Summer Kisses (256 page)

Keeping a couple hundred bikers on schedule was never easy, but punctuality wasn’t the snitch’s strong suit either. Money was the only language Mercer spoke. He’d either be there or he wouldn’t, depending on what other offers had materialized.

Quietly making his way to the meeting place, Max found Mercer waiting as promised. Slumped down in his ten-year-old Caddy, the informer smoked a stogie and listened to a Reds game on the radio. He’d grumbled about driving all the way out here, but Mercer refused to be caught anywhere near Max in Cincinnati.

“You got it?” Max asked with a rap on the roof of the car.

“Yeah, I got it,” the snitch growled, squinting at Max through a haze of cigar smoke. “You got my money?”

Max pulled an envelope out of an inside jacket pocket. “Here’s half. Let’s see what you got before you get the rest.”

“I should get double for this.” Mercer handed over a memory stick. “Gasoline don’t come cheap, you know.”

“I’ll need to see it.”

“I know, I know.” The snitch tapped into a small laptop, then took back the memory stick and slid it into place. “Look at this.”

With a low whistle, Max scanned documents that revealed the double-bookkeeping records on an equipment scam in city acquisitions. “Just a little more and I can shut these jerks down. If you can get to me
before
the next operation, I’ll triple your fee.”

Beads of sweat formed on Mercer’s flat forehead. “Oh, man, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Sure, I do.”

“That could cost me my job.”

“Nah, I’ll protect you as a source. And if I can get pictures independent of this evidence, half the mooks in your department will land in jail and you’ll probably get promoted.” Max grabbed the memory stick and tucked it in his pocket, then extracted the other half of the payment.

Mercer ran a hand over his bristly chin while he wrestled with his decision. As Max expected, greed won out.

“I’m not promising, but I’ll text you if I hear anything.” He dropped the money on the seat beside him and started the land yacht.

“By the end of the week,” Max prompted.

“Nah, that’s too soon. Maybe next week.” Mercer threw out his cigar butt with the less-than-original parting shot, “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

The whole transaction took about two minutes. And not spending any more time with the slimy Mercer than that pleased Max just fine. He preferred to get back to Annabel before Tim tried to move in on her again. She was no match for the innocent-looking smile his buddy used to disguise his hit-and-run tactics.

Max turned to head back to The Dockside. His step faltered as he discovered Annabel standing at the edge of the trees watching him. She’d removed her jean jacket, showing off how well her tidy body filled out her T-shirt and jeans. With her hair scraped back in a ponytail again and her lips pursed thin like Tinker Bell in a snit, she looked anything but happy to see him. Although now that he knew her a little better, he detected a hint of excitement behind her ocean-blue eyes.

“All right.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “What’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?” Max closed the gap between them in six long strides. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. Partially as a distraction, but also due to inclination.

“I mean, we keep stopping at all these seedy places where members of your group come out with secret contents in little white envelopes. Guys talk openly about drug deals. You sneak away to make contact with some shady character.” She pushed back and looked him square in the eye. “Do we run the risk of getting busted, should I call the police, or what?”

Call the police?
Hell, no!
Mercer would bolt like lightning if knew he’d been spotted with Max, let alone aroused enough suspicion to warrant dragging in the police. Max would have to tread carefully to determine what Annabel had seen.

 “Morgan, you wound me.” He clutched his hands to his heart as if to staunch the flow of blood, then flashed her his most-winning grin. “Does this mean you don’t trust me? Or that you aren’t having a good time?”

“No, I mean, yes. I mean, we’re still shaky in the trust department, but I am having a good time.” She opened her eyes wide and smiled, as if the admission surprised her. It sure as hell surprised him. “Despite my expectations, the bikers are really nice. Even though I know I’ll be sore tomorrow, I love riding on the motorcycle. I’d love—” She waved a hand in the air, erasing her show of enthusiasm. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“What was the subject?” He scratched his chin. “You want to know about the white envelopes, huh? If you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll show you mine.” He pulled one out of a back pocket and handed it over. “This information is top secret. You ready?”

She took it from him, opened the flap gingerly and peeked inside. She frowned and wrinkled her brow as she pulled out three ordinary playing cards. “What are these?”

“It’s the nine-jack-queen of diamonds.” He clasped her hand and steered her toward the Dockside. “And if we don’t get back before Dick’s ready to pull out, I won’t get my card for this stop.”

“But why are you getting cards? What will you do with them?”

“It’s a poker run, darlin’. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Poker runs are planned rides motorcycle clubs make to support a local charity.” He took the cards from her and shoved them back in his pocket. “Didn’t you see the sign at the first stop that said ‘Ride a bike, feed a tyke?’”

“I guess so.”

“All our rides are for charity. That’s why they named this group the Good Riders. Today’s ride benefits the Feed a Child Foundation, but Dick gets a kick out of making the theme rhyme whenever he can. When we register, we pony up a hundred bucks each, then we ride a designated route that no one but Dick knows in advance. We stop at seven predetermined spots to pick up a card. At the end of the day, the rider who can put together the best poker hand splits the jackpot with the charity. And right now, I’m holding the better part of a straight flush.”

Annabel mulled over that information. “Is that good?”

“Yeah, it’s real good.”

“Oh.” She looked a little deflated by the knowledge that some of their activities weren’t as wicked as she’d imagined. “And you have a patch that says you’re Awesome Good because…”

“I’ve ridden over fifty thousand miles for charity.”

“And raised a lot of money, I guess. That
is
awesome.” She had to give him that, but she added a little sniff. “Gambling. Is that legal?”

He laughed. “Is bingo legal? Or the lottery? It’s the same kind of thing.”

He kept ahead of her on the overgrown path, holding back branches and limbs. When they reached a clearing, they walked openly through the field, instead of stealthily, as Max had traveled earlier in the opposite direction. Her hand in his was small and delicate, almost getting lost inside his much larger, rougher one.

“What about the drug dealers?” The stubborn lift of her chin indicated she wasn’t about to be distracted from her suspicions.

“I don’t know anything about any drug dealers,” Max admitted honestly. “Sometimes new guys come and try some shit, but Dick runs a pretty tight ship. He’d throw them out on their asses or call the cops himself before he’d let something like that go. Do you know who they were? What were they selling? And who were they trying to sell it to?”

“I’d recognize them if I saw them again. One of them was trying to get someone called Bruno to score some drugs for him.”

“Bruno, huh?” He exaggerated a huge yawn to keep from laughing. Her eagerness to find intrigue where none existed amused the hell out of him. “I guess I’m not surprised.”

“Shouldn’t we tell somebody? Like Dick? Or the police?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

He hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her close enough to whisper into her ear, “I’m an investigative reporter, darlin’. We’ll do a little investigatin’.”

“We will? Me, too?” Her eyes got huge at the prospect. “How?”

“Keep your eyes open, and we’ll nose around and see what we can find out.”

“Is that what you were doing just now?”

“When?”

“When you were talking to that guy in the Cadillac.”

He didn’t mind pulling her leg a little about Bruno. Anything that happened in that direction would be harmless, but he didn’t want her to have any hint of his deal with Mercer. That arrangement encompassed real danger, and Max would use any distraction available to steer her away from his source. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“Why not? Are you working on a story? Was he an informant?” She put a finger to his lips. “And don’t try to mislead me again.”

“All right, I’ll kiss you instead.”

“Why would you do that?” She pulled her finger away from the gentle nip of his teeth. “You don’t even like me very much.”

“I like kissing you.” Max couldn’t think of a better way to distract her. Besides, having her so near reminded him of the end of their date the night before. He wanted to wipe all memory of that last sissy little peck she’d given him right out of her head.

“That’s not enough.” She sidestepped the arm he tried to place around her and glanced toward the tavern.

“Not enough for what?”

“Enough to base a relationship on.”

“I don’t want a
relationship
, darlin’.” He took an involuntary step away from her, as if just the mention of the word carried airborne germs.

“Oh, well, good. Just so we’re both on the same page.”

As if kissing might lead to a relationship. Nobody knew better than he did that the physical stuff was just for fun. Kissing with your clothes on was the prelude to nude foreplay. He left all that emotional hogwash to people with dependency issues. He knew who he was, and what he liked, and right now, he’d like to kiss this woman and strip her naked. He curled his fingers around her upper arms and pulled her close.

Her eyes danced with amusement, and he realized she’d been teasing
him
for a change. He caught just a glimpse of her smile before his mouth covered hers. She tasted like peppermint, of all things, and he discovered he loved peppermint.

He licked her bottom lip, and she nibbled his. Running her fingers through his hair, she massaged his scalp. His hands traveled her spine and tingled their way to the small of her back. The heat that had been building as he sat between her thighs on the bike fed his desire and encouraged him to touch all the soft and curving places that had taunted him throughout the day.

He inched up her T-shirt until he stroked the warm skin of her back. One hand moved its way up her side, stopping at the silky barrier of her bra. The damn things should be against the law.

His mouth trailed across the softness of her cheek to her delicately shaped, delicious ear, and then down her long, apparently, extremely sensitive neck. She moaned, she groaned, and she pressed against him. Oh, baby.

As he nudged her shirt away from her collarbone with his chin, he caught a glimpse of a lemon-yellow bra strap. Wondering if it had a front or back clasp, he made up his mind to find out.

“Oh, ooh,” she sighed.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, God... Roger!”

“What?” Max continued nibbling. “The name’s Max, darlin’.”

“No, it
is
Roger.” She straightened and pulled away as she pointed over his shoulder. “What’s your shooter doing here?”

Max scowled and turned to see the cameraman strolling toward them, camera-aimed. “You mean, besides interrupting?”

“Hey, guys, don’t stop on my account,” Roger said. “This is a lot better than anything I got last night. Want to use it for Tess’s show?”

“Don’t you dare.” Annabel scrambled to tug her clothes back into place.

“Sure,” Max said at the same time, then amended, “If it’s not going to air, I’ll take a copy for my own private collection.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered like a dirty old man, which earned him a punch on the arm from Annabel.

“I thought you’d be here sooner,” she said to Roger.

“Who me?” The cameraman pointed a meaty finger toward his chest. “I’ve been around. Sometimes it’s good to go unnoticed. Mostly I’ve been getting some long shots, candid shots. Ate at The Blue Moon. Got some good footage of the thing at the swing.” He gave Max an admiring look. “Nice going.”

Annabel gasped. “You shot that? Why didn’t you let us know you were there?”

“Max knew.”

She wheeled around to glare at Max. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Before she could really dig in her heels and refuse to move, he gathered her to his side and started forward. “I told you he’d show up sometime. I knew he was at The Blue Moon somewhere. I didn’t know the pervert was watching us during the swing thing.”

“It was spontaneous, not staged?” She nibbled on the bottom lip he’d been sucking just a minute before.

“If you think I’ve planned any of the stuff that’s happened between us, then you give me credit for a greater command of the universe than I actually have. I’m totally winging it here.”

A light bulb practically went off beside her head. “Roger’s not here because of us! He’s here to get video on the drug bust.”

“Annabel,” Max said firmly. “He’s here because of
Let’s Talk
. There is no other story. There is no drug bust. I’ll prove it to you when we rejoin the group.”

“Right.” She didn’t look or sound convinced. “He’s not here
just
because of us. Look at that long lens he’s got on his camera. It’s capable of shooting a lot better image from a greater distance than the smaller one he used last night.”

“Maybe it’s a slow news day and he came out to tape a human interest piece on the bikers for the news at six. Is that it, Rog?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Good old Roger never let Max down. “Are you and these other born-to-be-wild maniacs ready to head out on the highway? 

After another two-hour race into the future, Annabel left Max waiting in line for his next card while she hobbled to the restroom. Her legs still wiggled like cooked noodles occasionally, but she didn’t mind so much anymore.