him to answer. Wonder what the little prick is doing?” He frowned at his phone.

“Out whoring around, or playing songs on the street corner, or some fuckin’ thing,” said Rusty with a chuckle.

“You guys are hard on him.” I smiled. I headed back inside to heat up the leftovers and fix plates for the boys. “Glad you could help out with cleaning up the food, Rusty. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m always available for any kind of an eating job.”

The boys cleaned up a lot of the turkey and vegetables. “We need to get rid of these pies,” I said. “How about it, Rusty? I have more whipped cream.”

“Give me a piece of each, Portia.”

“Me too,” said Jackson, “I love pumpkin, it’s my new favorite.”

The guys loafed into the living room with their coffee, while I cleaned the kitchen. The morning would be hectic, getting to the airport by nine. Earlier I had booked a pickup for eight a.m. I drank a coffee with Jackson and Rusty, then headed upstairs to finish packing.

Would things be any better between Jackson and me when we got to Vegas?

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JACKSON LOADED THE luggage into the airport van while I locked up the house and set the alarm. The driver was ten minutes late, but we had plenty of time before the flight. I had texted Billy several times but still nothing. My gut told me something was wrong but I didn’t want to alarm Jackson. He was uneasy since his father’s escape and I didn’t want to add to the stress on just a hunch. Now that he was leaving the Regulators on top of his other stress, he was not a happy boy.

We had time for bagels after we checked our bags. Jackson kept trying Billy. “That little prick is pissing me off.”

“Maybe he forgot to charge his phone,” I said.

“He’s such a fuckin’ airhead, it could be anything,” Jackson sighed. “Hope he remembers to feed Angel.”

“In four hours, we’ll see for ourselves. Stop stressing.”

Jackson was distant. He wasn’t holding my hand like he always did and his jaw was set.

Our flight took off on time, and there was little turbulence, even over the Rockies. We landed at McCarran at one ten Vegas time, found our luggage on the carousel and glanced around for Billy. He wasn’t there to meet us. We stood in the long taxi line and caught a cab.

My heart pounded when the driver pulled into our rental house. The garage door farthest from the house was open and the Hummer was gone.

“That little shit left the garage door open. Anybody could steal the bikes. Fuck,” Jackson hollered as he stomped into the garage to check things out.

I paid the driver and helped him slug the luggage to the front door. Angel was barking and yelping in the back yard like she was in some kind of distress. I tried the knob and the door was unlocked. The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I peered in. Warily, I gave the front door a little push.

“Billy, are you here?” I hollered as I rolled the luggage into the kitchen. I screamed when I saw him lying on the living room floor. I punched 911 into my phone and gave the address as I collapsed onto the floor beside him into a pool of Billy’s coagulated blood. His blond head cradled in my arms while my tears splashed down like rain onto his black and blue face. Billy was semi-conscious and was moaning like a wounded animal.

Jackson came running in from the garage when he heard me scream. “Holy fuck, Annie. I thought something happened to you. He was gasping for breath. Then he focused and saw Billy. “Is he alive? Did you call 911?”  The color drained from Jackson’s face and he gripped the countertop. “Stan must have come back.” He punched the kitchen wall several times with his fist jolting the clock loose. It fell and smashed on the tile floor. “I hate him. I hate him,” he yelled. He kicked the wall with the toe of his Harley boot and knocked a big chunk out of the drywall.

The sirens became louder and louder as the police and ambulance approached. “Go to the door and let them in,” I called to Jackson, seeing him standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. He didn’t hear me. He turned his head slowly in my direction and I knew he was fighting to gain control.

I pointed. “Open the door.”

He moved like a robot, opened the front door and the paramedics flew by him with a gurney. He shook his head, noticed Angel barking at the patio door and tried to calm her.

I relinquished my hold on Billy’s head when the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher.

“Semi-conscious,” said the tall one. “Start an IV.”

“Gunshot wound to the right leg,” said the other.

They did what they could to stabilize Billy at the house, and then loaded him into the ambulance. The police arrived on the heels of the paramedics and started firing questions. I gave a short recap of what had happened since we arrived from the airport while Jackson focused on the dog.

“We’re going to the hospital with Billy,” I said to one of the officers and gave him my cell number. I took Jackson by the hand and led him to the ambulance. “Come on, Jackson, we have to go.” He was standing and staring into space, paralyzed by his father’s actions, yet again.

While a doctor examined Billy, Jackson and I sat in the emergency waiting room, drinking the deadly dark liquid he had purchased from a vending machine. I shook my head in disgust as I took another sip. “It’s hot. That’s all you can say about it.” I glanced up to see Officers Rodriguez and Johnston enter the room.

“More trouble at your residence, Mrs. Talbot?” asked Officer Johnston, none too politely.

“More of the same,” I said, ignoring his tone. “We believe it was Jackson’s father. He came back, stole our Hummer and tried to kill, Billy, our house sitter.”

“Did you see him?” asked Rodriguez

“We were in Toronto, and arrived home from the airport to find Billy semi-conscious, and the truck gone. You have to find him,” I said.

“There was blood on the garage floor where the Hummer was parked. Maybe Billy got a shot off and wounded the bastard,” Jackson said.

“Why were you in Toronto, Mrs. Talbot?”

“I was checking on my house there and cooking Thanksgiving dinner for Jackson and his friend. I had thought of selling that house, but decided not to. Does it matter?”

“Probably not, I have to make a note of your whereabouts, that’s all,” said Johnston.

“I’m not telling you how to do your job, but the OPP should be alerted that Stan is on the run again. I don’t know what agencies are looking for him in the US, but he’s on somebody’s most wanted list.”

Jackson nodded.

The doctor came into the waiting room looking for us. He was in his late fifties, gray hair and glasses, tall and slim. “I’m Doctor Gillis,” he said extending his hand. “Mr. Jennings is conscious, but he doesn’t remember too much of what happened and that’s normal.” He has no permanent head injuries, and his gunshot wound is clean.”

Johnston and Rodriguez jumped up to us.

“We need to get his statement before you see him,” said Rodriquez.

“After I make sure he’s up for it, you may see him for a few minutes,” said Dr. Gillis looking none too pleased.

I held Jackson’s hand and we waited in the hallway while the officers went into the room to question Billy. They emerged minutes later and brushed right past us.

Billy’s face was black, blue and disfigured from the swelling, just as Jackson’s had been. Stan’s methods hadn’t changed. The bullet wound in his leg had been cleaned and bandaged. “Hey, honey,” I said softly, taking him by the hand. He opened his eyes and tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “Did Jackson’s father do this?” I asked.

He nodded. He tried to speak, but the words were garbled. I held my finger to my lips. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest.” Jackson and I stayed until visiting hours were over. I called a cab and took a silent Jackson home.

Angel was relegated to the yard while the forensic team went over our house inch by inch. I wondered to myself when Stan had been here and how long Billy had been lying on the floor needing help.

“We’re almost finished, Mrs. Talbot, and we’ll clear out of here,” a member of the CSI team said.  The others started packing up their gear.

“Did you guys do the garage?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, we did the whole premises.”

As soon as they were out the door I spent an hour cleaning up the mess. I uncapped two beers and sat down at the kitchen counter with Jackson. “We need to talk, sugar,” I said, taking him by the hand.

Jackson stared into space and didn’t seem to hear me. “Jackson, look at me, honey.”

He turned his head and looked into my eyes. “We have to take out your father.”

He looked at me and nodded. “We need a plan.”

CHAPTER FORTY

HOW LONG HAD Billy been lying helpless on the floor of our rental house? I blamed myself for not realizing sooner, that something was amiss. If I’d only gotten back to Vegas faster.

CAA had been alerted to my stolen vehicle status and a pleasant girl manning the hotline had promised a rental vehicle would be delivered to my residence later in the morning. Officer Rodriguez had called in the Hummer as a stolen vehicle with his report of the assault and attempted murder of Billy Jennings, as well as the sighting of a fugitive on the ten most wanted list.  He assured me that all the appropriate agencies were aware of what had gone down and were acting accordingly. Not that I had any faith in the system. What had the appropriate channels done for us so far? Fuck all.

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

My next call was to ‘On Star’ to report my vehicle stolen and find out where Stan had dumped it. The lady in customer service informed me politely that the GPS indicated my Hummer was currently in Idaho, north of Boise and I relayed that information to the police. They, in turn, informed me that officers were already in motion and would get back to me. Shortly thereafter, I received a call telling me that my abandoned vehicle had been located in a strip mall parking lot in front of a liquor store and was being towed to impound for forensic testing. No sign of the elusive Stanley Traynor.

Jackson ambled into the kitchen in his underwear, his long hair untethered and unruly, hanging in his eyes and obscuring his face. “Didn’t hear you get up, baby,” he mumbled.

I put my phone down and pushed his hair back. “Couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I needed to know what was being done about Stan. They found the Hummer up in Idaho. Looks like he might be making a run for BC.”

Jackson sighed and plunked down on a stool at the island. “I feel so bad about Billy. Calling him an asshole and putting him down like I did when he wasn’t answering his phone, and all the time he’s lying on the floor shot and beat unconscious. I should have known something was wrong.” He pounded the counter with his fist.

“I feel the same way. I never dreamed Stan would double back to Vegas knowing the cops were looking for him here. With the blood trail across the garage floor, I’m hoping that Billy blew a chunk of meat out of him and that will slow him down some. At least cause him pain.”  I made Jackson some breakfast and poured him a coffee. He was calmer this morning and in a slightly better frame of mind.

Angel tore through the kitchen barking wildly and scratching at the front door. I opened it a crack and a young man thrust an electronic signing tablet towards me. “Avis Rental, ma’am. Your insurance company sent over a car for you. Could you sign here, please?” I signed, thanked him and he handed me a set of keys.

“We have wheels now to go to the hospital.” I tossed them on the counter and headed to the shower.

Jackson followed on my heels to the bedroom and wrapped his arms around me. “You’re not yourself, baby. What’s wrong?”

“It’s killing me that Billy got hurt doing us a favor. It’s my fault for not sensing the danger that was lurking out there. I hate myself for not killing Stan in the kitchen when I had the chance. None of this would have happened—not Billy getting shot, and not what happened to you. This could have been prevented with one well-placed bullet to the head. I was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t I kill him when he was standing right in front of me?” I yelled. I stomped into the shower and turned the hot water up until it stung my skin.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Jackson was lying on the bed. “You’re right, Annie. We have to kill him ourselves. The cops aren’t catching him, and we can’t live in peace with him running loose.”

I exhaled a big breath and lay down beside Jackson. “I would track him in a second, but right now, Billy needs us. We can’t up and leave him lying in a hospital bed alone in Vegas. We have to wait until Billy is better, and by then who knows where your father will be.”

“What if we split up, baby? You stay with Billy and I track Stan.”

“That’s an excellent thought… but the other way around.  I have a better chance against your father. You stay with Billy and I go.”

“Not happening. I won’t let you go alone. He’s a killer.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

Jackson shook his head. “This is my problem and I’ll take care of it. You’re not going and that’s final.” Jackson’s voice had a hard edge to it. “You go to the hospital and stay with Billy where you’ll be safe while I get the stuff I need.”

“What stuff do you need?” I asked.

“What I really need is a fast pickup in a dark color. Maybe a Ram SRT-10, the one with the Viper engine. But I don’t have time to buy it and wait for the plates and the registration and all that shit,” he said.

“Money talks, Jackson. If you go buy the truck now and encourage them to get it ready for you while you pick up the other stuff you need, I’m sure they can be persuaded.”

He raised his brows. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah. Take this card and debit it. That will speed things up.”

“Thanks, baby. I’ll pick up the other stuff then cruise back and pick up the truck.”

“Anything I can do? I’m not happy that you’re doing this by yourself,” I said.

“My job is to protect you, and that’s what I’m doing,” he snapped. “If you want to be useful, see if you can find my Kevlar. It’s in one of the closets.”

If I want to be useful? Fuck off, Jackson.

I watched him drive away in the rental car, then called a cab to take me to the hospital. I stood fuming on the front step and waited.

BILLY’S AQUA EYES were open and focused on the cops in his room. Officers Rodriguez and Johnston peppered him with questions and Billy mumbled garbled answers. They both wrote in their notebooks and nodded as if they understood.

“All finished, Officers?” I asked, hoping they would leave Billy in peace.

“We’re finished for today. Heard they found your vehicle in Idaho,” said Rodriguez.

“Abandoned in a shopping mall, no sign of Stan,” I said. “I’m sure you asked the Boise PD if there had been any boosted vehicles in that area.”

He nodded. “They are checking into that, Mrs. Talbot. They know how to do their job.”

I raised my eyebrows having volumes to expound on that subject, but held my tongue.

“Forensics will be working on your Hummer for the next couple of days. They’ll let you know when they’re finished with it.”

“Thank you. I have a rental.” I sat down on the side of the bed and held Billy’s hand. I stroked his blond curls. “How are you, baby?” I asked.

“Better,” he mumbled.

He couldn’t talk without causing himself a lot of pain, so I sat and held him in my arms. My eyes welled up. I had so much guilt from what had happened to him. I had to make Stan pay for this. “Did you shoot at Stan?”

He shook his head no. “Angel.” It came out ‘angle’, but I knew what he meant.

“Angel, bit him? Good.” I nodded. “We saw the blood in the garage.” I got Billy fresh water and helped him drink through a straw. After feeding him a dish of green Jell-O, I kissed his forehead and left.

Jackson hadn’t yet returned to the house when I got back, but the feds were there, sitting in their black Crown Vic in the driveway. They jumped out like vultures on road kill when they saw me step out of the cab.

“Agent Wolinski,” I said as sweetly as I could manage, “What can I do for you?”

“Need to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Talbot. May we come in?”

“Of course, I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee and we can talk.” I nodded to Agent Connor and unlocked the door. I showed them into the living room, started the coffee and texted Jackson not to bring any of his purchases into the house when he came home. He confirmed, and I took a seat opposite the agents.

Agent Connor started, “Could you start at the beginning and go over what happened here while you were in Toronto?”

“The question in itself is erroneous, don’t you think? We weren’t here, so we don’t know what happened. The only one who knows is Billy, and he can’t tell us yet,” I said. “Has there been any trace of Stan Traynor after Boise?”

“No, nothing yet, but all branches of law enforcement are on the lookout for him. It won’t be long,” said Wolinski.

I nodded. “Why are you really here, Agent? You must have copies of everything that went down here. What do you want from me?”

Wolinski stared hard at me and I didn’t feel any love between us. “I need your assurance that you won’t interfere with my investigation, Mrs. Talbot,” he said. “I know you’re very protective of your husband. I’ve seen evidence of it in the past.”

“You have my word, Agent Wolinski, I will not interfere with your case in any way.”

“There are severe penalties for hampering a Federal investigation,” said Agent Connor. She rarely spoke, usually letting Wolinski dominate the conversation.

“I’m sure there are,” I said, getting the coffee from the kitchen. Jackson came into the kitchen from the garage and I added another mug to my tray.

“Mr. Traynor, nice to see you looking well again,” Wolinski held out his hand. Jackson shook his hand and sat down beside me. I handed him a coffee.

“And where have you been today, Mr. Traynor?” Agent Connor asked.

“Buying a truck—ours is going to be impounded for a while and we need a second vehicle,” he said, staring into his coffee. “Billy’s in the hospital,” he added, thinking out loud.

“We’ve questioned him, but he’s not remembering any details clearly yet. The doctor says it will come back to him slowly after the head trauma he suffered,” said Connor.

“Hate to rush you, Agents, but I have to make my husband something to eat before he goes to the hospital.” I stood up and took the coffee tray to the kitchen. I opened the fridge and started making lunch, hoping they would leave.

Jackson walked them to the door, shook their hands and showed them out. He stared out the window as the sedan departed. “Why were they here again?”

“Snooping around. We had nothing new to add to what they already knew. Definitely a fishing trip.”

“I got the stuff I needed, baby, but I’m not happy leaving you here by yourself. I’m scared out of my fuckin mind that something bad will happen to you while I’m gone.” He held me in his arms and buried his face in my hair. “I hope you won’t be mad at me, baby…but…”

I raised my eyebrows wondering what he had done.

“I talked to Race.”

“Uh huh.” Could be worse.  I brushed it off. “Let’s take a look at what you got.” I headed out to the garage.

“The truck is dark blue. The dealership didn’t have one on the lot in black with the Viper motor. Race and the local boys put a scanner in for me. Some nice guys in that club,” he said. “I hid the rifle, in case the Feds came out and looked at the new truck.”

I nodded. “I noticed Race wears the ‘P’. What club is it?”

“The Rule.”

Why would the president of ‘The Rule’ owe Jackson a favor?

Jackson pulled the rifle out of the locked storage bin where he had stashed it and showed me. “Look through the scope and see what you think.  It has a bi-pod, but I don’t think I’ll have time for that. I’ve got gloves in the truck in case I need to fire it. That thing can get fuckin hot.”

“Did you try it?”

Jackson nodded.

“It’s all good. I found your vest and I’m packing a few things for you in a duffel. Before you go I need to see you in the bedroom.” I rubbed my hand down his leg and kissed him.

He grinned. “I’m right behind you, baby.”

I threw a change of clothes into a bag with the toiletries he needed, then packed the ammo into a smaller bag. I stripped off my clothes and lay naked on the bed until Jackson came in from the garage. We hadn’t made love in a couple of days and I needed him before he left.

He laughed when he came through the bedroom door. “I guess you’re ready.”

I pulled him down onto the bed and undressed him slowly, kissing him from the neck on down. His shoulders and his abs were tight with tension. As I made my way lower, his muscles relaxed a little as his breathing increased. His skin was hot as he rolled on top of me. He thrust his erection deep inside of me with a grunt and it took my breath away. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer. Jackson made love to me like it might be the last time, and I was on the same wavelength. “Show me what you’re made of, baby,” I whispered as he swelled inside of me and brought me with him.

“I love you, Annie.”

We showered together afterward, and Jackson dressed for his trip. He struggled into his shoulder holster, loaded his SW and put it in place. With a ball cap on and his faded denim jacket covering the harness, we loaded the cab of the truck. He spent a few minutes demonstrating how to operate the police scanner, told me about the software and showed me how to find the frequencies in the guide. He tuned the scanner to the band he thought would be most useful before he got in the truck.

As Jackson backed the new truck out of the garage a big black Harley rumbled in the driveway. Race booted the kickstand down, nodded to Jackson and sat on the bike.

“If I can’t find any trace of Stan, I’ll be back soon. I’ll text you and tell you everything that’s happening. If Billy asks where I am, tell him I’ve gone to give Stan payback for what he did to him.”

“Please be careful, Jackson. I don’t want to lose you.”

Jackson hugged me close to him and kissed me. “I have to do it, baby. It’s the only way I’ll have any peace.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

JACKSON BACKED OUT of the driveway in the new truck and gave Annie a wave. She leaned on the doorway looking dejected and miserable and Jackson sucked in a breath. He had been miserable to live with lately, between the club going to the Dogs, literally, and thoughts of his old man clouding his head, he could see why she was on edge. He pointed the spunky Ram in the direction of highway fifteen north and twenty minutes later when he veered onto ninety-three he let the Viper engine whine. Civilization and the glitz of Vegas waned rapidly as the truck streaked north through the black night towards Idaho.

Stan could have crossed into Canada by now, or he could have holed up. The cops hadn’t found him yet, but maybe he could find him by thinking the way his father did. After all, he was his father’s son and had been raised in a gang. He should be able to figure Stan out and stay one step ahead. The old man had been unsuccessful sneaking over the border into Mexico and had made his way back to Vegas. He had to know that all the border crossings into Canada would be on alert, and his chances of being caught in Canada were far greater than in the US.

Jackson was a hundred and fifty miles north of Vegas when he figured it out. He slammed on the brakes, screeched the tires and searched for a spot to cross the median to the southbound lanes. When the headlights rested on an area that looked almost level, he checked for traffic, flipped into four-wheel drive and bounced through the grass. He steered the Ram into a southbound lane and punched the gas to the floor. His theory was, Stan had stolen the Hummer and left it in Boise where it could be easily found to convince the cops he was headed north. It had fooled them and it had almost fooled Jackson.

He groped on the seat beside him and called Annie. “I’ll be home in an hour. I think Stan doubled back to Vegas. Just a guess, but tell Race, wear your holster and be on the lookout.”

She heaved a sigh. “Thank God you’re coming back. I’m going out of my fuckin mind.”

“Call Wolinski and have him send people over to stay with you, baby. Do it now and call me right back. I want some protection for you until I get back.”

His phone rang a couple minutes later.

“He didn’t agree with our thinking,” said Annie. “The bureau still thinks he’s headed north. The best they can do is assign an hourly patrol past the house, but don’t worry—Race is here.”

“Fuck them to hell and back,” hollered Jackson and punched the gas.

A GRAY DAWN streaked with pink and gold was silently breaking over a sleeping Vegas when Jackson pulled the Ram into the driveway. Through the mist of early morning, the house appeared quiet and undisturbed. The neighborhood was still. No activity. No wind. Tall palm trees guarding each house like sentinels. He let out a breath and relaxed a little.

After locking the truck in the garage, he tip-toed into the kitchen, quieted Angel and filled her empty bowl with kibbles. Race lay on the sofa awake with his gun beside him. Jackson nodded as he passed and peeked in at Annie sleeping peacefully in the bedroom. He opened a beer, made sure the SW had a slug in the chamber, then retreated to the garage.

Slouched in the truck with the door open, he listened to the police scanner. Five-oh-three on Flamingo Drive—auto theft. Any stolen vehicle report could be Stan. Two-eleven at a liquor store on Desert Inn Road—robbery.  Any robbery could be Stan. He was making himself crazy thinking all of the police calls were related to that bastard. He cursed and switched it off.

On the kitchen counter, he silently set up the rifle with the night scope. Stan wouldn’t come in the daylight. He would wait until tonight. He slipped into bed beside Portia, snuggled up to her warm body and slept like the dead.

I WOKE TO find Jackson cuddling me in his arms and kissing me. “Annie, I almost died a thousand times while you were here alone, wondering if some terrible fuckin thing was happening. I can’t stand it when were apart. I just can’t.” He buried his face in my hair and wouldn’t let go of me.

“Race was here and he’s vigilant. He would never back down from anyone. We won’t be apart, Jackson. I promise. I’ll go where you go.”

After letting Angel out, I ambled back, sat on the side of the bed and talked to him. “I’m sure Stan has some kind of perverted plan to make a run for me. Why else would he risk coming back here?  He has my money. If he had any sense he would hole up and live off the half mil in the back woods somewhere. He’s pissed at me and he’s not going to let it rest. I can feel it.”

The hair on the back of my neck had been prickling me since Jackson figured out the Hummer trick he tried to pull. “It’s working on the feds, but it’s not working on me. I feel that fucker lurking. George said he could always feel it when some asshole was trying to kill him, and he was right. You can feel it.”

Jackson said nothing in response. His silence was eerie. He got up and made coffee, while I took a shower.

After breakfast, Race took his leave and I walked him out to his bike.

“Can I text you?” I asked and he nodded. A man of few words.

Back in the kitchen, I cleared up the dishes while Jackson sat at the island staring into space.

“We can’t sleep tonight, sugar. I told Wolinski that Stan was doubling back, but he didn’t believe me. The feds are convinced that he’s making a run for the Canadian border and I think they’re dead wrong. You called it.”

“With him running around, I can’t think clearly at all. That’s the problem—the same problem I’ve had since my mother died. I would always make a plan for what I would do the next time he started beating on me, and then once it happened, I gave up like I always did. It’s some kind of a fuckin brain pattern you can’t break.” He hung his head.

“We’re going to break it,” I said. “I can’t stand to see what this is doing to you.” I paced from the island to the dishwasher and back. I heaved the plate that was in my hand and it smashed into a million pieces against the wall. Nerve endings danced up my arms. “I’m going to kill that fucker and get him out of your life. That’s the only way to break the cycle.”

Angel barked twice and I peered out the front window to see a cruiser passing by slowly. “That’s the hourly patrol. A lot of good that’s going to do if Stan waits for them to leave before he rushes the house. Wolinski’s an asshole.”

JACKSON AND I left for the hospital around eleven to spend time with Billy. When we arrived in his room, he was propped up watching the tiny TV above his bed. Some of the swelling had gone down in his face, and he was making himself understood to the nurses. I smiled to myself. They would soon have their hands full. I gave him a hug and sat in the chair beside the bed. “What’s the scoop, baby?” I asked him.

“Feds were here and a bunch of other assholes. Never run out of questions,” he mumbled.

Jackson stared at the floor. “Can’t believe my dad would hurt you, Billy. He’s known you since you were a kid. He’s a fuckin idiot.”

“He’s a con,” Billy said. “They do what they need to do to survive.”

“Well, he’s not going to survive much longer,” I said, holding Billy’s hand.

“Doc said I’d be out of here in a couple days.”

“That’s great,” said Jackson. “We’ll take care of you at home,” he looked at me and I nodded.

“Things good at the club?” asked Billy.

I watched Jackson’s face as his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “All good.”

How bad was it? Jackson was dealing with trouble in the club and trying to cope with his father at the same time. Too much pressure.

We stayed with Billy until visiting hours were over, then headed home to make some dinner. On the way, we stopped by the Dodge dealer and picked up the rental car that Jackson had left there when he bought the new Ram.

While burgers sizzled on the grill, we had a couple of beers and I made potato salad the way Jackson liked it with the hard-boiled eggs. He spent a long time on the patio smoking and talking on his cell. I wanted to ask him what was going on in Toronto but kept my questions to myself. After dinner, we made our plan for Stan’s arrival.

“Do you think he would have the balls to come back here?” Jackson asked.

“He’s more balls than brain,” I said, “I screwed with him, clipping his buddies and messing up his plans. He’ll come for me. I feel it in my gut.”

We turned all the lights off at eleven as if we were going to bed, loaded the guns, put on our Kevlar and sat in the dark whispering. I was thankful I had practiced with the new rifle out in the desert with Race. I wished I had the Remington back that Stan stole—I loved that gun.

Maybe I’ll get it back when I kill him.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

TIME CRAWLED BY as Jackson and I sat silently waiting in the dark on the sofa. I made it worse glancing at my phone every five minutes. Angel was curled up on the rug at my feet. Around three a.m. Jackson dozed off with his head on my shoulder. With every squeak and creak the house made as it settled in for the night, I shivered and clutched my gun tighter.

Come on, Stan, make a run and get it over with.

The clock on the fireplace mantle read three thirty-three. I was staring at the threes when Angel emitted a long, low growl from her throat. I stroked her and encouraged her not to bark as I touched Jackson’s arm to wake him. He jumped.

“What?” he whispered.

“Angel heard something. You watch the patio door. I’m going into the kitchen,” I said, picking up the rifle. I set the gun up on the island and pointed it at the door to the garage. If he came in the same way he had last time, I had him cold. Frozen in my stance with my finger on the trigger, I stood stock still behind the counter for the next ten minutes listening for any sound indicating Stan was trying to get into the house. Nothing.

Then an almost inaudible scraping sound at the lock sent a shiver down my spine. Trying to relax, I remained crouched down over the gun with my finger poised on the trigger. While he picked the lock, my finger began to go stiff.

I heard the shot at the same time the kitchen door flew open and Stan collapsed in the doorway. Jackson jumped over his father’s body and kicked Stan’s gun out of reach as Angel snarled and clamped her teeth on Stan’s throat.

A floodlight blinded me as it glared through the window, lighting up the kitchen like a night game at Yankee Stadium. The Feds were hollering outside, calling for Stan’s surrender. I stamped my foot on the floor and hollered, “Stupid fucks.”

We could have ended this in one more minute. In a fury, I jerked open the front door to Wolinski standing there grinning. I clenched my teeth and took deep breaths to keep from punching him in the face.

“Had a team watching the house before you called, just in case,” he said. “Thanks for the help.”

“How bad is he hurt? I want to see him,” I said, running for the garage.

“Your husband shot him in the leg. He’ll live.”

“Too bad,” I said, “I wanted to put him out of his misery.”

The ambulance roared in seconds later and they strapped Jackson’s father to a gurney. He was still conscious although there was a large puddle of his blood messing up Jackson’s pristine garage floor. Jackson stared at the man who had belittled him his whole life and said nothing.

“Hey, son, that wasn’t a very nice welcome home for your old man.”

I leaned down over the stretcher and whispered, “Next time I see you, Stan. You’re a dead man.”

“Never figured Jackson to hook up with anything that looked like you, baby,” he said, as they shoved him into the ambulance. “You’re a wild one.”

“He’ll go to the hospital with a guard, and then to a holding cell waiting on the paperwork from Canada,” Wolinski said. “He shouldn’t cause you or your husband any more trouble.”

“I won’t believe that until he’s dead,” I said.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AFTER GETTING LITTLE sleep, Jackson and I slept until one in the afternoon. We dressed, had bacon and eggs for lunch and headed for the truck. The forensic team had finished in the garage, but the sight of Stan’s blood outside the kitchen door gagged me when I jumped over it. I’d have to clean that mess up when we got back.

I drove the new Ram to the hospital and I loved it. I hadn’t had a chance to see what she would do before Jackson took his drive north. “This baby’s got the gift,” I said.

When we turned onto the highway, Jackson hollered, “Giver.”

He grinned and I stepped on it. Seeing him smile was worth the price of the truck. He hadn’t been in a happy place for a long while.

Billy was doing much better when we arrived. The nurses had helped him into a chair beside the bed. The swelling had gone down and the black and blue bruises on his face had given way to green and yellow blotches.

“Hey, you’re up, you little shit,” Jackson said. He made a fist to punch Billy in the shoulder and then thought better of it.

“The feds got Stan last night, and he’s locked up,” I said.

“Thought you would cap him, Annie, if he was in your sights,” Billy said with a grin.

“Jackson buried one in his leg. Payback for you, Billy. The feds came before I could complete my mission.”

“Fuck, wish I’d been there.”

I smiled at Billy’s enthusiasm and tousled his curls. “Any clues on when you can get out of here?”

“Tomorrow, if the X-ray on my leg is good,” he said. “The food here sure isn’t your caliber of cooking, Portia.”

“You think I could get a job cooking in the hospital kitchen?”

“Hell, yeah. They’d all quit from embarrassment when they tasted your food.”

We stayed with Billy for another hour before taking our leave. He promised to have the hospital call if we weren’t here in the morning by the time he was discharged.

“I don’t want to go back to the house,” I said, the thought of Stan’s blood sticking in my throat. “Let’s go to the strip, have dinner and play a few hands.”

Jackson brightened. “I miss playing poker. “Where do you want to play, baby?”

“Your call, any place you want.”

“How about the Mirage? I had some luck there.”

Should I tell Jackson that Race and I played at the Mirage?

The poker room in the Mirage Hotel was crowded on a Saturday night. The list was long and moving slowly. We registered and went for dinner. An hour or so later when we returned, we were second and third from the top. We sat at the bar, ordered drinks and waited for our seats.

“Do you have enough money, Jackson?”

“Yeah, I punched out four. Should be lots,” he said, holding my hand.

They called our names at the same time and for the first time, we were seated at the same table. I didn’t know how Jackson felt about that, but I was uneasy. He was in seat three and I was in seven. Lucky seven.

My big blind. The guy next to me in seat eight was a huge black dude chewing on an unlit cigar he held clenched between his teeth. He wore ten pounds of bling around his neck, and all his fingers sported flashy rings. He raised my blind to forty bucks. Seats nine and ten folded. Seat one called, seat two folded. Jackson called. Everyone else folded to me. I called with Ace-Queen of spades.

Four players. The flop was Ace-Three-Seven of hearts. Sucked for me. I checked. Big dude checked. Seat one bet fifty. Jackson called the fifty. I folded. Big dude called.

Three players. The turn was seven of clubs. Big dude bet seventy-five. Seat one folded. Jackson called.

Two players. The river card was the King of hearts. The big dude went all in. The dealer stacked his chips and counted. Two-ten to Jackson. He called. I held my breath wondering what he had. He flipped over pocket Aces, giving him a boat and the big dude flipped over pocket Queens, one being the Queen of hearts for the nut flush. The dealer pushed the pot to Jackson and I smiled.

For the next couple of hours, I folded most of my hands and watched Jackson play. I learned so much from watching the way he played his hands and the way he played the other players. He watched when the other players bet, he watched what hands they turned up, and he seemed to remember everything. The waitress arrived with my beer and when I peeked at my hand two Jacks stared back at me. Jackson always said pocket Jacks were a death hand for him. He swore he always lost with the two Johnnies.

I was on the button, and the big dude next to me was small blind. Seat ten was under the gun and raised to thirty dollars. Seat one and two folded. Jackson called. Seats four, five and six folded. I called the thirty to see the flop. Big dude called. He had called every hand. Seat nine folded.

Four players. The flop came Queen-Jack-Four, rainbow.  Big dude chewed on his cigar and checked. Seat ten bet fifty. He had raised pre-flop so I put him on Ace-King. He was drawing for the straight and needed a ten. Jackson called the fifty. I raised to one fifty to make the draws pay. Big dude folded. Seat ten sat and stared at me, looking for a tell and considering the big raise, then he called. Jackson folded.

Heads up. The turn was an Ace. If I had pegged seat ten correctly, he now had a pair of aces and he was no closer to his straight, but if he had raised with King-Ten he had me. I pushed all-in. The dealer counted my chips. Three-fifty to him. He folded. The dealer pushed the pot to me and I didn’t show my hand.

We played until midnight, then headed home to bed. We had been short-changed on sleep the past couple of days and both of us were feeling the effects.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

JACKSON HAD DONE well at the Mirage the night before and made some decent cash. He let Annie sleep late while he turned his attention back to the club. Now that Stan was back in custody, he might be able to concentrate on the problems at hand. Rusty had been calling him every ten minutes during the Stan fiasco and it had almost driven him crazy. He started the coffee maker, grabbed his smokes and took Angel outside. His phone said eight fifteen—after eleven in Toronto.

“Rusty, what’s the latest?”

“We are so fucked, boss. We need you back here in a hurry.”

“Sorry about the delay. My asshole father showed up again in Vegas and the feds were all over me.”

“Did Portia unload one into him?”

“I put one in his leg, but she could have finished him if the feds hadn’t shown up.”

“Is he back in jail?”

“Infirmary, waiting for extradition.”

“When can you get back? The Dogs are killing us and we have to take some of them out. You’re the only one who can give that kind of an order”

“Where are they pushing you?”

“Four of them were in Morningside Park yesterday.”

“Fuck. You got to get them out of there. That’s one of our highest traffic spots. Send Sarvino and Graziano with a couple prospects and let them earn their cuts.”

“Got it. We need you, boss.”

“Few more days. We’re picking Billy up this morning, then I’m gonna press Annie about the wedding. Tell her I can’t wait. Soon as that’s a done deal, I’ll tell her we need to move back to Toronto. Once we’re married I know she’ll bend my way.”

“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

Jackson turned off his phone, glanced up and Annie was staring at him through the patio doors. Had she heard anything?

“Hey, baby, I made coffee.” Jackson held her tightly in his arms and kissed her.

“I love you, Jackson.”

“I love you, baby. Can’t wait until our wedding.”

“Really?” She sounded pleased. “I thought you might want to wait awhile.”

He chuckled. “Guess I’m used to the idea now. Let’s go get Billy and we can make a plan with him.”

Annie smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Billy was dressed and ready to roll when they arrived at the hospital. He was chirping like a magpie to the nurses, and they were all laughing and joking with him.

“Your X-ray must have been excellent,” Annie said.

He chuckled. “Yep, have to come back in a week and have the bullet hole looked at. Otherwise, I’m a free man.”

Annie smiled every time Billy laughed, but Jackson wasn’t into the merriment in any way. The club was occupying his every waking moment and he was devising a plan to put the Regulators back on solid ground. Annie was obsessed with Stan pay-back and the distraction was driving him nuts. He needed some alone time.

The nurse helped Billy into a wheelchair and he had her giggling while she pushed him towards the exit. Jackson followed behind carrying the crutches and alternately checking the screen on his cell. He blew out a big breath as he walked alone to retrieve the truck from the parking lot. He brought it around to the entrance and gave Billy a hand up into the front seat where there was more leg room.

“How do you like the new truck, Billy?” Annie asked.

“Sweet. Friend of mine had a Ram and I drove it a few times. Nice truck.”

“Let it out, Jackson.”

Jackson pounded the gas and the truck flew out onto the highway.

Billy grabbed the holy shit bar and hollered, “Fuckin’ G-force.”

Annie hooted in the back seat.

“What the fuck you got in this tank, Portia?” Billy asked.

“Viper engine,” she said with a laugh. “Jackson wanted a spunky pickup.”

“Spunky, ain’t the word for this mother,” Billy said. “This is one mean machine.”

Jackson pulled into the driveway and put up the automatic garage door. He pulled in beside the rental car and parked.

“Whose crapper is that?” Billy laughed.

“That’s the rental car the insurance company sent over when the Hummer was stolen.”

“That ain’t no Hummer. More like a bummer,” he chuckled at his own joke.

Billy leaned on Jackson as he limped out of the truck and got his crutches situated. Annie unlocked the side door and released the hound. Angel bolted into the garage and almost knocked Billy over before Jackson got her by the collar and calmed her down.

“Hey, girl, I’m glad to see you too. You kept me company while I was lying on the floor.”

Annie made a face.

“Angel hates Stan,” Billy said. “He made me put her in the yard after she bit him and tore the leg of his pants half off.”

Jackson and Billy sat in the living room and watched NASCAR races while they ate burgers and drank beer. “Real food,” said Billy and winked at Annie. “I love fried onions.”

During the rest of the afternoon, Jackson amused Billy playing Heads-up Texas Hold-em, while Annie made a list of furniture she wanted for the new house. Jackson heard her on the phone with Pam, the real estate lady, asking for her recommendations for the best places in town to buy furniture. He watched her writing addresses on a scratch pad.

New furniture is a fuckin waste of money if we’re moving back to Toronto.

“Are you sure you want to buy a house here, Annie? You might not want to stay that long.” Jackson said.

“I’m sure, Jackson. It’s you that isn’t sure about staying.” Annie glared at him. “I’m right on with that one. I can tell by the expression on your face.”

Fuck, I can’t afford any more fights. I need a wedding and I need it yesterday. It’s the only way. I can’t stay here. I have to guard Annie and I have to run the club. The only way I can do both is to marry her and make her move back with me.

Annie retreated to the kitchen. She was gone for a while, then returned with cold beer in her hands. “Dinner in fifteen minutes for two of the best-looking guys in Vegas. I’m putting the steaks on now.”

“Thanks, baby,” said Jackson, staring at his cards.

After dinner, the boys continued with their heads-up game while they mowed in a plateful of butter tarts. Annie cleaned up the kitchen and avoided Jackson.

“I love butter tarts,” said Billy.

“You love everything, asshole,” said Jackson, “as long as it’s food.”

Annie paused on her way through the living room and laughed at Billy. “I’m taking a hot bath, Jackson. Can you help Billy to his room when he wants to go to bed?”

“Will do, baby. I’ll be in soon,” he said, winking at her.

Fuck, Annie has a mind of her own. I’ve got to get better control of this situation.

Jackson slipped into bed beside Annie. She woke up and reached for him. “I didn’t want to wake you, baby,” he whispered.

She rubbed her bare leg down his and kissed him. He moaned, rolled over on his back and pulled her over on top of him. “I’d die without you, Annie.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

BILLY PROVED SUCCESSFUL getting himself out of bed and as far as the kitchen using his crutches. “I’m getting the hang of these things.” He perched on a stool, leaned the crutches against the counter and let out a sigh.

I passed him a mug of coffee. “What can I make you for breakfast, honey?”

“Anything would be better than the shit the hospital gives you every morning. They put the tray in front of you with a bowl full of that runny white porridge, like they expect you to eat the fucking stuff.”

Jackson rolled into the kitchen in a pair of cut-offs and hopped up on a stool beside Billy. “Hey, you made it out here on your own, man.” He made a fist to punch Billy in the shoulder but high-fived him instead.

“Yep, the worst is over now. The doc said a through and through won’t take as long to heal as a bullet in the bone. I’ll be walking on my leg in a day or two.”

“No, you won’t be walking on it until the doctor takes another look at it,” I said, “That’s what he told me, and I’m a better listener than you, Billy Jennings.”

“Whatever you say, Portia. I’d never argue with somebody that can shoot like you.” He said with a grin, “that’d be a death wish.”

I smiled. “I’m making omelets for breakfast, guys, then I’m going shopping for furniture for the new house. Can you two stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”

“I’m the good one,” said Billy, “It’s always Jackson dragging my ass into deep shit.”

“I’ll shoot you in the other fuckin’ leg, you asshole.” This time Jackson did punch him.

After breakfast, I cleaned up the dishes, grabbed my purse and left the boys arguing in the kitchen. Jackson seemed to be in a better place but I knew he was lying to me about something. I just hadn’t figured out what it was.

After a couple of hours at the furniture emporium, Pam had sent me to, I had selected the basics to furnish the new house. The accessories could come later. The salesman promised to deliver the leather sectional for the living room, two bedroom suites, and the dining room table and hutch on the closing date. I told them if the truckload wasn’t there on time, they would be getting all of it back.

While I drove back to the rental house, Wolinski phoned my cell. “Keeping you updated, like I promised,” he said. “Stan Traynor will be in the infirmary for another two weeks, then he’ll be transferred to the Clarke County lock-up where they’ll hold him until the RCMP come down from Canada to get him. All the paperwork has been done.”

“Please let me know the exact day when the transfer will take place, Agent Wolinski. Could you do that?”

“I will, although I’m confident nothing will go wrong.”

“How many guards do you have on him at the infirmary?”

“One outside his door, around the clock.”

“Not enough.”

Wolinski chuckled. “I do have good news. The DA won’t be pressing charges against Mr. Traynor for shooting his father. It was ruled as self-defense.”

“Hey, one point for the DA,” I said before hanging up.

My boys were playing poker on the iPads in the living room when I came in. “Who wants a beer?” I hollered.

“Me,” said Billy.

“Me too, baby. Come sit with us,” said Jackson, patting the sofa beside him.

“Are you guys winning anything?” I asked, setting the beer on the coffee table.

“I made a final table,” said Billy. “I love these iPads.”

“Jackson likes them too. We used them on our trip.”

“How was it driving all the way out here in the heat?” Billy asked making a scowly face.

“It was fun. We did some sightseeing, and Jackson went horseback riding,” I said. “In his former life, Jackson was a cowboy. We’re going back to the Grand Canyon on our bikes to take a closer look. When you’re better, we’ll all go.”

Billy frowned. “Wish my bike was here, it’s the only decent thing I own, besides my guitar.”

“That’s no problem, Billy. I’ll get Rusty to ship it.”

A look crossed Jackson’s face.

Why doesn’t he want Billy to have his bike?

“Really, Portia? Would you do that?” Billy asked, his mouth hanging open.

“I do anything I want,” I said with a laugh.

“You’re the most fuckin’ amazing woman I ever knew,” Billy said, “Ain’t she, Jackson?”

“She is, Billy. Absolutely the most amazing.” He grinned. “Exactly how many other amazing women have you known?”

“Well… not too many…maybe…none.”

Jackson laughed and brushed his dark, wavy hair out of his face. “That’s what I figured.”

“I was never out of Ontario before I came here,” Billy said, smiling down at his screen. “Pocket Queens, I’m all in.”

“Hope you make the big money, Billy,” I said with a grin.

“I think I will, but sometimes, I get a little overconfident.”

“No kidding,” said Jackson.

I sat in the living room with the boys while they played, sipping my beer and listening to their banter, but my mind was on Stan. One guard outside his door, who were they kidding?  He would wait until his bullet wound allowed him to walk again, and when they had their heads up their asses, he would make his move. Having escaped from a high-security prison like Millhaven with his two cronies, it would be a cakewalk giving the locals the slip. My money was on the transfer from the hospital to the holding cell. Once the RCMP had him, his chances of finding an opportunity would be much slimmer.

I set another round on the table and said, “This amazing woman doesn’t feel like making dinner. I’m ordering pizza.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Wednesday, October 31st.

Hallowe’en.

MOVING DAY. SIX o’clock saw me already up making coffee for the boys. Billy walked on his leg now with little trouble, and his face had been restored to its’ former irresistible state. Over the past few days, everything had been packed up except the toiletries and the last-minute items. Jackson and Billy had spent considerable time going over Jackson’s bike looking for the chip that Stan had installed. Billy had detected it with his new scanner and Jackson successfully removed it from the lining in his saddlebag. Billy’s bike had arrived from Toronto, thanks to Rusty making the arrangements at his end. Billy almost cried when he saw it. He ran his hand over the candy apple paint and touched the Fender guitar that Rusty had painted on the gas tank.  Billy was so sweet and sad, despite his happy-go-lucky façade. It made my heart ache knowing he was so alone in the world. His mother hadn’t called him once since he left Toronto.

While I waited to leave for my nine o’clock appointment at the lawyer’s office, to sign the final papers and pick up the keys, I drank a coffee and finalized my checklist. The furniture store had confirmed the previous day that their truck would arrive at twelve sharp at the new house. Pam had promised to take a drive out and make sure everything went smoothly for us. Jackson was pumped and couldn’t wait to take the bikes out for a ride and show Billy the Red Rock Canyon.

I glanced up from my list to see Jackson swagger into the kitchen. “Hey, Annie, it’s moving day.” He hugged me and snuggled his face in my hair. “Can’t wait to breathe that fresh air out by the canyon.” The past week Jackson had been impatient for the move and was talking non-stop about the wedding.

I want to be happy but… what had caused this 360? Had to be the club.

I shook my head and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “Hope I remember how to find the house. I’ve only been out there a couple of times.”

“I’ll put the address in the GPS, and you’ll have no trouble. We loaded Billy’s bike into the back of the pickup and hooked the bike trailer to the Hummer. You can drive either one.”

“I have to stop at the lawyer’s office downtown, so I’d rather not be hauling the bike trailer when I’m looking for a parking spot. I’ll take the Ram.”

Jackson nodded.

Billy swaggered into the kitchen with his blond curls hanging damp around his neck from his shower. “I’m all packed up. What’s the plan, boss?”

Jackson waved that away with a laugh. “Annie’s the brains of this outfit and has been since day one.”

I blew him a kiss and picked up a box from the counter. “The plan is to take everything that’s not loaded out of here and pack it into the Hummer, leaving a spot for Angel. Then I drive downtown, pick up the keys and meet you guys at the I-Hop out on the highway for breakfast. After breakfast, we drive to our new address and tell the dudes where to put the furniture when they arrive at twelve o’clock. Then we sit on the new furniture, have a couple of beers and admire our new house.”

“Let’s do it,” said Jackson.

Everything was loaded by eight-thirty, including Angel, and I took off to pick up the keys. Parking proved to be a small problem downtown, but after circling the block twice I found a spot big enough for the truck. In the office, the wait was a little longer than expected with two clients ahead of me. Finally, I signed the papers, handed over a check and departed with the keys. When I walked into I-Hop, I spotted the boys in a booth drinking coffee. Billy saw me and waved.

“Sorry I took so long. Have you guys ordered?” I asked flopping into the blue padded booth. The noise and bustle in the restaurant on the weekends was anything but relaxing. Lots of weekend dads brought their families for breakfast and it was wall-to-wall kids, but it was a favorite spot of Billy’s.

“Nope, waiting on the most beautiful woman in Vegas to join us,” said Jackson scooting across the vinyl bench to make room for me. He finished texting a message on his phone and put it away.

“I second that,” said Billy, giving me a thumbs-up.

“You guys know how to make a girl feel good,” I said, but my instincts were kicking in.

Jackson’s doing a lot of fawning.

The waitress came by, took our breakfast order and filled up the coffee cups.

“Angel’s in the Hummer?” I asked.

Billy took a sip of his coffee and added more cream. “We had a smoke and gave her a walk around before we came inside.”

The boys consumed mountains of pancakes, sausages, and bacon, while I ate a bagel with cream cheese. We paid our bill and left the restaurant around eleven. Jackson led the way to the new homestead and I followed in the Ram.

On the end of a short cul-de-sac sat our new home. A sprawling single story Spanish style laid out in a t-shape, the triple garages being the stem. A row of tall vertical windows was the signature feature of the front façade. Lavish landscaping highlighted by towering palms enhanced the semi-circle formed by the stone-paved circular drive.

“Fuck, you’re kidding me right? This is your house?” Billy hollered when we got out of the trucks at the new digs.

“Yep, paid for it in full this morning,” I said. “Housing prices aren’t the same as in Toronto. You get a lot more for your money in ‘sin city.” I unlocked the front door and Jackson took Billy straight into the garage and opened all three of the overhead doors. The two of them put the bikes and the trailer away, so they could unload the trucks. I took Angel out the back and showed her the yard.

Jackson leaned out the glass patio door with his arms full. “Where do you want the boxes from the other house, baby?”

“Pile everything in the kitchen until the furniture guys are out of here. They should be here soon.” After the boxes and the luggage were unloaded we had a cold beer while we waited for the truck. “Take a walk around, Billy,” I said, “Hope you like it.”

“This is like some fuckin mansion, Portia. I can’t believe the size of it.”

“They don’t have to bother with basements out here, so they spread out more.”

“Right, no basement.” Billy nodded. “Guess the frost doesn’t go too deep.”

“I only bought the essentials at the furniture store. When it’s all in place, I think it’s going to look pretty bare in here.”

“The truck’s here,” hollered Jackson from the garage.

I greeted the three delivery men at the front door and told them where I wanted everything placed. They were professionals and had all the furniture in the house and unwrapped in an hour and a half. When they left, we uncapped cold beers and sat on the new leather sofa.

“The furniture looks great, baby. You’re a good shopper,” Jackson said, toasting me with his beer.

I looked around at the espresso leather sectional and nodded. “Thanks, we’ll fill in the gaps later. This is good enough for now.”

The boys took their beer into the yard to have a smoke and try out the new patio furniture—three outdoor rattan sofas with a fire pit table in the center.

Jackson had messages to return to the club. He said he had stepped down as number one but I knew in my heart it wasn’t true. He was acting out this fantasy for my benefit. The reality didn’t hurt as much as the lie did. Made me wonder what else he wasn’t being honest about?

The boys kept Angel company while I unpacked and organized the kitchen. I made up the beds then stuck my head out to the patio. “When you gentlemen have a moment, can you figure out the new barbecue? I want to throw some burgers on and see if it grills the way I like it.”

“I want you to try it out, too, Portia,” said Billy. “I’m fuckin starving.”

Jackson punched him. “You’re always starving, you asshole. You’re a bottomless pit.”

The sound of the doorbell made Angel bark and paw at the patio door. I left her in the backyard and walked through to the front to receive our first visitor.

“How did everything go?” asked Pam.

“Very smooth,” I said, “Come in and have a look around.”

“I can’t stay long,” she said, “but I’ll say hello to Jackson.”

Pam chatted to the boys for ten or fifteen minutes. I returned the keys to the rental house and she left to show another property in the area. “Your neighbors have a lot of Halloween decorations, I see. You might get trick or treaters tonight.”

Damn. It was Halloween, and I had forgotten to buy candy. After lunch, I made a quick trip to the market to stock up my new pantry and buy chips and treats for the little ghosts and goblins. “Can you guys help me carry in the bags from the market?” I hollered. Billy came from the garage to help me. He was getting around slowly, but still favoring his right leg.

“You bought a shit load of candy, Portia,” he said, unpacking one of the bags.

“It’s Halloween. We might get a lot of little kids trick or treating.”

Billy sighed, peeking into the other bags. “I never dressed up for Halloween. My mom said it was stupid.”

“It’s fun for kids. A couple of my foster mothers dressed me up when I was eight or nine. Once I was an angel.”

“You are an angel, Portia,” Billy said, giving me his best smile and melting my heart.

“What’s Jackson doing?” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable, so close to Billy.

“He’s getting the bikes ready for the canyon ride. He’s pumped for it.”

“Jackson loves it out there. I’m going to take more pictures today. Might get a couple of good ones framed for these bare walls,” I said, pointing to the sea of beige.

Billy took a step closer to me. “Portia…” he said.

“Are you guys ready?” Jackson stuck his head in the garage door and hollered. “Let’s ride.”

We took off down the street giving our new neighbors a taste of the patented Harley rumble in triplicate. Billy hooted and hollered at the top of his lungs, waving to anybody who would look at him and I couldn’t help but laugh.

When we reached one fifty-nine, the highway through the canyon, the landscape exuded its’ own brand of serenity. Stark red rocks reached for the sky. Joshua trees dotted sparsely through the black brush scrub. And the Yucca offered shade to the smaller desert dwellers. Jackson stopped often to photograph rock formations that had been hewn by glaciers thousands of years ago. We parked the bikes at the visitor’s center and checked it out. They offered tours and provided maps of hiking trails and points of interest.

Jackson fingered through some pamphlets hung against the wall and chose a couple. “I want to see every inch of this canyon.”

Billy snorted and took a drag on his smoke. “You won’t live that long, you asshole. It’s too fuckin huge.”

“We’d need tents and gear to hike to the remote areas.” Jackson ignored Billy to come drape an arm around me. “Do you like camping, baby?”

“Never done it, so I can’t say one way or the other,” I said, smiling as Jackson’s hand slid lower and rounded my ass. “I’m willing to give it a shot. We can plan a camping honeymoon.”

Jackson grinned. “I like the sound of that, Annie.”

“Are you guys really getting married?” asked Billy, the pout on his face mirroring his immaturity.

I gathered Jackson’s hand in mine and headed back to the bikes. “Yep, as soon as I can pull something together. You’re part of the wedding, Billy.”

“No way,” he said. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

Jackson grabbed the kid by the shoulder and tugged him along. “You’re the best man, asshole. Suck it up.”

“I’m the best man?”

“Hell, yeah, who did you think I’d ask? My old man?”

When we reached the three bikes, I pulled on my leather gloves. “Let’s get back, boys. Be dark soon.”

By the time we roared into the driveway at the new house, there were already costumed children on the sidewalk coming our way. I jumped off my bike and left it for Jackson to put away. “I’ve got to hurry and get the candy ready. We’ve got customers coming.” I ran into the kitchen, ripped open the bags of chocolate bars and the boxes of chips and took them to the front door. I was breathless, but ready when the doorbell rang.

“Trick or treat.” Four small people were at my door with their bags open while a parent stood at the curb.

“Here you go,” I said, smiling at the little people. “Hope you get tons of candy.”

Billy came in from the garage. “Can I give candy to the kids, Portia?” he asked. “I’ve never done Halloween before.”

“Sure, honey. That would help me out. While you do that, I’ll start dinner. Sit on the sofa, have a beer and answer the door when they come.” I opened three beers, handed him one and took one out to Jackson in the garage.

He was wiping down the bikes and organizing his massive three bay man-cave. There were cabinets all along the one side for storage and a ten-foot workbench with shelves above it at the end of the first bay.

I slipped my arm around his waist and ran my hand down the front of his jeans. “First night in our new house,” I whispered. “Are you ready for it?” I kissed him.

“I’m ready right now.” He pressed me up against the wall.

“I can feel that you’re ready, cowboy. I can feel it.” I laughed and went back to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

By the time our meal was ready the goblins and little devils had stopped ringing the doorbell. Billy had eaten a load of bite-sized chocolate bars and had a belly ache.

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have eaten all that chocolate while I was drinking beer.” He made a face with his tongue sticking out. “Didn’t mix.”

I set the table in the dining room. “Okay, boys. Take a seat for the first meal in our new house. I served steak, baked potatoes and veggies done in foil on the barbecue.

“This is my favorite,” Jackson said, heaping his plate.

“It’s my new favorite,” Billy said, spearing another potato.

“You know my favorite,” I whispered to Jackson so Billy couldn’t hear.

Jackson looked right through me.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

WITH THE MOVE over and Stan temporarily out of commission, I wanted to plan the wedding and make it happen before another shitstorm hit. Jackson asked me almost hourly if I had made the plans. I had to wonder if he wanted to get married that badly or if he wanted to get the wedding over with for some other reason?

It was seven a.m. Vegas time on our first day in our new place when I called Rusty at the paint shop. “Hey, Portia. How’s Billy doing?” he asked.

“Excellent, almost back to normal, whatever that is.”

Rusty laughed and I heard him light a smoke. “Did the feds put Traynor away?”

“Yeah, he’s locked in the infirmary for now after Jackson put a bullet in his leg.”

“Wish I’d been there for the action.”

“I want you here for some different action on the weekend. I’m planning our wedding for Saturday if you can make it?”

Rusty exhaled and whistled. “The bike I was going to paint tomorrow I can put off until Monday or Tuesday, no problem. Can’t believe Jackson is getting hitched. Must be a blue moon in the sky or something.”

“Or something, that’s for sure,” I said. “I’m going to book you a ticket and call you back with the flight number and the time, Rusty. I’m so glad you can come.”

I called the airline and booked Rusty’s flight for four on Friday, getting him into Vegas around seven-thirty. Thinking about what I was going to wear, I filled my mug with coffee and was adding the cream when Billy ambled into the kitchen. “I’m planning the wedding, Billy. I talked to Rusty this morning and he’ll arrive tomorrow night, but I don’t want Jackson to know. I’m saving it for a surprise.”

Billy frowned and shook his head.

“What?”

“With Jackson talking to Rusty a dozen times a day, how will he not know?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“He won’t hear it from me, Portia. I swear. I’m surprised you guys are having the wedding so soon.”

“Jackson wants the wedding right away. I want you to be happy for us, Billy. I know you’re a bit attached to me, but we can all be happy together.”

“A bit attached, Portia?” He shook his head and his golden curls flopped down over his face. “I need a smoke,” he said, retreating to the patio table.

My eyes welled up feeling the depth of his crush on me, but as much as I cared for Billy, I loved Jackson with all my heart. The next couple of days would be awkward.

Jackson swaggered into the kitchen and caught me wiping my eyes. “What’s the matter, baby?” He took me in his arms and held me. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m planning our wedding, and I’m all emotional.”

“Hope I don’t cry at my own wedding,” he chuckled.

“After breakfast, I’m going to shop for a dress,” I said. “You and Billy would look great in your leathers. That’s the look I want—you guys looking like you, but maybe with a crisp white shirt under your cut.”

Jackson and Billy took coffee out to the patio and smoked while I made breakfast. I called all over Las Vegas looking for a chapel with an opening. They were all fully booked for months in advance, but I lucked out and got a cancellation at the Viva Las Vegas Chapel. I booked the Pink Caddy wedding for three o’clock on Saturday. Some couple had thought it over and decided in the negative. I took one look at Jackson and shook my head. No. The negative vibes I was getting from Jackson were just putting me on edge. I wish I knew what was going on with him.

INSIDE THE FASHION Mall on Las Vegas Boulevard, I didn’t know which store to attack first there were so many choices. Dozens of windows dressed with high-end selections—enough to make your head spin. I steered away from anything too fancy or frilly. Something simple, elegant and fitted was what I had in mind. Three hours later, I had narrowed it down to two choices. One was pale pink strapless with a little jacket, and the other was cream satin with spaghetti straps. I bought both because I was exhausted, picked out shoes and a bag in a pearl tone that would go with either one and went home.

“Halloo,” I hollered, as I came in the front door. No one answered me. I noticed the note on the counter scrawled in Jackson’s hand. ‘Gone to Mirage’. Damn. The Mirage was only blocks away from where I was shopping, and now I was way out by the canyon. I took my bags into the bedroom and after hanging everything up, I changed and refreshed my makeup. I texted Jackson, told him I was coming and asked him to put my name on the poker list.

The taxi sat honking in the driveway by the time I had Angel settled and I headed back into town. The boys were seated at two different tables in the poker room when I arrived. I said hi to both of them and peeked at their chip stacks while I waited for my name to come up. Jackson had just hauled in a small pot when my name was called and I was shown to my seat. I sucked in a breath when the pit boss pointed to the seat right next to Billy.

While I stacked my chips in neat rows in front of me and waited for my blind, Billy leaned over and whispered, “Sorry about before, Portia. Are we okay?”

I nodded, smiled and relaxed a little. Billy was in seat three and I was in four. Seat five on my left was a bald guy with a mustache who hadn’t stopped talking since I sat down. I was not a fan of chatter at the table and Billy was unusually quiet. The button passed me and I posted. My hand was pocket deuces.

Seat eight called the blind, seat nine, a lady in a black cocktail dress raised to twenty-five bucks. Seats ten, one and two folded. Billy called, I called. The bald guy on the puck called. The small blind folded. The big blind called. Seat eight called the raise.

Six players. The flop came Ace-King-Deuce, rainbow. Seat seven checked, seat eight checked, seat nine bet forty dollars. Billy folded. I raised to eighty. The bald guy beside me folded. Seat seven and seat eight folded. Cocktail dress called the raise.

Heads up. The turn was Trey of diamonds. Seat nine checked. I bet a hundred. She called.

Heads up. The river card was a King. Cocktail dress checked. She didn’t have Ace-King, she had Ace-Queen I guessed, or she was setting me up for an all-in after I bet. I checked and turned over my boat. She threw her cards at the dealer. The dealer glared at her and pushed me the pot.

I smiled and glanced at Billy. He winked at me. I could see Jackson from where I was sitting, one table over, and he had a lot of chips in front of him. The dealer dealt a new hand. I peeked at my cards and saw Ace-Jack of hearts.

Cocktail dress called the blind, seat ten called¸ seat one raised to thirty bucks. Seat two folded, Billy called the thirty, I called, bald guy called, seat six on the button called. The small blind folded. Seat eight folded. Cocktail dress folded. Seat ten called the raise.

Six players. The flop was Four-Six-Jack, two hearts. Seat ten checked, seat one bet another thirty bucks, Billy called, I raised to ninety. Everyone folded around to seat one. He called the ninety and Billy called me.

Three players. The turn was Trey of hearts. I bet a hundred, seat one folded and Billy pushed all in. I started laughing and said ‘call’ with the nut flush. The river was a brick. We checked and turned our hands up. I had the nut flush and he had a straight flush with Five-Seven of hearts. I high-fived him and we ordered more beer.

Jackson cashed out and came over to see if we were ready to leave. Billy had a nice stack of chips, and I was about even. “Let’s have dinner before we go home,” I said.

“On me,” said Jackson. “I made some decent cash.”

“Billy did pretty well, too,” I said. “He took all my chips.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, looking too serious.

“Did to.”

“Did not.”

I punched him in the arm and he grinned.

“Where’s your truck, baby?” Jackson asked.

“I took a cab, so I could come home with you guys,” I said. “I was tired from all that dress shopping.”

“Did you get the right dress?” he asked.

“I hope so.”

We stopped at Red Lobster on the way home and Jackson bought us dinner out of his winnings. The boys were always hyped after playing poker, and I was starting to understand why. Winning was like a drug.

When we got home, the boys went online looking for a casino with a bad beat jackpot.  I went straight into a hot bubble bath and then crawled into bed. Jackson came to bed soon after.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Already found it,” he whispered, taking me in his arms.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

UNTANGLING MY LEGS from the sheets, I called to Angel, “I’m coming, girl.” I padded through the living room to the garden doors and let Angel into the yard. “Hey, Billy, you’re up already. I didn’t hear a thing until the dog woke me.” He was sitting outside smoking.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I have a lot to think about.”

“I won’t interrupt you, then. I’ll make the coffee.”

“Can we talk, Portia?” he asked softly and touched my hand.

I nodded. “I’ll be right back.” I started the coffee maker and went back to the patio and sat down opposite Billy. His aqua blue eyes were sparkling in the sun. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what Billy was going to tell me. I thought it might make things more difficult for us. “I’m listening.”

Billy butted out his smoke. “You know how I feel about you, Portia, and it’s nothing new. I’ve always felt this way.” He paused and sucked in a big breath. “I would never do anything to screw Jackson over. He’s like my brother and he deserves a woman like you. But I wrote a song for you, and I want to know if I can sing it at the wedding.”

I exhaled a big breath and smiled. “You wrote a song? That’s amazing. Of course, you can sing it at the wedding. I’ll love it, I know I will.” I hugged him and mussed up his curls. “I’ll get us a coffee.”

Jackson stood in the kitchen leaning on the counter when I went to get the coffee. He put his arms around me and kissed me. “One more day, and you’ll be Mrs. Jackson Traynor. Tomorrow will be the proudest day of my life.”

“Mine too, Jackson. I love you, honey.” I touched the dark stubble on his face.

After breakfast, I cleaned up the house, not too difficult with most of the rooms bare. Before I dressed for the day, I tried both dresses on again in front of the mirror and I was leaning towards the pink one. For the past two days, the foremost thought in my head was what to get Jackson for a wedding gift. I needed it today, and still no clue on what to buy him.

“I’ll be out for a while, guys.” I stuck my head into the garage and hollered. Jackson had the radio on in the Hummer blaring out country music. He and Billy were covered in grease from pulling an oversize tire off one of the bikes.

I hope that grease washes off by tomorrow.

Since my brain was coming up empty on what to get Jackson, I headed for the Harley store for inspiration. After walking once around, looking at all the merchandise aimed at bikers, I decided on the jukebox, a reproduction of the old Wurlitzer, with the colored lights up and down the sides. The modern version was outfitted to hold tons of CDs and Jackson could play country music while he worked in his man-cave. I explained that I was buying it as a wedding gift for my husband and the store manager promised me delivery for ten o’clock the following morning. I blew out a big breath. On the way home, I picked up a take-out order for the boys at Wendy’s.

The boys hooted when I gave them their bag of junk food. And I left them to eat while I went over the wedding plans. Everything was pretty simple with the chapel handling the details at their end. All I had to do was dress myself and the boys, and get us there on time. I figured tonight would be a poker night after Rusty arrived, so I took a nap.

When I emerged from the bedroom, the boys were at the kitchen counter looking up the bad beat jackpots. “Red Rock Casino has the biggest one right now,” Jackson said, “And it’s right in our own backyard. We don’t even have to go to the strip.”

“We can head over there right after we pick up our wedding guest,” I said, cracking open a beer. “How does the bad beat work, anyway?”

“The casino has a set of rules,” said Jackson. “They set down how high the hands have to be to win the big money.”

“Yeah, like what?” I asked.

Billy jumped in. “Like quad eights and higher get beat by something better.”

“Different casinos have different hands that are high enough,” said Jackson. “Who’s the guest?”

“Rusty,” I said. “We’re only having one wedding guest.”

“Fuck, this is gonna’ be good,” Jackson hooted.

Billy flashed one of his infectious smiles. “Tonight’s your stag, buddy. Me being the best man, it’s my sworn duty to get you drunk out of your fuckin mind.”

Jackson shook his head and punched Billy. “I’m playing poker at my stag, and I want to be sober enough to see my fuckin cards. What if I’m so pissed I don’t even know if I’ve got the bad beat?”

“I’ll lean over and tell you, asshole. I’m the one with the head full of brains.” He punched Jackson back harder.

“Your head ain’t full of brains, it’s full of shit.”

I laughed and waved my arms to shoo them out of the kitchen. “Can you two grease monkeys get cleaned up while I make a quick supper? We’re out of here inside of an hour.”

The boys came out of the shower looking as good as new. I don’t know how they got all the grease off, but it was gone. They were both wearing clean jeans and their Toby Keith concert shirts.

I snorted. “Did you guys plan to look like a matched set?”

“Just happened,” said Billy. “Must be fate. My Mom used to show me the Tarot cards when I was younger. She could tell the future, she said.”

“I have Tarot cards, but I don’t know a lot about reading them. I need lessons,” I said. Billy didn’t speak often about his mother.

Jackson frowned. “Nobody can tell the future. It just happens and then it’s the present. When it’s gone by it’s the past.”

“Ain’t you the fuckin genius.” Billy scooped a huge mound of potato salad onto his plate.

The boys cleaned up all the salads and the pastrami sandwiches. I threw the plates into the sink, fed Angel and we were off to McCarran to collect Rusty.

His flight was on time, but he was slow coming through customs for some reason. The airport was packed with weekend visitors all anticipating a fun time in Vegas. We sat and waited.

After all the passengers had come through the gate, an auburn-haired tank of a man in ripped jeans and a leather jacket came through the doors.

“What took you so long?” asked Jackson.

Rusty shrugged. “Oh, the usual. Nothing serious.”

Jackson nodded as if he knew what ‘the usual’ entailed and took Rusty’s luggage.

“Thought you were dead meat, asshole,” Rusty said as he punched Billy. “Jackson’s dad is one mean bastard.”

“He got me in a headlock I couldn’t break. That fucker is so strong from fighting in prison, his arms are like iron. He pounded me in the face until I passed out. When I came to on the floor, he shot me in the leg so I couldn’t get up or follow him,” Billy said. “I’d like to kill the prick.”

“Me too,” I said. “I’m going to.”

Rusty raised his eyebrows and nodded at Billy, “That could happen.”

We found the Hummer, stowed Rusty’s luggage and headed for the casino.

“Tonight’s Jackson’s stag,” said Billy. “We’re getting’ him drunk and dumping him in the canyon.”

“I thought the best man was supposed to look out for the groom,” said Rusty, “and get him to the wedding on time.”

“Nobody told me the rules,” said Billy. “I’m making up my own.”

“Billy can watch Jackson, and I’ll watch Billy,” I said.

“That’ll work, Portia,” said Rusty with a grin.

We put our names on the poker list when we got to the casino and sat at the bar while we waited. Jackson checked the bad beat jackpot and it was over one hundred and forty thousand. He came back grinning and told the boys.

“Shitwads,” said Billy, “What would be the chances of ever winning that mother?”

“Zero, if you don’t play.” Jackson thumped him in the shoulder.

We were finishing up our first round at the bar when they opened a new table and called all of our names. Rusty was in seat two, Billy in four, I was in six and Jackson was in seat nine.

The dealer flipped up cards for the button and seat one caught an ace. Rusty put in his small blind and seat three was big. My hand was Queen-Two. Billy called the blind, Seat five folded, I folded. Seats seven and eight called. Jackson raised to thirty bucks. Seat ten folded. Seat one folded. Rusty called, seat three folded. Billy called the raise. Seats seven and eight folded.

Three players. The flop came King-Ten-Deuce. Billy was first and he checked. Jackson bet fifty and I put him on Ace-King. Rusty called the fifty and Billy folded.

Heads Up. The turn card was Jack of hearts, no hearts on the flop. Rusty checked. Jackson bet another fifty. Rusty folded. Jackson won the pot and didn’t show.

I folded all my hands until I was on the button. I peeked at my cards and had pocket sixes. Jackson called the blind, seat ten called, seat one folded, Rusty folded. Seat three called, Billy called. Sitting in seat five between Billy and I, was a young Asian girl with short cropped black hair and an overdose of confidence. She raised to forty dollars. I called the raise. Everyone folded around to Billy and he re-raised to eighty. She called and so did I.

Three players. The flop came Ace-Four-Deuce. Two clubs. Billy bet fifty bucks. Seat five called and I called.

The turn card was Six of Diamonds. Billy bet seventy-five. Seat five folded and I raised Billy to one fifty. I looked at him and he was grinning. He called me. I thought he had the wheel.

Heads up. The river card was another Deuce. Billy checked to me. I laughed out loud and said all-in. Billy folded and hollered, “You made your fuckin boat.”

I said, “You owed me.”

For the next couple of hours, I watched the boys play and add to their chip stacks. I folded most of my hands, drank free beer and laughed at Billy chatting nonsense to the other players. He was a charmer. A new dude sat in seat seven to the left of me. He was in his fifties, not bad looking. As soon as he took his seat he started hitting on me. I laughed it off and played my cards, but Jackson was glaring at him and I knew it wouldn’t be long before there was trouble. After a quick trip to the ladies’ room, I spoke to the pit boss and told him I was being harassed by seat seven and I wanted him moved to another table. I could handle him hitting on me, but Jackson couldn’t, and I didn’t want all of us thrown out when Jackson broke the guy’s arm. Seat seven moved to a different table and I’m sure he didn’t realize I was doing him a favor. He was replaced by a Unabomber wannabe.

A new dealer came to the table and changed the deck. She dealt out the first hand. I had King-Ten of Spades. Jackson was on the puck. Rusty was first to act and he called. Seat three folded. Billy raised to fifty. Seat five folded, I called the fifty. Seat seven called. Seat eight folded. Jackson called and both blinds folded. Rusty called.

Five players. The flop came Trey-Jack-Ace, two diamonds. Rusty checked. Billy bet a hundred bucks. I called needing one card for the straight. Seat seven called. I put him on hearts. Jackson called the hundred and Rusty folded.

Four players. The turn was Ace of clubs. Billy checked, I checked, seat seven checked and Jackson pushed all-in. Billy called the all-in. I folded and seat seven folded.

Heads up. The dealer told the boys to turn over their hands. Billy flipped up King-Queen of diamonds. He needed the ten for the Royal Flush. Jackson turned over pocket Aces. He had quads. The table was silent. The dealer turned over the Ten of Diamonds and the table went a crazy. Bad Beat. My boys actually won the bad beat jackpot.

The pit boss came and asked for a security check. The dealer counted the cards and did everything according to protocol. Everyone held their spots knowing that all players at the table would get paid. I smiled at Jackson, and he was grinning. Billy was yakking it up and reliving the moment with anybody who would listen. It was priceless.

The waitress brought the table a round of drinks. Then a second round. It took almost an hour for the casino to verify the hands with the security cameras and do the required paperwork. Jackson and Billy had to show their ID and sign for their checks, and then the rest of the players received their smaller payouts in chips. The boys both gave generous tips to the dealer and she smiled her thanks.

“I fuckin can’t believe we won that thing,” said Billy, shaking his curls as we walked to the parking lot.

Jackson laughed out loud. “You are so fuckin lucky, you little shit. I should have won that pot with quad Aces.”

“Well thanks to me, asshole, you got a huge payout, because I beat your sorry ass and beat you bad.”

Jackson laughed again. “Thanks for the big bucks, Billy.”

“Rusty and I are happy with our little payout, aren’t we?” I said, hugging him while I walked.

“Any win is a good win,” Rusty said. “It was a fun night.”

“You must be tired. I forgot you’re on Toronto time.”

“I am starting to fade a bit,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

“Wait until you see our new house,” Jackson said. “The garage is a fuckin warehouse.”

“The house isn’t too bad either,” I said.

Jackson pulled into the garage, parked the Hummer and we all bailed out.

“Do you know how many fuckin bikes I could paint all at the same time in this mother?” Rusty asked with his mouth hanging open.

The boys showed him around. I let Angel into the back yard and got ready for bed. The clock read two a.m.  Today was my wedding day and I needed sleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

MY CELL PHONE rang unceasingly in my dream and I couldn’t find it. Half-awake, I realized it was ringing on the dresser. Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed it and pressed the talk button as I tip-toed into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Wolinski, here.”

“Agent Wolinski, you’re up early,” I mumbled.

“You wanted to be notified when Stan Traynor was being moved from the infirmary to the County lock-up. Today’s the day.”

No. No. Please God, not today.

“What time?”

“Officers are picking him up at the hospital in the afternoon.”

“Thanks for letting me know. Keep a sharp eye on him.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” he chuckled.

Hope you’re still laughing when the fucker is long gone.

There was no hope of sleep for me now. I dragged my tired bridal ass out to the kitchen and started the coffee. The day had begun on an ominous note and I stared into space unable to think of anything else. Fortified with a mug of caffeine I sat outside with Angel inhaling huge gulps of cool dry air. No amount of deep breathing could calm me.

Five minutes later Billy joined me fresh from the shower. His damp blond hair curled around his neck and he gave off a lemony scent. He lit up a smoke and sat down. “Big day is here,” he said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Yep.”

“You don’t seem excited or happy like a bride. When you see them on TV in their white dresses they’re all smiles.”

“This isn’t TV, Billy. This is reality and I’m scared for Jackson.” I reached for his hand. “They’re moving Stan today from the hospital to the lock-up. I know it won’t go well. I’m not telling him.”

“They’ll put extra men on Stan. They know what a bad fucker he is.” He took another drag on his smoke. “He won’t know where we’re at anyhow. Don’t worry.” He held my hand in his, and then pressed it to his lips.

“He will know. Somehow, he will know, and he’ll come for me. My skin is crawling and prickly. I want him, but not today. I don’t want him ruining any more of Jackson’s life.”

“I’ll take my gun,” Billy said, “as well as my knife.”

“My Beretta will be at my wedding,” I said and tried to force a smile.

“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever seen, Portia. Nothing scares you. What a fuckin’ turn on.”

“Billy, you promised.”

He nodded, his damp curls dancing on his neck. “I won’t break my promise. I’m still on cloud nine from winning last night. That was the best time I’ve ever had in my whole entire life.”

“Winning big is huge fun. I love it and I love playing poker. We can have a good life out here, Billy. All three of us.”

His gaze softened as his smile grew sad. “I can’t go back to Toronto. Being separated from you…that would kill me.”

“We don’t want you to go back. We love having you here,” I tousled his hair.

Billy smiled and then became pensive. “There’s another reason I can’t go back and… I don’t know if I can tell you.”

“Why?”

Something else Jackson was keeping from me.

I waited to see if Billy was going to spit it out.

He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and then spoke.

“After the wedding, Jackson has important stuff to do with the club. He wants me to watch you until it’s safe for you to move back to Toronto.”

“What?” I sucked in a little breath.

Billy stood up and paced. “See, I don’t think I should have told you that. Jackson will be super pissed at me.”

“I’ll pretend I don’t know.”

Jackson didn’t want to tell me this shit before the wedding.

“Thanks, Portia. Fuck, I’m sure you weren’t supposed to know that yet.”

“I bet you’re right.” A tight feeling gripped my chest and I struggled for a breath.

What was going on with Jackson? Move back to Toronto? Is that his plan?

“I’ll get us another coffee.” I headed back to the kitchen with the empty mugs and a lot on my mind. The doorbell rang. Angel barked and charged the door. Peeking out the sidelight revealed the back end of the Harley truck.

I hollered out the door as I held Angel’s collar. “Guys, can you put that in the garage for me please?” I ran out to the patio to get Billy to help me. “Jackson’s wedding gift is here, and I need you to help me set it up in the garage before he gets up.”

Billy jumped up and followed me to the garage. The Harley delivery guys were lifting the jukebox carefully out of the packing crate. “Where do you want this, ma’am?”

“Where do we want it, Billy?” I wasn’t familiar with the inner workings of the garage.

“Over beside the work bench where there’s a plug.” He pointed and showed them. Billy helped the men set it up and after they left he sorted the CDs and put them in place. “This is so fuckin cool. We had one of these at our store in Scarborough, but it got sold the week after it came in. I always wanted one.”

“Wanted one what?” Jackson stumbled through the kitchen door into the garage.

“One of these, you asshole. You’re so fuckin’ spoiled.” He ran at top speed and punched Jackson in the gut.

Jackson doubled over. “I’d love to puke all over you, you little shit.” He took a swing at Billy but missed him.

“You’d have to catch me first, and you don’t look too swift today, Mr. Traynor.” Billy swaggered over to the jukebox, pressed a button and ‘I Love This Bar’ came blaring into the garage.

Jackson sauntered over to take a closer look with his mouth hanging open. “Where did this come from?”

“From the jukebox factory in the sky, you stupid fuck,” said Billy with a smirk.

Jackson punched him hard in the abs and Billy never flinched. “Annie, did you buy this?” “It’s your wedding present,” I said with a grin.

He walked over and gave me a bear hug. “You always surprise me. I love you, girl. I have something for you too.” He pulled a little velvet box out of his jeans and handed it to me.

I fiddled with the silver paper and the ribbon and finally got the box open. “This is gorgeous, sugar. Will you put it on my finger?” Jackson slipped the ring on my finger as the tears welled up in my eyes. The center diamond was surrounded by rubies, my birthstone.

“I love you, Annie,” he said as he kissed me.

“I love you too, Annie.” A gravelly morning voice said from the kitchen door. “I’d love you more if you made another pot of coffee.” Rusty was alive and talking. He was standing in the doorway in just his jeans, his mop of auburn hair hanging down in his eyes. He was so ripped. Biceps bulging and covered in tats. His hands shook as he tried to light up a butt.

“A little shaky this morning, big guy?” I tickled him.

“Fuck, Portia, those free drinks can kill you.” He ambled over towards the jukebox.

“I’m making breakfast. You guys come and get it in ten minutes.”

Jackson picked up a broom and started cleaning up after the Harley guys. The garage was neater than the house.

“Ten minutes,” said Billy with a nod.

After breakfast, I did a quick clean up, then turned my attention to what the boys were wearing. I told Jackson to get dressed in Billy’s room and give me some space. When I came out of my long bubble bath, I checked the Beretta, cranked a Parabellum into the chamber and flicked the safety on. I couldn’t wear my shoulder holster with my skimpy, snug dress and grabbing it out of my purse if Stan showed up would be slow, but better than not having it at all.

I wondered to myself where the County jail was in proximity to the wedding chapel. I tried to focus on the wedding and not speculate on what might never happen. I was making myself crazy with what-ifs.

By two p.m. I was ready, dressed in the pale pink strapless dress with the little jacket. My hair wasn’t too unruly, and my makeup concealed the scar on my face almost entirely. I made my entrance into the living room where the boys were sitting looking fantastic in their black leather outfits.

“Wow, baby. You look amazing,” said Jackson.

Billy sat with his mouth open and didn’t speak.

“Jesus, Portia. I didn’t know you could look any better than you always do,” said Rusty.

“Thanks, guys. Are we ready to do this?”

“Let’s do it,” hollered Jackson. He took my hand and walked me out to the Hummer. The boys had detailed it the day before and it smelled clean and fresh with a hint of oranges. Billy drove with Rusty riding shotgun and Jackson and I sat in the back. The happy couple.

“Do you know where you’re going, Billy?” asked Jackson.

“The GPS lady will tell me. She likes me,” said Billy with a chuckle.

“That’s because she don’t know you,” said Rusty, lowering his window to smoke.

At ten to three, we pulled into the chapel parking lot.

So far so good.

The boys had a final smoke as we walked from the parking lot to the entrance. Billy carried his guitar case.

“Why’d you bring your guitar?” Jackson asked.

“I’m singing at your wedding, you dumb ass.”

As we rounded the corner of the chapel and stepped onto the sidewalk, my worst nightmare sprang to life. The letters spelling out ‘Clarke County Jail’ seemed to jump out at me from the sign on the front of the building down the street. My knees went weak and my breakfast returned halfway up my throat.

“You okay, baby?” Jackson asked. “You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” I said, “maybe a little nervous. Let’s go inside.” I squeezed his hand as we walked through the door of the chapel. The venue was billed as a chapel, but the interior was cavernous. An old warehouse converted into a money-maker. Inside the whole atmosphere was oh-so-Vegas. The owner greeted us at the entrance and ushered us into the pink Cadillac. Plenty of room to drive inside the building along a street right out of a movie set. The driver pulled up in front of a make-believe church while the baritone voice of Elvis serenaded us from well-placed speakers.

“I love this place,” said Billy.  His eyes sparkled as he took his guitar out of the case. I smiled seeing the mesmerized look on his face. He loved the hype. Billy was a performer.

Before the wedding could begin we had to fill out the required paperwork. “Do you have rings?” The minister asked.

“I have them,” I said, fishing the little boxes out of my purse quickly so Jackson wouldn’t see the Beretta.

“Who’s giving the bride away?”

“I am,” said Rusty, slipping his arm of steel around my waist.

“Okay, folks, I think we’re ready,” said the minister clad in his white Elvis costume. The hair and the sideburns were his own. He gave us a huge Vegas grin.

The ceremony was simple and short. Bare minimum. Jackson and I repeated the vows and exchanged matching wedding bands. He kissed me as tears of happiness rolled down my face. We were married.

Billy sat on a stool that had been placed in the center of the small round stage in the corner of the room. Behind him, sequined curtains shimmered and above his blond curly head, hundreds of tiny white fairy lights twinkled. He smiled at me and sang a beautiful ballad he had written for the occasion. I had never heard him sing and had no idea of the magnitude of his talent. He was amazing. His voice was rough and gravelly and had a heartbreaking quality to it. My eyes were brimming with tears when he finished.

I hugged him as he stepped down from the stage. “That was unbelievable, honey. Thank you. I loved it.”

Jackson’s face showed surprise as he shook Billy’s hand. “Good job, man.”

The staff photographer took a plethora of pictures and asked us to choose which poses we wanted.  “We’ll take them all,” I said, giving him our new address.

The minister wished us well in our new life together and then formally announced us. “I wish to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson Traynor.

Jackson beamed. I smiled. Billy looked like he might throw up and Rusty laughed.

As the four of us exited through the front door of the chapel onto the sidewalk, the afternoon sun in the west blinded me for a moment. I shaded my eyes with my hand as I looked down the block and saw three police cruisers parked in front of the jail. Multiple officers were taking a prisoner out of the back seat of one of the cars. My heart pounded and I my mouth went dry. I tugged on Jackson to get him around the corner of the building towards the Hummer.

“One minute, baby.” He had spotted the cruisers and was intent on watching. “I think that’s Stan they’re taking into the building.” He put on his shades. “May he rot in jail.”

Billy and Rusty stood by Jackson’s side at the corner of the chapel, shading their eyes from the sun and squinting to get a better look at the proceedings down the street.

“Let’s go,” I said, wanting to get Jackson far away from his father. As I grabbed his hand to get him moving, the sound of a shot made me turn my head. The guard on Stan’s right fell to the pavement and in a blur, I saw Stan pull the gun from the holster of the officer on his left. In a split second, he shot the guard with his own gun and was off and running in our direction. He was running with a limp, bent slightly forward and holding the gun in his cuffed hands.

Why were his hands cuffed in front of him? Why wasn’t he shackled?

I opened my purse, trying to catch a breath and sort my gun out from make-up and other useless items. My fingers grasped the butt and I flicked the safety off.

“Jackson,” I screamed, “get in the Hummer. Billy, are you ready?”

“Ready.” Billy was quicker than me and he had his gun at eye level and was drawing a bead on Stan as he dodged between cars and zigzagged across the busy street. I fired once as he rolled in front of a car onto the sidewalk on our side of the street. Jackson stood frozen in time.

“Rusty, get Jackson to the truck,” I yelled and gave Jackson a push in Rusty’s direction.

“I’m not leaving you, Annie. Not this time.”

Pedestrians screamed and ran for cover as they realized a prisoner had escaped and shots were being fired.

Stan’s limping increased in severity as he ran up the street towards us. The closer he came, the more his wounded leg dragged. An army of law enforcement was gaining on him and closing the gap. Stan turned and fired three wild shots into the band of officers chasing him. Wolinski grabbed his gut and fell to the sidewalk writhing and rolling. Where was his vest? Two officers stopped to help Wolinski and the other four kept coming. Billy got another round off, but with so many cops behind Stan, he couldn’t get a clear shot.

“Rusty, make him go,” I shouted.

Rusty grabbed Jackson by the arm and tried to drag him in the direction of the Hummer, but Jackson was bigger and stronger than Rusty, and he shook him off.

Jackson pushed Rusty away with color rising in his neck. “Get your hands off me. I’m staying with Annie,” he hollered.

As Stan came closer, I jumped in front of Jackson and drew a bead on his father. My breathing was ragged and my hands shook as I aimed. Stan raised his gun to fire at me and I was sure I had him. My shot was lined up and my finger was squeezing the trigger as Jackson pushed me to the ground and my 9mm ricocheted off a dumpster in the parking lot. Stan’s shot that was meant for me hit his son in the throat and Jackson landed with a thud in the dirt beside me. Most of Jackson’s weight was on my right arm. I hoisted the Beretta with my left hand and fired a kill shot at Stan’s head. He hit the sidewalk with a thud right at Billy’s feet.

Blood gushed from Jackson’s throat as I tore my jacket off and pressed it over the wound. “Help him,” I screamed, “somebody help him.” I knew the boys would be getting help for their leader as fast as they could, but could anyone get Jackson to the hospital in time? Sirens wailed in the distance and I hoped for a miracle.

I cradled my husband in my arms and rocked him as I sobbed. “I love you, Jackson. I’ll love you forever.  My tears spilled down making a patch of his worn black leather jacket look shiny and new.

The boys hovered around me as I sat on the ground with my husband, protecting me from the prying eyes of onlookers and media hounds. When the paramedics arrived, I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t give him up. We’d only been married for ten minutes. An officer pried my Beretta out of my hand and bagged it for evidence. The medical examiner knelt down beside Jackson and asked me to give him room. I didn’t want to leave him. If I let the medical examiner have him that would mean my Jackson was dead.

I sat on the ground in the parking lot and thought of the day George had died, and how Jackson had taken care of me ever since. Blackness rolled in and filled my head. I welcomed it.

CHAPTER FIFTY

WHEN I WOKE screaming in my darkened bedroom, the events of my wedding day tumbled through my head like the trailer for a horror movie. Realization of the truth brought me to the brink of insanity. Jackson was gone.

Billy grabbed my convulsing body, held me close to his own and tried to calm me. He stroked my hair as I shivered and wailed like a wounded animal.

I stumbled off the bed, made my way to the bathroom and vomited. The cold tile floor soothed my quivering body as I lay there hoping for an immediate divine response to my request for termination.

Hours later, disappointed that my heart still beat rhythmically inside my chest, I stood up and stripped off my dress. Reeking of death, the silk had stiffened under the layer of Jackson’s encrusted blood. I rolled it into a ball for the garbage, added my underwear to the pile and stepped into the shower. Hot water ran over my skin for what felt like an eternity and gave me no relief. I dried myself, wrapped up in a clean towel and went to find some clothes.

Billy waited on the side of the bed. “I was worried about you, Portia,” he said. “You were in there for a long time.”

“I was sick,” I mumbled.

“I heard you. Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing,” I whispered.

“I’ll go take a shower,” he said.

“Thanks, honey,” I said, as he left the room.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and braved my way into the kitchen. Rusty sat perched on a stool at the counter. He turned, held his arms out for me and pulled me close. I sobbed until his shirt was soaked with my tears.

“I made coffee,” he said when I released him. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Today, strong is what we need.”

“I’ll get you a cup.”

Nobody was in the mood for conversation. What was there to say? I slumped on a stool, leaned my elbows on the counter and managed a smile as Rusty set the cream in front of me.

Billy emerged from his shower looking clean and damp. He said nothing as he took the stool next to me.

“Rusty made coffee,” I mumbled.

“Thanks, bro,” said Billy, “I hope it’s strong.”

Rusty set our mugs on the counter. I added cream and passed it to Billy.

“Anybody need sugar?” asked Rusty without thinking.

I laid my head on the counter and sobbed.

When I forced myself out of the crying jag I found the boys on the patio smoking. I took a deep breath, picked up my mug and joined them. Angel ran over to greet me with her red ball in her mouth. I patted her head and ruffled up the fur around her neck. Rusty and Billy didn’t know what to say to offer me comfort. I was content with silence.

Rusty butted out his smoke and stood up. “I’m going to make breakfast,” he mumbled, walking through the patio door.

Billy patted his knee and pulled me close to him while I cried. A few minutes later, Rusty hollered that breakfast was ready, and Billy and I went inside. Rusty had fried up a pan of eggs and bacon and produced a tower of toast.

“Smells good,” I said. I wasn’t hungry. “I’ll have more coffee.”

“I made a fresh pot,” Rusty said. “I don’t think it’s as strong as the batch this morning.”

You’re fuckin amazing, man,” said Billy. “You can paint and cook.”

“You can sing, Billy and that takes talent,” Rusty said with a sad sigh. “Never heard you sing before.  You’re damn good. You know that, right?”

Billy smiled and I patted his hand. He helped himself to another piece of toast. The doorbell rang. I looked at Billy and he shook his head. “No fuckin cops today,” he said as he strode to the front of the house.

“I’m Special Agent Gloria Conner,” I heard her say. “Could I speak with Mrs. Traynor?”

Before Billy responded, I made my way to the door. “Agent Conner. Something you need?” The ice in my tone cut the air.

“I stopped by to offer my condolences, and to see if you had made any arrangements.” “No, I haven’t given it much thought.”

“I can offer a couple of recommendations if you’re interested.”

“Thank you, yes.”

Agent Connor wrote the names and numbers down of two funeral homes in the area and handed me the paper. “My partner is in ICU,” she said. “I’ll have to get further statements from all of you, but I can put that off until tomorrow.”

Wolinski has no right to live.

“Mr. Coulter is leaving. What time is your flight tonight, Rusty?”

“I think it’s at six,” he said, checking his watch.

“Could you take his statement now?” I asked.

She nodded. Rusty poured us fresh coffee and we took our mugs outside while he had his interview with Connor.

Billy lit up a smoke and sat silently. I tried to focus on the names on the paper. “I guess I should call one of these numbers.”

“I’ll call and get an appointment for tomorrow,” Billy said, taking the paper from my hand. “What do you want for Jackson?”

“I’m going to have him cremated. Next week, you and I will ride to the Grand Canyon with his ashes.” Tears streamed down my face.

Billy nodded, his eyes brimming as he went inside.

Rusty joined me on the patio after Agent Conner left. “I really don’t want to go back to Toronto and leave you like this, Portia.”

“I have Billy. He’ll help me through the worst parts. He can be silly, but he can also be sweet and supportive.”

Rusty nodded. “In the club, he’s all business. He never dicked around when the boss gave him an order.”

“He and Jackson were so close, he’s taking this hard.”

“I’ve got to face the club, tell them the news and take the boys in hand. It won’t be easy. They were used to Jackson and he was a tough, strong leader.”

Billy came back outside. “Eleven tomorrow at this address.” He pointed to the one he had circled.

I nodded. “I think I’ll lie down for a while.”

The new duvet on our bed was splotched with crimson where I had rolled in my sleep. I ripped it off and threw it in a pile on the floor. Billy came in quietly a few minutes later and covered me with a blanket.

Sleep came in waves with me jolting myself awake remembering Jackson was gone. After a couple of hours of this, I gave up, washed my face and went into the kitchen. “I’m having a beer. Anybody else?”

Rusty called from the garage, “We’re ahead of you, Portia.”

I went out to the garage, sat on my bike and watched the guys tinkering around. They fiddled with the bikes, and the trailer, and then the jukebox. “You know what else we need out here, Billy?”

“What?”

“A beer fridge.”

Billy nodded but he didn’t comment.

At four o’clock we drove Rusty to the airport and walked him to the check-in. “Thanks for coming, Rusty. I’ll be in touch,” I gave him a big hug.

“You guys need anything, call me and I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Thanks,” Billy said.

Rusty went through the gate. Billy took my hand and we walked back to the truck like a pair of zombies.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

WHEN I WOKE, I was lying on Jackson’s side of our bed covered by a blanket. Billy was sleeping in a chair beside the bed. I pressed my face into Jackson’s pillow and breathed him in. The anguish was suffocating. My brain was filled with a cold numbness and I wondered how I would live through the day.

“You’re awake,” Billy mumbled.

I tried to sit up. Was I awake? Or was this one long nightmare that I’d never wake up from?

After my shower, I dressed in plain black pants and a pale green blousy top. My eyes were circled in red from crying and I didn’t bother to disguise the signs of my anguish. Funeral directors must face that look every day of the week. Sadness and despair are their bread and butter.

Billy stood staring at the coffee maker when I entered the kitchen, the tin of coffee on the counter and the brown scoop in his hand. “How many scoops do you put in this fucker?”

“Four,” I said, pulling two mugs down from the cupboard. “Then fill the water up to the line in the pot, pour the water in the back, close the lid and press go.”

He pushed the button on the machine and heaved a huge sigh. “I’m a chef now. Do you want me to make you some toast?”

The lump in my throat tightened and I swallowed. “Sure. Toast would be good. I like raspberry jam on it.”

“Coming up,” he popped bread into the toaster peering down into the slots like he’d never done it before.

“Are you coming with me to the funeral home?”

Billy nodded. “I am. You might need me.”

“Of course, I need you. You’re all I have left in the world.” My eyes welled up.

He sprinted around the counter and held me while I wiped the tears away. “Don’t you have any family at all?”

I shook my head. “I never knew my mother. I have her old high school yearbook and that’s the only picture I have of her. She got pregnant in her graduating year and gave me up. I always imagined how my life would have been if she had raised me. I grew up in foster care.”

“I never knew that,” he said as he stepped back and handed me a tissue.

I felt another meltdown coming on. I was missing Jackson so badly. I stepped over to the counter and focused more than I needed to on filling my mug.

Billy followed on my heels. “Well looks like we only have each other.”

I looked at his sad smile over the rim of my mug and blinked back the next round of tears. “How long will the club leave you here with me?”

“I’m not sure. Rusty checks in with me every day, but hasn’t mentioned me coming back to Toronto yet.” He set his mug back on the counter. “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ve got enough ahead of us to deal with today.”

THE FUNERAL HOME was a blur of consolatory words and men in muted shades of gray. Somehow, I had managed to nod when asked questions and signed the necessary papers. No service. Jackson’s cremation would be held on Wednesday and I could attend the cremation or not, depending on how I felt.

Two hours later, Billy parked the Hummer in the garage. He opened the back door for me and held out his hand. “You look pale, Portia

When I stepped out of the truck, my legs wouldn’t hold me. Billy scooped me up and carried me through the kitchen door, placing me gently on the leather sofa. “Stay there. I’m getting us a beer.”

Angel bounded over and licked my face. “Hey, girl, do you want to go out?” I ruffed up her fur and tried to stand. I was wobbly.

“I’ve got the dog. You relax.”

Billy let Angel out and returned to sit beside me. He uncapped one for himself, chugged it and opened another. “That was the first fuckin time I’ve been in one of those funeral things.” He blew out a big breath.

I held his hand and leaned on his shoulder. “You were great, honey,” I whispered.

My cell rang in my purse and I jumped and I fished it out. The screen read LVPD.

“Mrs. Traynor?  Officer Rodriguez here, we’d like to come over sometime this afternoon and get your statements.”

I sighed, wishing the whole world would go away. “Three o’clock okay?”

“See you at three.”

“Cops make me fuckin’ sweat,” said Billy.

“They’re doing their job,” I mumbled.

Billy finished his second beer. “I’m starving,” he said. “Would you show me how to grill us a couple of burgers?”

Would I ever be hungry again?  I doubted it.

“Sure.” We took all the fixings outside, and I showed him how to start the barbecue, gave him a quick lesson on cooking burgers and turned him loose. “I’ll get the buns.”

In the kitchen, I poured a fresh beer into my glass and took a couple of deep breaths.

What was I doing? Oh, yeah, buns.

I knew from dealing with George’s death that over the next few weeks I’d have to keep myself extremely busy or I’d go insane. How could I live without Jackson? He was my life after George died and I had depended on him for everything.

After lunch was cleaned up, I lay on the sofa watching Criminal Minds while Billy played poker online on the iPad. At three o’clock the cops rang the doorbell and our day went from bad to worse. Billy and I gave our statements, but what was the point? It didn’t have to happen. If Wolinski had listened to me, Jackson would still be alive. I told him he’d lose Stan if he didn’t take things more seriously and he laughed at me. He fuckin’ laughed on the phone.

I hope the bastard dies. A life for a life.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

I WOKE WITH a start the next morning, a gentle hand squeezing my shoulder. Since Jackson’s death, I’d been edgy.

Billy gave me a sad smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s getting late. Do you want to go to the cremation?”

I tightened my fingers into Jackson’s pillow and pulled the fabric closer to my face. God, please let me die today. Let today be the day. I can’t live without Jackson.

“I can’t. I’ll call and find out when the ashes will be ready.”

“I’ll do that,” he said. “Go back to sleep.” He stroked my hair the way Jackson used to.

I dozed off for a while and when I woke he was propped up on the bed beside me humming to himself and writing in his little red notebook.

“Are you writing a new song?” I asked as I sat on the side of the bed.

He nodded. “Just getting the words down before I forget.”

Not wanting to disturb him, I dragged my useless body out to the kitchen and pressed the button on the coffee maker. I was headed for the shower when the doorbell rang. I turned towards the door, but Billy passed me on the run and got there first.

He frowned as he closed the door, holding a brown envelope. At first, he looked like he wasn’t going to tell me who was at the door, but then he cursed and walked past me. “Wedding pictures. I’ll put them in my room for now. We can’t look at them today.”

“Never. That’s when I’ll look at them.”

After my shower, I dressed in my leathers with a black tank underneath. All I could think of was Jackson being cremated. Jackson, my big, loving protector who had been so alive just a few days ago. Jackson, my husband who never even made it home from our wedding.

I tied a red bandana around my head, poured myself a black coffee and sat at the counter.

A while later, Billy ambled down the hall in a pair of faded jeans with his hair hanging wet from the shower and raised a brow. “Hey, you look like you’re ready to ride.”

“I can’t sit around the house crying all day. I’ll go crazy. I have to get out. A ride through the canyon seems like a better way to pay tribute to Jackson than crying on his pillow. He loved the canyon. Maybe we’ll tour all of Nevada if we feel like it—are you in?”

“Hell, yeah.” Nothin clears the shit outa your head like hitting the road. His turquoise eyes reflected sadness as he turned on his heel. “I better get dressed before you leave without me.”

Billy dressed in his leathers and started the bikes while I finished my second coffee and brought Angel in from the yard. The early November temperature hovered in the low seventies and the glowing desert sun over Vegas was high in the sky. We rode like the wind through the canyon. There was no traffic, the highway deserted except for the odd snake trying to cross. It felt good to be out on the bikes. Jackson would have approved.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

THE NEXT MORNING, Billy and I were sitting at the breakfast bar eating the eggs and toast he had made, when my phone rang.

“Mrs. Traynor, this is Dan Webster at the funeral home. Mr. Traynor’s ashes are ready to be picked up.”

My stomach churned. “Thank you, I’ll be there sometime today.”

Billy glanced up from his coffee and frowned.

“The ashes are ready to be picked up.” I ran to the bathroom and hurled my breakfast.

When my stomach stopped twisting, I grabbed a damp facecloth, wiped my face and staggered into the bedroom. I was still lying on the bed sobbing when Billy came in and sat on the side of the bed.

He stroked my hair. “I’ll go, Portia. You stay here. I can handle it.”

I nodded. “You’ll need money. Grab the checkbook for my US account out of my purse and I’ll sign one. You can fill it in when you get there.”

“How much is it supposed to be?”

“Good question. I was dumb not to ask Mr. Webster.”

“You weren’t dumb, you were upset,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Angel and I walked Billy out to the garage and watched him take off in the Hummer. While he was gone, I started planning the trip to the Grand Canyon. I retrieved some of the brochures that Jackson and I had picked up when we stopped there on our way to Vegas. God, how had things gone so wrong, so fast?

The second hotel I called had a vacancy for the following night and they allowed pets for an extra charge. I booked it. Trying to think of the perfect place to scatter Jackson’s ashes brought on another round of tears. Thankful I had the house to myself for a while, I sank to the floor and wailed.

Billy returned from Webster and Webster a short time later, bearing bags of junk food as well as a sleek, black urn. “I picked up some lunch, Portia.”

I stepped closer to help unpack the bags and forced a smile. “I started planning our trip to the Grand Canyon. I booked us into a hotel at the south rim for tomorrow night.

“Will we take the bikes?”

I shook my head. “I wanted to, but we couldn’t unless we did the whole trip in one day. We have to take Angel and sleep over, there’s no other choice.”

“I’m down with that. I’m pumped to see the Canyon. Jackson talked about that mother all the fuckin time.”

“He did. That’s why we have to do this for him.” My eyes welled up and Billy held me in his arms.

“This is going to be a hard couple of days for both of us, Portia.”

I nodded and looked up into Billy’s sad eyes. “For both of us. But it’s what we need to do. It’s what Jackson always wanted.” I stepped back and continued to sort out the groceries. “Should we take the Hummer or the Ram?”

Billy shrugged. “They’re both fuckers on fuel. There’s more luggage space in the Hummer and Angel likes the Hummer better. She always runs to it first when we go into the garage.”

“Angel picks the vehicle?” I raised my eyebrows at Billy.

“Pretty much.” He nodded.

We packed our stuff and planned to leave at seven in the morning. After supper, Billy Googled everything about the Canyon on the iPad, and he prattled on non-stop. “There’s a shit load of stuff to see there,” he said. “Do you want to keep it simple or do it up?”

I swallowed, remembering how pumped Jackson was about taking this trip. “We do it all…everything Jackson would have liked, we do.”

“He’d want to see those fuckin’ bears.”

“What bears?”

“The ones at the bear ranch.” Billy’s eyes sparkled like blue topaz when he was excited.

“I want to go back to Grand Canyon Harley. They had a lot of good stuff there, and the boys were so nice helping Jackson with the trailer.”

“Cool. I want to go there too.”

With all the groceries put away and our lunch on our plates, I slumped into my chair at the table and stared at the black urn. “I wish he was coming on the trip…and not like this.”

Billy picked up his guitar from the corner and started singing an Elvis song that was one of my favorites, ‘One Night with You.’ He sang the entire song to me and it brought tears to my eyes. When he sang, I could feel him right in my heart. “You’re so good, Billy. We should get you a demo record when you have enough songs. I’ll sponsor you.”

“Would you do that?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It might cost a lot and then maybe no record company wants me or my songs, and it's all money down the drain.”

“I want you to try.” I picked up Jackson’s urn and headed for the bedroom. “Get some sleep. We have to get up at six.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

SIX A.M. CAME too soon for my liking. I’d been up all night thinking about Jackson and how this was the farthest thing from the trip we’d planned together. Sleepily, I sat on the side of the bed working up enough energy to take a shower. Can I pull myself out of this pit?

Billy knocked, then strutted through the door all dressed, with a coffee in his hand for me.

I blinked, trying to wake up. “Holy hell, what got into you this morning?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It will be good for us to have some time away from here. The house is full of sadness—I can feel it.”

“You heard from Rusty?” I asked, not willing to dwell on another helping of sadness first thing in the morning. “What kind of trauma is the club going through?”

Billy’s face changed dramatically and I caught my breath. “What is it?”

“The club wants to have a ride for Jackson and they want some of the ashes.”

What was I thinking? Of course, they do. Why didn’t Rusty call me?

I looked at the urn sitting on the bedside table and swallowed. “Put some into a container for the club before we go. Do it while I’m in the bathroom, okay?”

Billy nodded.

After my shower, I packed my toiletries bag, sprayed on Light Blue and threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. I grabbed my duffel bag and headed to the kitchen. Angel sat like a statue on her blanket with her leash on. “You look ready, girl,” I kissed her head and she wagged her butt.

Billy had travel mugs of coffee sitting on the kitchen counter beside fried egg sandwiches wrapped in foil. I knew they were fried egg because he couldn’t make anything else. There was no sign of Jackson’s urn or the ashes Billy had removed.

I grabbed Angel’s leash and my purse, while Billy picked up the bags. We locked up the house and we were off. He had already loaded Angel’s food, extra water, and the ashes. The GPS lady started talking as soon as we backed out the driveway.

“Is she going to talk to you the whole way?”

“She likes me.”

“She has good taste.” What I would have done without Billy, I couldn’t imagine.

“Can you unwrap my sandwich? I’m starving.”

“You say those two words more than any other.”

“What words?” he asked.

“I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he said laughing. “I should have made more sandwiches.”

I laughed out loud. That was one thing Billy was good at, making me laugh. Lightening the mood. I shoved in a Springsteen CD and cranked it up.

“You a Springsteen fan?”

“Die hard,” I said. “Can you sing any of his songs? He’s one of the best songwriters around, in my opinion.”

“I know a couple of his songs.”

The GPS babe came on and told Billy to head south down highway ninety-three.

“Your girlfriend is talking to you.” I poked him in the ribs.

“I hear you, girlfriend, and I’m turning south,” he said with a grin.

We were too early for the visitor’s center when we reached Hoover Dam.

“Let’s take the tour on the way back,” I said, “I haven’t seen it either. When Jackson and I were here on the way to Vegas, it was after six and it was closed.”

“Roger that,” Billy said.

For the next hour and a half, we drove through the eastern end of the Mojave where the vegetation was sparse. As the day wore on the November sun worked its way higher into the sky and heated up the pavement. We stopped in Kingman for more breakfast for Billy and a break for Angel. Billy gassed up the Hummer and bought cold Cokes and several bottles of water.

Two hours later we arrived in Williams, Arizona, listening to Billy’s girlfriend guiding him north on highway sixty-four.

“We should get some lunch here and gas up again. There’s not much available on the road up to the Canyon until you’re almost there,” I said.

We grabbed a burger and a drink from a roadside diner and walked Angel when we finished eating. I lay my head back and closed my eyes as Billy drove.

“Shitwads,” he hollered. “There it is, Bearizona,” He veered off the road.

“What will we do with Angel?” I asked.

“We can all stay in the truck and drive through. She might bark, but she’ll love it.”

We paid our money at the gate and began our journey through pretend bear country. Billy was pumped. He grew up in a broken home like Jackson, and neither one of them had ever done the vacation things that average families do together. Jackson would have gotten a real kick out of Billy’s excitement. “There’s one over there.” He pointed to a bear under a tree. “See him?”

Angel barked through the whole tour, seeing huge shaggy bison and lumbering bears at every turn of her head. Between Angel barking and Billy yelling out the window at the bears, I definitely needed Advil. The circuit of the park took about an hour and the path brought us back to the highway. Billy steered the Hummer through the exit gate.

“Fuck, that was the best ever.”

“The best.” I swallowed two Advil with a gulp of water.

AN HOUR LATER we found our hotel and checked in with the dog. Our room at the Grand was simple enough—gold and rust décor with two Queen sized beds and comfy chairs. Billy unloaded the Hummer and brought our gear up to the room. Angel lay down on her blanket with a grunt and plopped her large head between her front paws.

“Long trip, girl?” Billy asked her. He filled up her bowls and set them in the bathroom.

I flopped down on one of the beds and blew out a big breath. Billy lay down beside me on his stomach and looked up into my face with those sparkling aqua eyes. “What’s the plan?”

“I haven’t come up with one yet,” I said. “We should have grabbed a handful of brochures in the lobby. That might have triggered something.”

“I’ll go get some,” he said.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll go with you. I need a beer.” I went to the bathroom to survey the damage. “Holy hell,” I hollered, “I look like shit.”

“Impossible.” Billy was leaning on the doorframe watching me and scowling, “You could never look bad. Even when you do look like shit, you’re beautiful.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

Downstairs, we scooped handfuls of brochures out of the rack in the lobby and took them into the bar. We spread them out on the table and ordered beer from the cowboy bartender.

“I like it here,” said Billy. “I’ve never stayed in a hotel before.”

Billy has never been anywhere or done anything.

“This place is done up like an old lodge. It’s rustic.”

“Fuck, yeah, rustic.” He gawked around and stared at the huge timbers overhead.

I grinned. He was such a goof, but a lovable one. The cowboy brought the beer and Billy chatted him up. He could talk to anybody and everybody liked him.

“What about this one?” I asked taking a big swig of my beer. “Bright Angel Trail goes down to the Colorado River. Says it’s a tough hike, but we’re tough.”

Billy read the description of the hike. “It’s a long way down. It will take a few hours, but yeah, I think we can do it.”

“I’m going to the desk to extend our reservation. We’ll need most of tomorrow to do the hike—down and then back to the top. We won’t feel like driving home when we finish.” When I came back to our table, Billy had ordered more beer. “We’re good until Monday morning,” I said. “After this round, we need to find an outfitter and buy backpacks, and stuff.”

Billy nodded as he looked through the pile of attractions. “I want to try white water rafting,” he said. “Looks like fun.”

“Next time Rusty comes to Vegas, we’ll drive down and try it,” I said, dreading the thought of falling in that wild water and drowning. I had never learned to swim.

“Hell, yeah. He would love it. He’s like, you know… one of those daredevils. He does skydiving and extreme sports.

“He does?” I didn’t know much about George’s boys outside of the club. “Let’s go visit some of the shops in the Village, pick up what we need, then come back here for a late dinner and an early night.”

After a quick shower, I threw on fresh clothes and was ready to shop. Billy was sprawled bare-chested on his bed sleeping like the dead. He’d been burning the candle at both ends since Jackson’s death. He worked hard at taking care of me, but I knew how much he missed Jackson himself. Taking pity on him, I clipped Angel’s collar onto her leash and tip-toed out of the room.

Down in the village, I bought backpacks for Billy and me, large water bottles, power bars and assorted snacks for the trail. I left the gear in the Hummer, walked the dog and returned to the room.

Billy was propped up on the bed watching a lumberjack challenge. Big guys in plaid shirts were throwing axes at targets. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, Portia. I feel dumb.”

I sat on the bed beside him. “Don’t be sorry. You were tired and you needed to sleep. I still love you.” I kissed him on the cheek and rumpled his hair.

“You love me? You never said that before.”

“Of course, I love you. Who in their right mind wouldn’t?” I smiled at him. “You’re exhausted. That was a long drive, and the bears and all. A thought just popped into my head. Why don’t we order dinner from room service and just bum around in our room?”

“Can you do that? They bring the shit up to your room?”

“Let’s hope it isn’t shit, but yes they do. There should be a room service menu around here someplace.” I rifled through the pile of hotel literature on the corner table and came up with the menu. “What do you feel like eating, sweet boy? What strikes your fancy?”

“Whatever you want, Portia. I’m good with whatever.”

“Okay, here goes.” I picked up the phone and pressed the button.

“Room four-ten. Half a dozen Coors Light, two orders of prime rib, medium rare with baked potatoes and sides of fried onions. Two Caesar salads and two pieces of lemon pie. A large carafe of coffee and lots of cream. Yep. That’s it.”

Billy stared across the room at me. “That sounded like a lot of food.”

“You’re a big eater,” I said. “And you need your energy for tomorrow.”

Half an hour later, room service wheeled a cart into our room. I tipped the waiter, uncapped a couple of the beers and toasted Billy. “To your first room service order.”

“I feel like a fuckin’ king or something.”

The prime rib was tender and the beer was cold. I was too full for my pie, so Billy helped me out and ate both pieces. He poured himself a coffee and slumped in the overstuffed chair by the window.

“Am I ever full,” he said. “That was so fuckin good, I can’t believe it.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

AT FIVE-THIRTY THE phone rang beside my head and I started, fumbled for the receiver and acknowledged the wake-up call. In the darkness, I listened for Billy’s breathing in the other bed and then heard the shower running.

With breakfast ordered, I dressed and took Angel outside for a walk. When we returned, the room service waiter was pushing the cart towards our room.

“Good timing.” I opened the door for him and offered him five bucks. Billy was out of the shower and smelled deliciously like apricots. “I ordered breakfast before I went out, thought it might speed things up.”

“Good call,” he said, pouring the coffee into the cups. He lifted one of the silver lids to see what I had ordered. “I’m starving.”

After breakfast, we checked our supplies against our list, fixed Angel up to leave her for a few hours, and went down to the Hummer. I filled the backpacks with water, snacks, jackets, hats and gloves and I put Jackson’s ashes in my pack. I hoped I hadn’t forgotten anything. The brochure said it was a tough hike and not for the inexperienced. Billy had been a runner before Stan shot out his leg, and I was in pretty good shape, but we were not experienced hikers.

We parked in the designated area, donned our packs and followed the young people in front of us. It wasn’t a tour, per se, just a trail, and everyone could hike at their own speed. Billy hadn’t seen the canyon. When we stepped through the trees and stood on the rim, he caught his first glimpse of the cavernous expanse of rock bathed in the pale light of the rising sun. I thought he was going to lose it.

“I had no fuckin’ idea,” he said reverently, turning his head to take it all in. “Did you bring a camera, Portia?”

“I did.” There were different points on the trail where we stopped, rested and took pictures on our descent. The brochure said it was over four thousand feet down to the river below. The trail was narrow in spots and treacherous in others. It was rough going. Billy helped me through the tough parts. He only smoked at one of our rest stops.

“Smoking and hiking don’t mix,” he said. “You need extra wind for this shit.”

“So true.” I smiled at him. His Cardinal ball cap over his curls, and his shades on, he was adorable. Several hours later we reached the river at the bottom of the canyon. From the top, it had looked like a sliver of blue satin ribbon curling through the rock formations. Now that we were at eye level, the Colorado thundered past us, showering us with spray and flaunting its’ power. Billy stood and stared in awe.

We walked down the river to a quiet pool and I felt a sense of calm come over me under the trees. Jackson would have loved it here. The remote beauty. The power of the river. The cool breeze after such a hot climb. Perfection. “This is the spot,” I whispered. “It’s time.”

Billy nodded.

I took the ashes out of my pack and opened the container. I sprinkled the first half and Billy sprinkled the rest. We sat on the grass, held hands and sobbed. I wiped my eyes and took pictures of the spot we had chosen for Jackson’s last resting place, and pictures of Billy sitting on the grass. He was devastated by the loss of his best friend and was overcome by emotion. We sat silently together until we were ready to start the climb.

Emotionally drained of all our energy, the ascent was much more difficult than I had imagined. Billy and I had to rest many times to catch our breath before we reached the rim.

We were three-quarters of the way to the top when Billy sat down on a rock, his face screwed up in pain. “Give me a minute,” he said. “My leg. It’s hurting like hell.”

“What is it? Your bullet wound?”

He shook his head, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “Let me see.” I pushed his jeans to his knee and felt his calf. It wasn’t his bullet wound. “You’ve got a charley horse. We’ve got to get his cramp out. Can you stand?”

Billy supported himself on a rock and pressed down on the leg while I massaged it and tried to get the knot out of the muscle.

“How’s that? Any better?”

“It’s coming out now.” He walked around a little sucking in some deep breaths.

“Take it slow and easy. That spot will be sore and tender later today.”

“Thanks. That cheered me up.”

The sun had set over the west wall of the Canyon as we reached the Hummer. Billy reached into the small cooler we’d left in the back seat and pulled out two Cokes. Standing there on the rim, I took a gulp and sighed. “You’re right, Jackson, baby, it really is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. I hope you love it here, sugar.”

The short drive back to our hotel was spent in silence. Back in our room, Billy collapsed on his bed while I took Angel for a long walk before dinner.

When we got back, Billy was still lying on his back, his hands under the back of his head. “I can’t eat. I don’t think I can do dinner tonight, Portia,” Billy whispered. “I never had anybody close to me die before. I can’t handle it.”

“What about George? Weren’t you close to him?” Billy’s turquoise eyes flashed a deer in the headlights look. It was only for a second, but in that instant, I saw something there. Bordering on panic.

He shook his head. “Not close to me, like Jackson. We grew up together in the same neighborhood. He was older than me, but he always looked out for me, like a big brother. What am I going to do without him watching my back?”

I climbed on the bed and laid beside Billy. “I’ll watch your back, sweet boy. Jackson protected us both. He may be gone, but we can still do him proud.”

The guilt of not protecting Jackson from his father hung around my neck like an anvil, but for the first time in over a week I saw past my pain and anger and understood. With the warm Arizona breeze blowing in the window and the last light of day replaced by darkness, I finally got it.

Jackson’s love had broken the spell his father had held over him his whole life. He’d seen his father gunning for me and he hadn’t been that scared boy, beaten down by his abusive father. He’d stepped in front of that bullet and given his life to spare mine.

Like he would’ve done for Billy.

Like I would’ve done for him.

Love was like that. Family was like that.

Thank you for reading

I sincerely hope you enjoyed, Bad Beat, book one in the eleven book, Regulator series. If you’d like to read an excerpt from Panama Annie, the second book in this series, please continue to the next pages.

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PANAMA ANNIE

PROLOGUE

Saturday, June 30th.

GEORGE REWOUND THE tape and played it again in his mind. The past week at the cabin—fishing in the bass boat on the sun-drenched lake during the day and making love to Annie most of the night. He nodded, not to anyone in particular. Yep, the best week of his life. Nothing could compare to spending time with the one person in life who brought you happiness just by being.

Now it was Saturday. The day that followed Friday. The fastest week of his life. Ever since he struggled to roust himself out of bed, the bile had been ever-present in his throat. Sour and burning and making him want to puke thinking about what he had to do. No other last minute options presented themselves. The time had come and there was no other choice.

The territorial war with a rival bike club had accelerated over the past few months and had reached a point where violence was erupting all over the east end of the city. The Chrome Dogs were recruiting new members hand over fist, gaining in numbers and flexing their muscles in the Regulators’ territory. George retaliated by hitting a couple of the Dogs’ major players and pushing them a step back, but one step wasn’t nearly enough. Metro cops, and particularly the gang squad, were aware that things were heating up in certain areas of Scarborough and had increased their black and white patrols in an effort to prevent an all-out biker war. Strutting their stuff to show concerned citizens that they were indeed on the job. This was not the time for George to back away from his club and his commitment to his boys, but he was in love for the first time in his life and he had to make a hard choice.

His primary decision had been to feign retirement after his heart attack and run the club from Portia’s cabin, hidden away in the North Country. This plan would increase protection on Portia while it made the Regulators seem weaker than they were and cockiness on the part of The Dogs could be turned against them. At first, the plan appeared to be working well, with a few minor glitches until the dirty Dog leader voiced his intentions to hit Portia if George did not knuckle under to his demands for a bigger piece of the pie.

George put a directive in place to have his old lady shadowed and guarded when he wasn’t with her and this resulted in the death of one of his most trusted men. The Chrome Dogs had made a statement. They could get to Portia.

A final plan was formulated. One that was not popular with any of the Regulators. At church, all of the club members had voted against the idea. One hundred percent in the negative, but George prevailed. He would fake his death, and leave the country for parts unknown to anyone, removing Portia permanently from danger. Rusty would oversee the day to day club business with Billy and Donnie at his side, and the VP, Jackson would guard Portia while continuing to be the power and the driving force behind the Regulator machine.

A week prior, George had invited the three boys up to the cabin for a day of fishing in his new bass boat. When they arrived, after their three-hour ride, they found Portia humming and happily packing lunches and beer into coolers for them. George couldn’t bear to watch her.

The gunshot wound in his right leg was healing slowly, but he still needed a crutch to support his two hundred and sixty pounds. With Portia on his right and Rusty on his left, he was able to navigate down the steep path to the lake, and to the shiny red and white boat bobbing on the water at the end of the dilapidated dock.

The whole while Portia supported him and held his arm, he knew this would be the last time he ever touched her or saw her beautiful face. With his eyes focused on the pine needles and twigs at his feet, he sucked in a big breath and continued down the hill to the water. In his heart, he truly believed this plan was the only way to keep her from harm.

She waved to the four of them as the boat backed away from the dock. George watched her turn and disappear into the thicket of evergreens at the bottom of the pathway. That was his final visual memory of her. One that he kept in a private place in his heart.

THE LAST DAY of June was clear and warm with a slight breeze over the lake. The morning sun danced on the tiny ripples kissing the shoreline. Loons floated on the subtle movement of the water like painted decoys. A perfect day for fishing.

With three unhappy boys, Rusty, Billy, and Jackson arguing in the boat, George piloted the craft to the public landing area on the other side of the lake where Donnie was waiting in his pickup. The boys secured the boat to the dock and helped their wounded leader get safely ashore. George limped over to the truck, after saying his goodbyes, and he and Donnie headed back to the city. Don Ferguson had been ordered to pick up George’s belongings and his passport from the clubhouse and stow everything in the back of the truck.

On the three hour drive south from the cabin, Don had voiced his misgivings over George’s plan and was left wondering how in hell the club would hold together without their tough, unwavering leader.

Under cover of darkness, Don dropped his boss at the departures’ door at Pearson International for his one thirty a.m. flight. He lit up a smoke as he sat in the truck at the curb watching George disappear through the glass doors.

BACK AT THE lake in Northern Ontario, after the three boys delivered their passenger to Don, they remained in the boat out on the lake for what they thought was a reasonable amount of time to be fishing. None of them wanted to be the one to tell Portia that George had drowned. They ate the sandwiches she had made for them, drank every drop of the considerable amount of beer that she had packed in the coolers, and became exceedingly intoxicated. They had difficulty finding the tiny dock in the dark and it was late by the time they tied up the boat. They were drunk and arguing loudly with each other over who was going to tell her the bad news and didn’t notice her as she ran down the hill in the dark and stared at the three of them sitting on the dock.

“Where’s George?” she called out. She came closer and yelling turned to screaming. Portia demanded to know why George wasn’t with them. When Jackson stood up and began walking towards her she realized her worst nightmare and none of them had to put it into words. She crumpled into a heap at the end of the dock. Jackson picked her up, carried her up the steep hill to the cabin and laid her gently on her bed.

The following morning, he drove Portia and Angel, her Rottweiler, back to the city and took up his new post at 78 Hawthorne Lane. He had become her bodyguard and the new leader of the Regulators. Billy and Rusty locked the boat in the boathouse, loaded the bikes on the trailer and secured the cabin. The deed was done.

CHAPTER ONE

GEORGE STEPPED OFF the plane in Panama City, eyes riveted to the ground. He looked neither right nor left as he blended in with the other passengers making their way through the terminal. He sighed, felt the knot in his gut and sought out the men’s room. Banos. He hurled the microwaved shit he had eaten on the plane, washed his face and hands with cold water and headed for the exit.

His life was over and he didn’t care what happened to him. From this point forward nothing mattered. Annie had been his everything, the short time he had known her. They had been together for only two months, but to him those two months represented his whole life. There was nothing before Annie and now there would be nothing after.

Her name was Portia, but he had taught her to shoot at the club range and she proved to be an excellent student. His nickname for her was Annie, for ‘Annie Oakley.’ She had saved his life several times in the recent past with her marksmanship. He couldn’t live without her and he didn’t want anyone else. He had to learn to exist with no hope of going back. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t do it. He was fucked.

With only one piece of hand luggage, he walked out of Tocumen Airport to look for a cab. The heat enveloped him like a locked sauna and choked out his last breath. He inhaled sharply, felt the pain rip through his chest and decided not to light up a smoke.

George could speak a little Spanish thanks to his mother, a petite black-haired beauty from Colombia. She had gifted him with his dark complexion, black hair, and ebony eyes. He didn’t remember his father but pictured him as a big man. George didn’t inherit his six foot three frame from a five-foot-tall mother.

“Hotel,” he barked in English as he grunted and eased his wounded leg into the inadequate back seat of the white compact taxi.

“Si, senor,” said the driver as he pulled away from the curb into the snarl of traffic that embodied Panama City. The cab dropped him at the front door of the newly built Trump Hotel, rising seventy storeys high and towering over other buildings in the heart of the downtown core. The desk clerk spoke English and made small talk while George ignored him and paid cash for his room. After a quick glance at his key card, he pressed twelve in the elevator and found his accommodation. His view of the Pacific was unobstructed and spectacular, but he was not impressed by the scenery. Frozen in time, he stood immobile, his black eyes staring at the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean, the tide rolling in.

George darkened the room with the heavy charcoal drapes, slept for several hours, then woke sick at heart, remembering what he had done.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart.

His chest tightened as he relived the day on the lake and the agony that Annie must be feeling. The radiating pain encircled his heart with renewed vigor.

Annie will be safe with Jackson. He loves her.

In the evening, he sat alone in the hotel bar, ordered a couple of beers and a burger, then helped himself to maps and tourist guidebooks from the rack in the lobby.

Late at night, locked in his room, he searched through the colored brochures for the perfect place to drop out of site. He had no clue where he should go. He knew nothing about the country he had chosen as his refuge. He needed to lose himself in a secluded area of the rainforest where no one would find him. If the Chrome Dogs did come for him, he needed clear sight-lines in all four directions. He stuck his finger in the middle of the map of Panama and squinted his eyes to read the name of the town—Penonome.

Good as any.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carolina Mac is the author of Lily, the 11 book Regulator Series, the 13 book Quantrall cowboy PI series, and the off-beat trailer park mayhem series, Paradise Park.

All soon to be released.

Carolina lives with her family in Ontario, Canada.