As she ducked down behind Morgan, she realized the other man had a gun in his hand pointed at them. Damn it. Morgan was going to get shot!

  Just as the two were heading for a head on collision and she wondered at the sensibility of throwing herself off the side of the bike, Morgan did a complete 180 degree turn and spun around just as they came abreast of the other biker and then spun around again, still keeping the big machine in front of him.

  The other biker ripped past them without a shot fired.

  Jazz watched him disappear into the night, relief pounding through her brain. Oh, thank heavens. She hadn’t wanted to get into a confrontation. All she wanted at this time was to go into her house, pack up a bag, and get the hell out again.

  That the shooter knew where she lived and knew they’d been on the way to the same place was damn scary. She had no intention of staying there – especially not alone – until this asshole was caught.

  As the relief and trembling about their near escape filtered through her mind, she realized something else. Morgan wasn’t slowing down and heading into her driveway, he was ripping down the street after the damn biker.

  She shook her head. No. She didn’t want this. Let him go. Morgan. Let him leave, please…

  But Morgan was on a mission, and following this asshole was the end game. She couldn’t blame him, but she really wished he’d dropped her off at her house first. She wasn’t interested in playing cops and robbers. And where the hell had the cops gone? She needed them. Damn it.

  There was no sign of Morgan slowing down. She peered over his shoulder and watched the biker weaving through the traffic ahead of her. Morgan wasn’t riding close, but it was close enough that he could track the rider from a slight distance behind. She understood. He was hoping for the rider to think he’d lost them. In fact, Morgan had been racing bikes since he was old enough to ride. She’d put her trust in him.

  Hell, she already had.

  *

  Morgan whipped out from behind a truck and moved up two vehicles. The biker was ahead. Not being sneaky any longer, but also not trying to race away. He either thought he’d made it out of everyone’s sight or he didn’t give a damn. Considering how brazen he’d been so far, the second option was quite likely. Jazz’s safety came first. And that meant he couldn’t take as many crazy ass chances as he’d have taken if he were alone.

  Still, he should have taken her to her house, grabbed her stuff, and gone home. But the chance to follow and learn something about their stalker was too big a temptation. They needed to find out who this asshole was. Where he lived. What the fuck he was doing? And why?

  The bike shifted to the left, changing to the turning lane. Morgan quickly followed, staying behind several other vehicles that were trying to change lanes too. The bike caught the light and turned ahead of him.

  Morgan took the chance, hearing a horn honk in front of him. He hit the gas and ripped forward ahead of the cross traffic.

  With a sigh of relief, he caught sight of the bike up ahead making a right-hand turn. This time there was no one else between them. No vehicles to hide behind. Shit. He slowed down and pulled off to the side behind a car. He watched through the windshield to see the biker slow down ahead and pull into a large apartment building with underground parking.

  Morgan pulled out his phone and sent a text to Constable Shawn Proctor The cop should be able to track the owners or renters of one of the units and match it to the owner of the bike. He hadn’t been able to read the license plate yet—if there was one. He’d love to identify the reflective sticker on the left pipe, but he hadn’t been close enough to be able to pay attention to it.

  He sat on the side of the road and studied the secure parking. But there had to be hundreds of apartments and condos here. Interesting. It implied a certain income level if they lived there. It could also mean that the guy was visiting or renting and wouldn’t show up on any registry.

  With a click of his wrist, he turned off the engine. What he wanted was to get inside and check out the bike. The biker might not be close by anymore, but that still meant his bike was there and the chance to examine it closer itched at him.

  “What are you doing, Morgan?” Jazz said behind him, fatigue and worry in her voice.

  Crap. He couldn’t leave her.

  He twisted on the seat. “I was thinking of checking out the bike.”

  She frowned at him, then turned her glance to the garage and back. With her chewing on her bottom lip like she was, he immediately started thinking of other things he could be doing with his time.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chapter 2

  Jazz watched as Morgan shook his head, his features hardening in the light of the streetlamp.

  “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” he snapped in a hard tone. “Not happening.”

  “So… instead,” she said slowly, “You’re going to leave me, injured and helpless, out here in the dark alone?”

  He opened his mouth, glanced at the garage, then back at her. “Damn it. That’s not fair.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “No, it’s really not. There are lights on in there. The guy is probably long gone. We can look for the bike and maybe find something to help identify our stalker.” She motioned to the street. “Or I sit here all alone and wait.”

  “I’d rather you stayed here and waited.”

  “And I’d rather not be alone. I am not feeling very good,” she admitted quietly. “What if he’s watching us and comes around from the back while I’m all alone?”

  He groaned and reached out a hand to help her get off. “But you stay close and you follow my orders, do you hear me?”

  She gave him a disgruntled look, but he was adamant. “I’m not going to go in there if you don’t agree. We’ll go straight home instead.”

  “We need to find out everything we can about that bike,” she protested.

  He cocked an eyebrow and waited.

  “Fine.” She stood at his side. “Lead the way.”

  With a curt nod, her hand secure in his, he turned and walked to the secure parking lot. A vehicle was entering. They walked in at the same time and slowly made their way up the curved road. She studied the vehicles. There was everything here from beaters to flashy sporty cars. A cross section of people lived her. Interesting. Kelowna was fairly average in its demographics, but there was a ton of money in the town. Only those people didn’t live at apartments like this. They lived in the waterfront properties and there were other elite properties for the next income bracket. This apartment was the workingman style.

  Morgan pointed out a bike parked on her left. She could see it was a towing bike and not the one they were looking for. His gaze searched in a methodical left to right manner. She was the opposite. Her gaze lit on one vehicle then another and another, her gaze switching direction as her eyes caught and landed on something of interest. Being an artist, she loved detail. Color. Design. And there were nice vehicles here. A few custom paint jobs, but not many.

  In silence, they kept climbing. By the time they were up several more levels, she was feeling it. Her shoulder ached, and so did her feet for that matter. It’s not like she was dressed for a hike. Her sneakers would be perfect for something like this, not the lightweight fashion boots she’d slipped on.

  Morgan stopped suddenly – Silently, he lifted his arm and pointed to the right. She peered around his shoulder. “That’s it,” she whispered, excitement rippling through her. She hadn’t really figured that they’d find it here.

  It sat only a few meters away. In seconds, Morgan was crouched down beside it, his hands stroking the large blue tank.

  “Do you recognize it?” she asked.

  He tapped the reflective stripes on the left side of the bike and nodded. “Yes, it’s the one involved in the shooting at my house. It’s also the one we saw tonight.”

  “Good. The cops can come here and pick the shooter up.”

  With a long stare in her direction, he slowly shook his head. “On our say so? No. They will likely try to find the owner and ask questions, but there’s no way to be sure the owner is the rider we saw.”

  She shook her head. “So we’re no further ahead.”

  “Yes, we are.

  “Right.” She stood up and walked around the bike. There was no license plate attached, but it was sitting on the number 26 parking slot. In the background, she heard Morgan call the cop that he’d been dealing with.

  Were they trespassing? They’d snuck in. She hadn’t considered that in terms of the case, but maybe they were screwing things up for themselves.

  She waited until he was off the phone then stood and stared at him expectantly. “And?”

  “He’s going to come and take a look,” Morgan said in surprise as he stared down at the phone in his hand. “That’s good.”

  “Should we leave?” she whispered, suddenly feeling like they should be out of here as in a long ways away. And fast. She backed up and looked to see if there was a faster way to get to the exit.

  Morgan was studying her.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She wanted to get the hell way. “Let’s leave.”

  He frowned. “It might be better to stay here where we can make sure the bike is still in the same place when the cops arrive.”

  “I want to leave,” she whispered. Instinct had her looking over her shoulder. “It feels wrong to be her. Like we’re being watched.”

  At that, he straightened and searched the gloom around them. “When did it first start?”

  “Few minutes ago.” She wanted to shrug, but her shoulder was really starting to kill her. And Morgan wasn’t moving fast enough for her. “You stay. I’ll go back to the bike.”

  “Whoa, that’s what you didn’t want in the first place, remember? To be out there alone.”

  “Yeah well, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be in here with that bike. Something is wrong. As in something is very wrong with this scenario.”

  And she started to walk to the entrance. When she heard his footsteps fall in behind her, she picked up the pace. Within seconds, she was running down the long winding road to the front entrance with Morgan running easily at her side. She was holding her injured arm tight against her chest and wished she could explain the urgency driving her.

  When there was a weird pinging sound, she instinctively dropped to the ground almost crying out as she banged up her shoulder. She lifted her head and looked around. Morgan was hiding behind a steel support and peering up in the direction where the bike was. An engine roared in the darkness.

  “It’s the bike,” she screamed over the noise.

  But Morgan had raced out from behind his hiding spot and picked her up off the ground and dragged her back to safety. Not that there was such a thing. She trembled in the dark shadows, hoping the biker hadn’t seen her. If he had…

  The bike ripped past them in the darkness.

  She collapsed against Morgan, her breath raspy, hard.

  This was all too much. She wanted her nice calm life back. Her tattoo parlor and regular clients. Instead she was out here was Morgan and no end of shit pissing down on her life.

  Like what the hell.

  “Do we wait for the cops now?”

  Morgan answered, “I’ve just texted him with an update.”

  “Good, then we should be able to go home.”

  He stood undecided for a long moment, then with a big shoulder shrug, he said, “Sure, let’s go.”

  She grinned.

  *

  Morgan helped her back onto his bike. He noted the pale skin and bruising under her eyes, her almost unrecognizable eye color in the poor light. She was fading quickly. This hadn’t been the five-minute trip they’d both envisaged. Still, they knew where the bike was housed, so that was something the cops could work on. His top priority now was to get her back to her house and pick up clothes and toiletries as required. They’d walk through her empty house, lock it up, then bring her back to his house. Where she belonged.

  A cop car pulled up to the side of the bike as Morgan placed his helmet back on his head. He recognized Shaun, and pulled the helmet off again. He quickly explained what had happened while Jazz sat quietly on the bike.

  When they were done, and Shaun had completed his notes, Shaun said to go home and stay out of trouble. He’d check out the bike and the owner of the parking spot.

  Morgan drove away carefully with Jazz sitting securely behind him. She sagged against him heavily. Shit, he shouldn’t have let her leave the damn house. She’d be sound asleep if they’d stayed home. And that’s what she needed. Sleep. Not running around in the damn city chasing a stalker. What the hell had he been thinking of?

  Still, she could go get some things now before he dragged her back to his home. And this time, he’d make damn sure she stayed there.

  Chapter 3

  Jazz woke up slowly. Her body was tired. Sore. And her shoulder felt like it was on fire.

  She rolled over, trying to hold back a cry at the sharp pain.

  “Easy.” Morgan said gently against her ear. “It’s morning, but our running around last night would have played havoc with your system.” He shifted and the bed rippled. “I’m getting your pills.”

  She opened her eyes to see daylight streaming across the bedroom. But the pain… she shuddered. It’s as if her healing had gone backwards. So not what she wanted.

  Within minutes Morgan was standing by her side, her pills and a glass of water in his hand. He helped her sit up and take them. “Now lie back and sleep some more,” he instructed gently.

  “Not tired,” she muttered, but it was a faint retort because although she might not be tired, she had no energy or inclination to do anything else. If yesterday had looked bright and cheerful, today was like looking through storm clouds.

  “Any word from the police?”

  “Not yet.”

  Figured. She tucked the sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes, hearing Morgan quietly leave the room. Her mind revolved with the hellish events she’d gone through these last days, and maybe it was because she was so tired, but she did wonder about taking a holiday. Take a drive down the California coast, or fly over to the Maritimes. There had to be something she could do to get away and enjoy life instead of this looking over her shoulder every minute of the day.

  Better would be if this asshole was caught. Then she wouldn’t feel like she had to run away.

  The smell of coffee hit her nostrils, and she moaned at the rich welcoming smell.

  “Hey, I was hoping you were asleep.”

  She opened her eyes to see him standing beside her again with a cup of coffee and a muffin for her. It smelled wonderful. He put them down before turning to help her sit up.

  The pills had started to kick in, making the process easier. With a smile, she accepted the cup of coffee from him and leaned back to relax.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ll go grab mine.” And he disappeared back downstairs.

  She didn’t hear him for a few minutes, aware that she was listening for all sounds to make sure he was okay. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. She tensed. Only realized how foolish it was. Morgan had been here just a minute ago. It would be him again.

  It was just the state of her mind.

  And that sucked.

  Morgan came through the bedroom door a few seconds later. She flashed him a bright smile. He glanced at her then walked to his side of the bed and placed his large cup down.

  “No muffin?”

  “Ate it before I brought yours up,” he said with a smirk. “Was a little hungry.”

  She laughed. “I hear you there. I heard you come up the stairs, but even then my heart jumped, wondering if it was you.”

  His smile dropped away. “I’m sorry. I should have called up.”

  With a shrug, she said, “It’s fine. It’s going to take a while to get used to this.”

  “We don’t want to get used to this, but neither do we want to lose that edge that says we need to be careful right now.”

  “The cops should be able to find the bike and rider. It can’t be that hard,” she said quietly. “I keep expecting the phone to ring and to hear that they’ve picked him up.”

  “Him? Or was that just a general pronoun?”

  She thought about it. “It was general. I feel like it’s a man, but I think that is mostly because I don’t see a woman doing something like this. I don’t want to this to be a woman,” she admitted. “That’s not logical, I know.”

  “We need to keep an open mind. If you think about everything that’s happened, it’s been very hands off so far. Guns from a distance. Not hard for a woman to do at all. Now if I’d had the shit kicked out of me, chances would be we’re talking about a man.”

  “True.” She thought about what he said and realized he was right. There’d been nothing done yet a woman couldn’t have done.

  “We haven’t spoken much about that second picture on the pizza box.”

  She shook her head. “No, we haven’t. I did take a close enough look to identify it as the same tattoo artist.”

  “But it wasn’t yours?”

  “No.” She sipped her coffee, her mind on the image she’d seen last night. “Even if it was mine, why send me the image?”

  “To show you something. Maybe that this person was in their life now. So, it’s a ‘see he’s mine too’ type of thing.”

  “Meaning it had been a lover? So are we back to it being a woman?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. There are many possibilities. Including a gay relationship.”

  “Or maybe not a sexual relationship at all.”

  “True again. There can be bonds of all sorts.” He picked up his coffee. “Or he thinks it’s your lover and wants you to know he branded him.”

  “So they are talking to my lovers?”

  “Not necessarily. It’s just we have to consider all options.”

  She nodded but slid lower on the bed.