Someone in the room coughed a little too loudly while Emalea tried not to bang her head against the table. She’d taken the motorcycle of a former FBI agent. Could it get any worse? He should have given her a hint as to who he was. Matt continued his introduction of Jackson Cooper, who would be the SAR team’s official contact at the sheriff’s office, but Emalea barely heard because she was starting to seethe. This only proved her point. Jackson Cooper was not a man to be trusted. But then what men could you trust? In her mind’s eye, the man in front of her morphed into some of her most horrific memories. He could snap her in half if he wanted. Her fist gripped the wooden arms of the chair, while her throat constricted. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.
Stop! Loosening her grip on the chair, oxygen filtered into her lungs as she took a slow calming breath, forcing the panic to subside, while the others carried on a meeting oblivious to her emotional state. This man, a stranger, wasn’t her father or Jean Pierre. There was no relationship to bind her to him and she certainly didn’t have to depend on him for anything. He was just another employee of the sheriff’s office. She only had to work with him occasionally. As soon as she returned the motorcycle, she’d never have to see him again, except officially and around town. A groan rose in her throat but she squelched it.
FIVE, FOUR, THREE STEPS then she’d be at her truck. Almost there, almost ready to reach for the door handle. Then fingers wrapped around her arm and she couldn’t ignore the shouted “Hey, Emalea,” anymore.
She spun around, twisting the offending fingers loose. “What? If it’s about your bike, I’m on my way to take it to Mick right now. I only did it as a joke.”
Jackson Cooper paused for a moment with his mouth half-open. “I was actually going to say that I hoped we could work together without too many hard feelings. I know we’ve had a rough start, but life will be a lot easier if we aren’t at each other’s throats all the time.”
“I’m not the kind of person to be at anyone’s throat.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Really?”
“Really,” she replied, trying to unclench her teeth.
He was quiet for a moment and Emalea was more than a little afraid of what he might be thinking. His fingers moved to stroke the goatee around his mouth, and muscles in his forearm undulated. Standing this close, Jackson Cooper was discomfiting. Her own fingers itched to grab the door handle of her truck and escape.
“If you’re really planning on giving my bike back, I’m sure we can work something out so neither one of us has to go to the bar.”
Emalea’s head bobbed slightly but she was only half listening. How did his T-shirt fit him like a second skin without being completely indecent? That gave him such an unfair advantage over women. He could do or say anything and a woman might never really hear it because she’d be so fascinated by his body. Some women, but not her; she wasn’t into that.
“So, what do you think? Will that work for you?”
The sun caught the gold flecks in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. “Mmm… Yeah, that’s fine.”
He seemed to relax and she thought he might smile.
“Do you need directions?”
The last rays of the evening light began to feel a little warm on the back of her head. Wait, what had she agreed to?
“Directions for what?”
He frowned.
“Directions to the house I’m renting from Matt. If you really don’t mind bringing the bike there, I’ll be glad to drive you back home.”
The keys in her pocket bit into her hand as she clamped her fingers around them. Is that what she had agreed to do? She chewed at her bottom lip. Time alone with Jackson Cooper, not exactly what she’d been planning for the evening. But taking the bike to his house would be much easier since the only house Matt had to rent wasn’t that far from hers. She could handle it, didn’t want to, but she could.
“I know the way.” She opened the door of the truck and slid behind the wheel. As she tried to pull the door closed, she felt resistance. Jackson held the door, peering in at her as if she had grown a second head.
“What?”
“Tell me this isn’t your truck.”
Typical stupid male reaction. Just because it wasn’t a girlie ride, except for the glossy pearl-white paint job. “Of course it’s mine.”
He stepped back, pulling the door open wider. “A 1968 Ford step side in mint condition. That’s unbelievable.”
“It’s a sixty-six.”
He stared at her in amazement. “How do you get all this specialty stuff? I mean, the custom motorcycle, this truck. Are you a collector, or just really rich?”
She had to laugh then. “I’m really spoiled.”
Jackson tilted his head to one side, giving her a questioning look.
“My uncle John is a master mechanic. He rebuilt my motorcycle when I bought it secondhand. This truck—” she skimmed her fingers around the smooth steering wheel “—he found rusting in a field. He and I worked on it for a few years before we got it to this point.”
“I’d like to meet your uncle.”
Her heart skipped a beat as panic hit her. All she needed was for Jackson Cooper to talk to Uncle John. How long would the conversation go before he uncovered her story? What would he think? With her past, he’d wonder how she was allowed to counsel anyone. His first trip would likely be to the sheriff’s office to dig up the old files and there he’d find her whole ignoble past. But why should she care what this guy thought?
“I’ll see you in an hour.” Yanking the door out of his hand, she slammed it shut. She could have made it home and back to his house in less time, but what was the sense in rushing? When she got to his house, she could mention an early appointment that she didn’t actually have, then he’d have to bring her right home. Of course, she was sure he’d be more than happy to get rid of her just as quickly.
CHAPTER THREE
THE LOUD RUMBLING of a Harley broke the silence. A smile tried to work its way onto Jackson’s face, but he managed to battle it down in favor of a more nonchalant expression. A woman who drove a truck like Emalea’s and rode a custom Harley was something of a mystery to him. One he couldn’t afford to ponder, no matter how badly he wanted to, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself when he bothered to listen.
From the front porch, he watched her come up the driveway. A tightening below his belt called to his attention the fact that parts he’d thought were dormant had suddenly decided to make themselves known. Even though, when he’d first seen her, he’d imagined he could have a fling with a wild biker girl, that idea hadn’t survived long. Besides, Emalea wasn’t exactly a wild biker girl looking for a fling. She didn’t seem to be looking for anything, which was good because he had nothing to offer.
“Hi!” She stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly skyward. She’d changed into jeans with a bright red T-shirt.
He fumbled for a moment over what to say next. “I, uh, have some sweet tea if you’d like a glass before I take you home.” He sometimes wondered at his own stupidity. He didn’t know why he’d asked such a thing. She only raised an eyebrow.
“What does someone from Chicago know about sweet tea? I thought you’d only know two kinds of tea, hot and cold.”
He rocked back on his feet. “I’m originally from Arkansas so I know exactly how to put the sugar in the tea when I make it.”
Her laugh was low and soft, not what he expected, but it made him eager to hear more.
“Tea