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A load of laundry and a breakfast of toast and peanut butter preceded their departure from Hank’s. Stone had a hard time thinking of the house as his and his brother’s; neither of them would ever live there again. One day, after Hank moved out, they’d sell it. Again, neither of them needed the money, but it would make a nice nest egg for retirement. Or a college fund for kids.

That thought came from nowhere and had him drawing up short as he climbed behind the wheel.

“You okay?” Juliana asked, already perched in the passenger seat.

He blinked, then hauled himself the rest of the way in. “Yeah. All good.” He hadn’t ever considered having kids, although now that the thought had wormed its way into his head, he wasn’t sure why. As he’d told Juliana, unlike James, he craved family. He had it in the Falcons, but it wasn’t a huge leap to think about having something more traditional.

“You sure?” Juliana asked as he pulled out of the garage.

“Yep,” he said, pausing in the driveway to watch the door close before setting the alarm from his phone. And he was. He liked the idea. He liked it even more when he pictured Juliana in his house with him.

She didn’t look convinced, and he picked up her hand, kissed it, then set it on his thigh. “I’m fine. Promise. Now, do you want to hear the plan?”

She cocked her head and nibbled her lower lip. “Um, truthfully? You kind of made me forget there was a plan, but now that you’ve reminded me, yeah, I’d like to know.”

He smiled, then eased onto the street and headed west. “We’re going to breakfast at a popular spot up on Skyline Boulevard. We’ll meet some friends there and do a swap.”

“They’ll take the truck and head somewhere away from Mystery Lake and we’ll head home in one of their cars?” she finished.

He nodded. “Only it won’t be a car. It will be a bike.”

He felt her eyes on him as he turned south toward Interstate 280.

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” she said after several blocks. He couldn’t get a read on her tone. He heard curiosity, but also something else.

“It’s safe,” he said. “I’m an excellent driver.”

She frowned. “I don’t doubt you are. Nothing you’ve done in the time I’ve known you makes me think you’re reckless. But you aren’t the only one on the road, and the majority of motorcycle accidents—some say up to 75 percent—are caused by other drivers. Will we have helmets?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t ride without one, and I sure as hell wouldn’t put you on a bike without one.”

“And what time will we be on the road?”

“It’s seven thirty now. By the time we get to the restaurant, eat, and do the swap, we’ll be on the road by ten. Why?”

“About 60 percent of motorcycle accidents happen between noon and 9:00 p.m., with the greatest percentage being between three and six.”

His lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. He did not discount her nerves, but the fact that she’d researched motorcycle safety was cute as fuck.

“We’ll be home by three,” he assured her. “What else did your stats say?”

She eyed him, no doubt looking for signs of mockery. He did think it a little overkill, but the more important fact was that she wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t care.

She sighed. “Most fatal accidents involve older drivers—not the young and stupid like most people think. But it’s only by a slim margin. You’re not young and stupid, but you don’t fall into the ‘older’ category yet either, as that is drivers over forty.”

“Not far off, though,” he said.

“Far enough. For now.” Her tone had him wondering if she’d lobby for him to stop riding when he turned forty. He didn’t even bother to question if they’d be together.

“What else?”

“Helmets make a huge difference, of course. Lane splitting is a frequent cause?—”

“I won’t do that,” he promised.

She nodded. “The other risk factors are mostly other cars. Left turns, lane changes, those sorts of things.”

“Once we’re out of the Bay Area, we’ll take back roads with fewer cars, and I’ll be cautious.” She nodded, but in a distracted way he didn’t like. “If it really bothers you, I can make other plans.”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “It makes me nervous. I won’t pretend it doesn’t, and it seems as if you should know that if you’re driving. But I trust you, even though I may hold on and close my eyes for a while. I’m a bit of a chicken.”

He smiled as he merged onto Interstate 280 heading west. “Hold on as tight as you need, and we can slow or take a break any time you want. And you’re not a chicken,” he added.

She shot him an indulgent look.

“You’re not,” he insisted. “No way would a chicken have pulled off what you did in the museum last weekend.”

She snorted. “I read too many mysteries and thrillers, and I know how that story ends. I didn’t want to die is all. There’s no bravery in that.”

“First,” he said, holding up a finger. “Is there really such a thing as reading too many mysteries or thrillers?”

She hesitated. “Okay, you got me there, and you might have made me fall a little in love with you, too.”

She said it as a joke, but his heart stuttered, then leaped. He grinned. “Second, doing what you need to in order to stay alive is brave. It’s easy to give up hope. It’s easy to lose your cool. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about when I say it’s much much harder to stay focused, use your brain, and remember you have something to live for. Even if it’s just a chance to read the next release of your favorite author.”

She stilled, then bobbed her head from side to side. “You know, in all the hoopla, I never did hear the end of the Lisa Roberts book I was listening to.”

He laughed. Calling the mess they were in “hoopla” was an epic understatement. “Connect your phone,” he said, nodding to his Bluetooth audio system. “We have about thirty minutes before we reach the restaurant.”

They rolled into the Falcon’s Rest clubhouse parking lot at ten minutes to three. Juliana had her eyes open by then. In fact, ten minutes into the ride she’d felt comfortable enough to stop squeezing the living daylights out of Simon.

It helped that the coordinated switch had gone off without a hitch and that the large group of forty riders who’d met them at the café had welcomed her like one of their own. When the time came to leave, two of the bikers took the truck and headed north while she and Simon had roared out of the parking lot with the others in a rumble that echoed through the trees. For thirty minutes, they’d stayed with the pack, giving her time to adjust in the comfort of other experienced riders, then they’d turned east and headed to Mystery Lake.

Once they left Silicon Valley and turned onto a quiet, two-lane highway, she even started to relax. Now, over four hours later, her butt and thighs ached, as did her back and arms, but it wasn’t from being tense, more just from the wear and tear of being in an unfamiliar position for an extended period. They’d stopped once for her to stretch and use the bathroom; still, riding was new to her, and her body wasn’t used to it.

Philly and another man walked out of the clubhouse as Simon lowered the kickstand and climbed off. Offering his hand to steady her, she gripped his fingers as she swung her leg over.

“That Chance’s bike?” Philly asked, stopping just outside the door.

“Yeah,” Simon said as she set her feet down on the gravel and rose. Her hips wobbled, and it felt as though her legs weren’t entirely underneath her. Simon’s grip tightened, letting her know she could use him for balance, but he didn’t otherwise interfere as she adjusted to being back on two feet.

“Juliana, Viper,” Simon said, gesturing to the man who stood beside Philly. “Viper, Juliana.”

She waved to the good-looking Black man. Viper nodded in response but didn’t move toward her as she found her legs again.

“I told Chance Juliana’d never ridden,” Simon said.

“Probably the only reason you could give that would have him lending you Bia,” Philly said.

“Bia? Goddess of force?” she asked. Simon nodded. “Does everyone name their bike?”

The three men all but shuffled their feet. She opened her mouth to ask the name of each of theirs, but Philly cut her off.

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked as Simon led her toward the two men. “It can take some getting used to.” He nodded to the bike.

“I feel like I did when I was ten and went on my first horseback ride at camp,” she replied as they came to a stop. She did a little shimmy with her hips, her thighs still adjusting to being reunited. “At least I’ll be able to take a bath tonight rather than suffer through a cold shower in a communal room with five other girls. Four of whom took great joy in pointing out my horse was probably sorer than I was. As if the fact that they looked like scrawny wet chihuahuas made them better than me.” Silence met her response, and her gaze flickered up from where she’d been examining the dust on her jeans. “Uh, too much info?” she asked when she found three sets of eyes staring at her.

“You are gorgeous. All woman,” Simon said matter of fact.

“And hot. I’d go into more detail, but Stone would kick my ass,” Philly said, taking a step away from Simon as he spoke.

“I hate chihuahuas,” Viper added.

She, Simon, and Philly looked at him. Then burst out laughing. The left side of Viper’s mouth curled into a grin. “It’s true, I do. The dog and the human variety. Now, how about we go inside and update you about all the work we did while you two were joyriding.”

She considered protesting the joyride comment, but then he winked at her. Rolling her eyes, she followed behind, her hand tucked in Simon’s.

They entered the clubhouse as Dottie pushed through the kitchen doors at the back of the room carrying a tray. “Late lunch for Stone and Juliana,” she said, walking over. Viper immediately met her halfway and took the tray. “Amber will drop the drinks by. She’s putting the finishing touches on her homemade lemonade. She’ll bring a pitcher.”

The men groaned, and Juliana assumed she was in for a treat. She didn’t tend to drink a lot of fruit juices. She’d fallen out of the habit when her aunt had insisted that they’d rot her teeth and make her gain weight. But the words brought back a flash of a good memory, too. Just images in her mind, like flipping through a series of Polaroids. Her and her mom in the kitchen of the cabin they’d go to in Maine for the summer. A pile of squeezed lemon halves on the worn wood counters. An old-fashioned ceramic container of sugar. Her parents mixed it with iced tea, and they’d had it with fresh lobster and corn picked from the local farm.

Dottie paused, set her hand on her hip, and eyed Juliana. “You doing okay, hon? You taking care of her?” she asked, her gaze shifting to Simon.

“I am and he is,” Juliana answered. Simon’s hand twitched in hers. She thought about adding that they were taking care of each other, but stopped herself when she saw a mischievous glint in Philly’s eye. Yeah, she’d skip making the unintended sexual insinuation.

“Coward,” Philly muttered.

“Prurient,” she shot back.

“That’s not a noun,” he countered.

“ Antiquing wasn’t a verb, either, and yet here we are. The evolution of language,” she said.

Simon exhaled in a huff that might have hid a laugh. “How about lunch? And an update.”

“I got this,” Viper said, raising the tray and walking toward the atrium.

“Go,” Dottie said, jerking her head in Viper’s direction. “The faster you get the update, the sooner you can head home and ease those sore muscles.” She paused, then waggled her eyebrows. “Take care of each other .”

Philly snorted, then fist-bumped Dottie as she spun and walked back to the kitchen. Simon sighed and shook his head. “Sorry.”

She snickered. “Not your circus, not your monkeys.”

“If only that were true,” he muttered before tugging her in the same direction as Viper.

“I’ll check on Amber,” Philly said, peeling off and following Dottie to the kitchen.

By the time she and Simon had their plates filled with cold fried chicken, hot biscuits, and a tangy coleslaw, Philly had joined them with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses for everyone.

“Oh, this is good,” she said after taking a sip. “It tastes…I can’t put my finger on it. A little minty, but something else.”

“She blends a cucumber and mint in water, lets it sit a few minutes, then strains it and uses that to make the simple syrup,” Philly said.

“Is she a trained chef?” she asked.

All three men shook their heads. “She’s a woman finding herself through learning to cook,” Simon responded.

Juliana didn’t need more than that to understand. Amber’s situation had taken everything from her, even—especially—her sense of self. With every recipe she mastered, every trial that failed, every experiment that succeeded, she found another little bit of herself.

“Well, please pass on my appreciation. This is amazing,” she said, taking another sip.

“Now, the update?” Simon asked before biting into his chicken.

“It’s a good one,” Philly said.

“Where’s Monk?” she asked.

“He’s following a lead in Sacramento. He’ll be back in a few hours,” Viper responded.

“The update?” Simon prompted again.

The inevitability of their situation pressed in on her like a dark cloud, and her flight instinct fluttered to life. Philly hadn’t been entirely wrong in calling her a coward. Simon might think her strong, and in some ways, she was, but right now, she felt anything but. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to be reminded of Lowery and Polinsky and Gregor. She wanted to bury her head in the sand, if only for a little while, and have it all go away.

Simon’s hand came to rest on the back of her neck, and he gently massaged the muscles. The contact and his steady presence didn’t chase the demons away, but it did make it easier to accept that it was far too late to hide from anything.

With a sigh, she looked at Philly. “Yes,” she said. “What’s the update?”