Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6)(12)

What was taking him so god damned long? I looked in my side view mirror and noticed that another motorcycle had pulled over. Great. Two cops now.

But the new guy wasn’t a cop. He was a tall, lanky guy wearing one of those slouch beanies and a black leather jacket, and… Shit on a shingle. It’s Fox Isherwood.

I still didn’t dare get out—cops and their itchy trigger fingers had been all over the news lately—so I watched the scene play out in the mirror.

Fox looked like a hood, but he seemed to be reasoning with the cop. That, or discussing some stupid ballgame. They were laughing and chatting, and Fox even seemed to be handing the cop a business card! What the hell? Was Fox someone important? I knew so little about the outlaw motorcycle club I had inadvertently become entwined with. In fact, if I was Randy Blankenship, I wouldn’t have let me work at the dispensary.

Now Fox was even clapping the cop on the shoulder in a good ol’ boy way! I hit the steering wheel in frustration, my mouth open. What in the name of a Wookie’s bush was going on back there? Exchanging business cards? Throwing back their heads and laughing like a still life of some Police Squad closing credits?

I was pissed, of course. Fox had obviously been following me. He was that desperate for some good scenery he would stalk two women in his friend’s motorcycle club? But when the cop came back and handed me my license and registration, I started having second thoughts about the fair-skinned guy.

“Never mind, Miss Lofting. Just a warning that you’d better get your car registration updated.”

“What?” I looked at the date on the registration. It had expired three weeks ago. I sincerely hadn’t thought about it. “Oh man, I can’t believe I forgot! I’ll take care of it the second I get back home.”

The surly cop was all smiles now. “You can thank Mr. Dover back there. Have a good rest of the day.”

“Mr. Dover” sort of leaned back on the saddle of his Harley with crossed arms, looking supremely arrogant while the cop tooled off. I didn’t get out of the car until the cop was safely out of view. That was when “Mr. Dover” started heading my way.

His long arms dangled at his sides. He didn’t walk, he loped like a graceful animal, all sinew and confidence. Who was this bastard, anyway? And who the f*ck was Mr. Dover? My arms were folded and I was practically tapping my shoe with irritation against the asphalt.

I spoke first. “I’m supposed to thank you, and I don’t even know who you are.”

His grin was infectious. Was he a good ole boy, or a stalker? “I used my natural inborn charm to talk him out of a ticket.”

“Why am I skeptical? I saw you handing him a card of some sort. And he’s calling you Mr. Dover.”

He reached for his pocket and I flinched. After the cop had left, I’d seen Fox Isherwood take a gun from his saddlebag and stick it down the back of his pants, like thugs and bikers did. He held his hands up to indicate he wasn’t going for the gun.

“Sorry.” I apologized. “I’m a bit gun-shy.”

“I can understand that.” Now his voice was full of concern. Who the f*ck was he?

This time, I tried not to flinch when he withdrew a wallet on a chain and flipped out a business card. I took it like it was a piece of Belgian endive, my most hated vegetable. I looked at it from a distance as though it would infect me.

Benjamin Dover

Attorney-at-Law

500 Camino De La Placita

Taos NM 87571

I kept the card for future reference. “Ben Dover, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He shrugged. He was so fully in control of himself, his life. I envied people like that. Mine was a train wreck. “Comes in handy in situations like this.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I just told him I was the lawyer for the Bare Bones MC. I don’t know them well, but I figure they have heft. I said I was the new lawyer for the club. And I said you were the new manager over at Triple Exposure Studios.”

My mouth hung low. “Triple Exposure? Thanks a lot!”

The mirth evaporated from his face. “Why? What’s wrong with Triple Exposure? I heard the Prospect at the club tell someone he’d better get over to Triple Exposure Studios, that there was a problem with their sound board.”

Now I laughed. What else could I do? His ruse had worked, that was all that mattered. Getting a ticket might be the kind of jeopardy that could result in Randy putting an end to my Joint System employment. “You didn’t know? Triple Exposure is an adult film studio the club owns.” I’d heard as much from Maddie and June. One of their brothers, Knoxie Hammett, used to work there. I’d checked it out in my spare time at home. As Rex Havoc, Knoxie f*cked his way through such gems as A Clockwork Orgy, Ass Ventura: Smut Detective, and my favorite, Genital Hospital, where he got to wear a lab coat and give women exams.

Fox looked perplexed. “Oh. Well, the thing that actually did the trick was when I told him I’m the club’s new lawyer. Then he really got friendly. Said it was about time some guy named Slushy got disbarred, and he welcomed me to town.”

Slushy? Why did that name sound familiar? I recalled Lytton saying he’d named a pot brownie after Slushy, and something about the archery range. “And he believed a ‘lawyer’ wearing a slouch beanie.”

Without hesitation, Fox reached up and whipped his beanie off. I expected to see some patches of male pattern baldness, but he was just hiding a head of thick, glossy, copper-colored hair.