Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

“Agreed. I know just the spot where we can hide out.” He held out his hand.

“Is that how you sweet talk all the girls into going to your apartment?” She took his hand and a spark of electricity she couldn’t ignore sizzled all the way down to her orange-painted toenails.

“I’ll just let you wonder about that.”

She didn’t understand how she got to a place where he was her best option for clearing her name, but it didn’t seem as weird as it would have only a few hours ago. Still, the knife’s edge of fear flicked against her throat as she followed him out into the dimly lit parking lot.

She picked up the helmet from the bag on the side of the motorcycle and stared into the reflective surface. All she could see were the neon lights of The Salty Dog’s sign. It was like she’d disappeared, just like she’d promised Tommy she would. “You sure about this?”

“I got you this far didn’t I?” He flipped the visor down on his helmet and settled down onto the bike.

The machine roared to life, and the power of it rumbled the ground beneath her feet. She’d had more than enough of the uncertainty. It was time to regain some modicum of control over her life. She needed Cam, no doubt about it. But on her terms. If he thought she was going to sit back and be a damsel in distress, he couldn’t be more wrong. He was about to find out how involved she wanted to be. He’d called her his partner, well—in this case—she was going to make it real.

She shoved the helmet down on her head as she got on the motorcycle and grabbed hold of Cam’s hips. A quick shiver ran up her spine at having him between her thighs. “Can you hear me?” she asked into the helmet’s Bluetooth mic.

He nodded but remained silent.

“You may have gotten me this far,” she said, “but it’ll be we from now on. I’m the one in control of my own destiny. Got it?”

His only answer was a sexy chuckle that came through the hidden earpiece as he revved the motorcycle’s engine and rolled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Eight

“I find it hard to believe you don’t know the beauty you are, but if you don’t, let me be your eyes.” - The Velvet Underground

The motorcycle ride from The Salty Dog took less than ten minutes, but when Drea took off her borrowed helmet, it was like she’d gone back in time. The perfect manicured yards, precisely trimmed hedges, and large stone homes with imposing front doors were an updated version of the perfect neighborhood she’d grown up in.

She hated it on sight.

“Where are we?” She handed her helmet to Cam, who stuffed it in a bag on the side of the motorcycle along with his own.

The security lights lining the driveway caught the true blond highlights in his hair as he ran his fingers through it. “Riverton.”

“Nice neighborhood.” She looked up at the house as they crossed the circular stone driveway toward the front door.

“It’s a little too…” He paused as if looking for the right word. “…suburban for me.”

She tried to imagine Cam living in the Harbor City ‘burbs. The image of him in his thick soled motorcycle boots and tight jeans at the local organic-only supermarket with the Lily Pulitzer crowd made her giggle. “So why are we here?”

“To see a man who knows more about Diamond Tommy Houston than the crime boss probably knows about himself.” He rapped on the door, and the porch light flipped on.

The door opened slowly, with a subtle creak. A sliver of a man stood in the opening. He had gray hair, thick glasses, and a handlebar mustache that would make any hipster in Harbor City’s Jonesburg neighborhood green with envy. He gave them a quick once over before a giant grin swept up the sides of his fabulous whiskers.

“Cameron, how nice to see you again.” The man looked down at his Rolex. “Although I must say, ten o’clock isn’t usually visiting hours.”

“Sorry about that, judge,” Cam said. “We need your help and a place to hang our hats for a few days.”

Judge?

Drea’s heart slammed against her ribs. Didn’t he realize the judge would have an obligation to turn her in to the cops? The whole thing was crazy. It was another prime example showing why she shouldn’t trust him. Not in her bed and definitely not with her life.

Oblivious to her worry, Cam slipped his fingers between hers, holding her hand as if they did it every Sunday during church. “The judge here is a sucker for lost causes.”

The judge tsked-tsked. “Not lost, just lacking direction.” He stepped back, giving them space to walk into the large book-filled living room.

Cam stepped forward, but Drea couldn’t move her feet. His fingers fell out of her grasp. She knew better than to hold on too tight to people she thought were on her side. She had a hundred dollars and change in her purse. No phone. And her chances of finding a cab in this far flung neighborhood to take her to a cheap motel for the night were slim to none. As much

as she wanted to finish this on her own, going inside wasn’t just her best option, it was her only one right now. Still, she was scared shitless.