She laughed again. “Yeah. I’m glad your arm and head are okay.”
“Let’s have a new rule. No secrets and no hitting each other.”
She smiled agreement. “Does that mean I can’t get a spanking?”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re really into that? The little I did the other day was just a tease kind of thing, not something serious. Please tell me someone didn’t get to do it for real before I got a chance.”
She wrapped both arms around him and purred, “You get to do everything first, honey. You know that.”
“Awesome.”
“Wait a minute. Does this mean you’ve done it for real before?” The idea of him being with other women was something she’d purposely ignored. Now she had him again, she kind of didn’t care, possession being nine-tenths of the law, but she flushed a little in jealousy anyway. And he saw it.
He blushed and teased, “I don’t have to answer that!”
“Naughty boy! Do tell!”
They both laughed and kissed long and deep. They spent a few minutes cuddling and watching others in their group begin preparations to resume their trek.
Seeing Rick alone, Tristan said to Victoria, “Hang out here for a bit. I want to go talk to Rick about CMS operations. To see if there’s any way for me to be involved. I need something to do after quitting my racing career, if that’s what I’m doing.”
“Okay. Don’t act all weird or anything.”
He grinned as he left. “When have you known me to act all weird?”
She rolled her eyes and began packing up their stuff.
As Tristan neared Rick by the motorcycles, he saw the latter checking on the spare parts he’d brought and asked, “So is someone meeting you at the inn for the parts or are you leaving us for a while once there, to drop them off?”
“Someone will come get them,” Rick said. “These are going to another dealer. I sometimes get parts from them in return. In fact, she’s bringing me a couple things, too.”
“Nice. Seems like you have a little operation going there.”
“Yeah. We get parts in all the time from wrecked bikes in our area, and they do too, down here.”
“All the time? Do bikes wreck that often?”
“You’d be surprised. Or maybe not. You should know.”
Tristan wasn’t sure if that was a reference to his recent wrecks on the bike circuit, but it didn’t seem like Rick was making a dig at him. He let it go. “Sort of.”
“I have friends in the state highway administration who give me dibs on the wrecks.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I give them good deals on bikes, though you didn’t hear that from me.” He laughed.
Tristan feigned a smile. “Didn’t hear a thing. I guess it helps to have the right friends.”
“That it does. The wrong ones can be a problem, too.”
Tristan wondered if Rick was hinting at something there but didn’t know what to say.
Rick narrowed his eyes. “Do you mind if I ask why the questions?”
Tristan recognized that he was making Rick suspicious so he made a point of sounding more conversational. “Well, I’m thinking of giving up my riding career to come home to Comus and I need something else to do with my time. I wondered if maybe there was an opportunity with CMS.”
With a look of surprise, Rick asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“Not sure. I have some celebrity that could be useful for bringing in business. Your guy Larry mentioned something about that.”
Rick perked up and glanced over at Larry, who was ogling two girls in their twenties. “You mean like commercials or something? That would be killer.”
“Yeah, if you run any.”
“We don’t, but maybe that would be worth it with a guy like you in them. Why are you quitting riding? It would be better if you didn’t, from a promotional standpoint.”
“I think it’s time to stay home with family.” He glanced at Victoria. “And maybe start one.”
Rick smiled. “Ah. Yeah, good choice there. She’s a beauty. Family’s awesome.”
“You have one?”
“Oh, yeah. Several kids and the wife, of course. Need to keep them living the life they’re used to, for sure.”
Thinking that extra cash from an illegal side business would help Rick with that, Tristan asked, “Is that why you operate this Crotch Rocket Express?”
Rick looked at him sideways and Tristan took that as a yes. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, anything for extra money.”
“Extra money is always good.” After a moment, he added, “So you know, the reason I’m asking stuff is just to get to know you and your business before I get involved, not that I think that’s a guarantee or something.”
“Oh sure, makes sense. You need to know who your business partners are. I learned that the hard way.” He frowned as he said this.
“Any partners I should know about?”
Rick shrugged. “No. Nothing you’d be involved in as a spokesman. Just behind-the-scenes stuff.”
“Like what?”
Rick patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s worry about it later.”
Tristan decided to quit while he was ahead, figuring he’d learned more than expected anyway. He could always rely on his family and work at the winery or something. The idea didn’t repulse him as much as it did years earlier, suggesting he’d grown up some, but he still wanted to forge his own way. He wasn’t that serious about doing something with CMS, but other options hadn’t presented themselves. It might do in the meantime. He and Victoria would need to find a way to make a living together.
Before joining Victoria back on the picnic blanket, Tristan checked his cell phone and saw he had a voice mail from Riley, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get it to play due to the spotty connection in the mountains. Riley wouldn’t text because he associated that with losers who had no life, so Tristan would have to wait to know the latest. In frustration, he thrust the phone back into his pocket and hoped for better cell phone reception later.
Chapter 14 – The Pursuit
“I don’t believe it,” Riley muttered to himself. “They’ve got Tristan’s bike. Those fuckers.”
From atop a small hill, Riley watched the back of Clarksburg Motorsports through binoculars that were camouflaged like his pants and shirt. The shade from the trees behind him kept the early afternoon sun off his back and made him even harder to spot. A bottle of water sat beside him on the grass, his half-eaten sub sandwich on his lap. His dark green and black Harley Davidson Night Rod Special stood nearby on the pavement behind a store, a bag strapped over the rear, his helmet dangling from the handlebars.
He’d been watching since before CMS opened and had seen Tristan and the others leave on the mountain tour. It was now after lunch and several employees were milling around out back. A guy wearing all black, jeans, boots, and a jacket, and with a close-cropped haircut, had just pulled the tarp off the black Ducati to get to the other bike behind it. And there stood a bright blue Yamaha R1 with two stickers on the side facing Riley, just as Tristan had described it. Riley needed to see the third sticker, on the other side of the bike, to be absolutely certain, but he had no doubt now. He snatched up the camera beside him, zooming in for a few pictures.
As Riley watched, the guy put a tank bag on Tristan’s bike, dropped a backpack on the ground near the rear wheel, and donned a full-face helmet with a cobra’s head painted on it, suggesting he was going to ride away with the R1. Riley put on his black leather jacket, which hid the shoulder holster for his Nighthawk T4. He ate the last of his sandwich in between starting his Night Rod, strapping on his open-faced helmet, and stowing the camera and water. He was about to dig out his phone and give Ryan a quick call when the guy put on the backpack and mounted the R1.
“Just as well,” said Riley, putting the binoculars away. “Why let Ryan have all the fun when I can teach this guy a lesson about fucking with a Kendall?”
He put the Night Rod in gear and rode down to the street, glancing over to see the thief pulling the blue R1 away from him, toward the interstate. Comus lay in that direction, too. Riley followed and made it through the lights, watching the rider take the ramp to I-270 South. That wasn’t the smartest move, with the frequency of cops on the interstate and the bike theft already reported. And if the R1 crossed state lines, this became a federal crime.
While Riley had proof the bike had been stolen, and CMS likely had security cameras that had caught the bike’s arrival and storage, he wasn’t going to let the guy get away with Tristan’s ride. Even so, catching the thief himself might not be the best action. He mulled over some options while weaving between the cars on I-270 South, which merged with the I-495 Beltway around the District of Columbia. The rider went west toward Virginia.
The hard part of following a biker while on a motorcycle is that bikers notice each other. Riley had to keep his distance but not be so far back that he couldn’t see which exit the rider took. The thief went over the American Legion Bridge and into Virginia. Not ten minutes later, they both exited onto Route 66 West. The thief kept below the speed limit, likely to avoid attracting attention on a stolen bike. Several times, Riley ended up farther back than he wanted and had to ride well to close the gap, but occasionally he came too close.
An hour after leaving CMS, the thief turned off the highway to fill up at a gas station. Riley exited, too, but drove past. He glanced over, spotting the remaining decal on the other side. The bike was definitely Tristan’s. He went to another station across the street and began filling up his own tank while keeping an eye on the thief. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed, getting his cousin the sheriff on the second ring.
“Ryan, it’s Riley.”
“Hey, cous,” said Ryan.
“I’m short on time, so listen up. I’ve positively ID’d Tristan’s bike was at CMS this morning. A guy rode off on it and I’m following him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. We’re in Virginia now headed west on Route 66. I’m at a stop now.”
“That’s out of my jurisdiction.”
“No shit. Call your State Trooper friends, see if they’ve got troopers in Virginia that’ll be willing to help. This is a federal crime now.”
“No shit,” Ryan replied mockingly. “Listen, don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what? Crack the guy’s head open and take back the bike?”
“Exactly.”
Topping off his tank, Riley said, “We have another issue. Even if I catch this guy, which I could do right now, that only proves he’s got stolen property, not that CMS is in on it, but I do have pictures of the bike behind the shop.”
“Great. That doesn’t necessarily mean CMS knew, though. Still, it’ll be enough to get a warrant.”
“Good.”
“Don’t worry about losing this guy. We’ll bring down CMS.”
“Fuck that. I want this guy caught.”
“Riley—”
“Gotta go. He’s leaving.”
“Shit. Quick, what’s your bike model and plate number?”
Riley rattled it off while turning on the Night Rod. “Why?”
“Because I know I can’t stop you and troopers might want to know. Don’t do anything stupid, Riley.”
“Yeah. Later.”
He hung up, stashed the phone, and mounted the Night Rod as the thief rode the R1 onto the street, heading back onto Route 66 West. Riley followed, wondering what to do. He kept watch for a cop to flag down. Another option was a citizen’s arrest at the next stop before calling the cops, but that wouldn’t work if the next stop was to give the R1 to accomplices. He didn’t want additional strangers involved. They were just as likely to be armed as the thief, which Riley assumed was the case. Riley doubted this was a one-way trip or pleasure ride. With a rendezvous almost a guarantee, he decided to arrest the thief at the next stop.
The Blue Ridge Mountains grew larger ahead of them as the miles rolled by, traffic getting lighter on the two-lane highway so that Riley had to keep farther back to avoid suspicion. At times they were almost the only vehicles on the road. The rolling foothills also forced Riley to keep closer so that the rider didn’t disappear over a hill and take an exit without Riley realizing it. Riley was sure he’d been seen. The thief wouldn’t conclude he was being followed, but just in case, Riley changed tactics.
At a long stretch between exits, he passed the rider, staying out front until the next exit, where he slowly let the thief pull even once more just in case he turned off. Riley repeated this a few times but not at every exit, to make it seem random. An hour had passed since the last stop, but now they turned off at Front Royal and soon reached the entrance to Skyline Drive. Riley was several vehicles back as he paid the ten dollar entrance fee to enter Shenandoah Park. This was the way Tristan’s mountain tour had gone, making Riley wonder if the thief was joining it. That could get interesting fast.
Riley stayed a few cars back, knowing it wouldn’t be easy for the rider to get away from him on the winding mountain road. The thirty-five mph limit kept the ride leisurely, and some cars and every RV struggled up some of the bigger sections, slowing traffic to a crawl.
After passing a number of lookout locations, each with a parking lot, the thief pulled the R1 into a parking space and Riley pulled up right beside him. The guy looked at him sharply, cold eyes raking over Riley. Acting casual, Riley switched off the Harley and got off, turning to the thief with a smile meant to allay distrust. Around them, parents with their young kids milled around the parking lot and the picnic tables outside the little building where vending machines and restrooms waited.
“Hey, man,” he began jovially, opening his jacket, “what do you think of that bike? I was checking it out.”
The thief flipped up the visor on his helmet, a chill expression relaxing. “Your Harley’s better.”
“How’s it compare? Never been on a crotch rocket.”
“It’s alright going fast on a road like this, but this slow traffic is bullshit up here.” The rider took the helmet off and slung it on the handlebars.
Riley laughed and felt the Nighthawk under his armpit pressing against his side. “Right. Well, have a good ride, man.”