this was the time to argue with Dylan about who should be the one to wear it. Besides, even she knew that her state didnât require a helmet. Texas figured if a man was dumb enough to ride a motorcycle without one, theyâd like to thin the herd.
âTake a stolen motorcycle out on the road and weâll be in jail before dinner,â she said, tightening the strap.
âI bought it.â
âSomeone sold you their motorcycle just like that?â
âI can be very convincing when I need to be.â
She had no doubt.
Dylan slid onto the seat in front of her. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his chest, remembering how frightened sheâd been when heâd been shot earlier. Fear that had been all too familiar since this whole ordeal had begun. This past week had been the longest in her life, and the last thing she wanted to do was bring someone else into her problems. And yet having Dylan there brought a sense of calm to all this insanity.
The engine roared to life.
Dylan put his head down, shades on, and then weaved into the always heavy downtown Austin traffic.
Her body finally felt the weight of everything sheâd been through in the past week. She didnât want to remember the last time sheâd really slept, or had a decent meal, for that matter. Sheâd been surviving on power bars and water. The protein was enough to keep her going, and staying hydrated just seemed to make sense, but it was all robotic.
Lack of rest settled over her like a steel blanket, pressing down over already exhausted limbs.
* * *
B Y Â THE Â TIME Â Dylan pulled into town, it was dark. Samantha figured no one would expect them to roll in on a motorcycle. The ride had been long but, thankfully, without incident. Kramer, or whoever was behind this, would have expected them to take I-35, but Dylan had taken 190 to I-45 and come up as though from Houston instead of Austin. His plan had proved brilliant even though it had added time they both knew they didnât have.
She recognized the storage facility on the edge of town where he stashed the Honda 500 as being fairly close to his small ranch.
âWe can walk it from here,â Dylan said, which were the first words that had passed between them in more than five hours. If he blamed her for Maribelâs kidnapping, he didnât let on. His green eyes were sharper now, determined.
Her body ached from lack of sleep and little food. Even though her stomach growled, she couldnât imagine being able to hold down food. Not with what was at stake. Knowing a little girlâs lifeâDylanâs little girl, at thatâhung in the balance pretty much ensured Samantha couldnât have eaten or slept if sheâd tried.
With the dark circles cradling Dylanâs eyes, that was most likely all he could think about, too. Talking about how desperate the situation felt wouldnât change anything, wouldnât help matters. In fact, he needed a distraction.
âHow far is your place?â
âAbout thirty minutes or so from here,â he said.
He knew this area like the back of his hand, so she would rely on his skills to get them there safely.
The half-hour hike wasnât bad even through burning thighs. Dylanâs silence was far more unnerving. Having grown up with three brothers, she knew that a quiet man was not a good sign.
It was black as pitch outside with no sign of light.
She listened for the sound of Dylanâs footsteps and stopped a little too late, running into his back.
His hand found hers for the rest of the walk.
She couldnât have seen a tree if it was right in front of her face. His phone light appeared every once in a while, guiding them through the night.
They pushed through trees and brush, eventually making their way to the edge of a clearing. This had to be his place. An outside light was on over his carport and there were two others lighting the front of the small
âTake a stolen motorcycle out on the road and weâll be in jail before dinner,â she said, tightening the strap.
âI bought it.â
âSomeone sold you their motorcycle just like that?â
âI can be very convincing when I need to be.â
She had no doubt.
Dylan slid onto the seat in front of her. She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his chest, remembering how frightened sheâd been when heâd been shot earlier. Fear that had been all too familiar since this whole ordeal had begun. This past week had been the longest in her life, and the last thing she wanted to do was bring someone else into her problems. And yet having Dylan there brought a sense of calm to all this insanity.
The engine roared to life.
Dylan put his head down, shades on, and then weaved into the always heavy downtown Austin traffic.
Her body finally felt the weight of everything sheâd been through in the past week. She didnât want to remember the last time sheâd really slept, or had a decent meal, for that matter. Sheâd been surviving on power bars and water. The protein was enough to keep her going, and staying hydrated just seemed to make sense, but it was all robotic.
Lack of rest settled over her like a steel blanket, pressing down over already exhausted limbs.
* * *
B Y Â THE Â TIME Â Dylan pulled into town, it was dark. Samantha figured no one would expect them to roll in on a motorcycle. The ride had been long but, thankfully, without incident. Kramer, or whoever was behind this, would have expected them to take I-35, but Dylan had taken 190 to I-45 and come up as though from Houston instead of Austin. His plan had proved brilliant even though it had added time they both knew they didnât have.
She recognized the storage facility on the edge of town where he stashed the Honda 500 as being fairly close to his small ranch.
âWe can walk it from here,â Dylan said, which were the first words that had passed between them in more than five hours. If he blamed her for Maribelâs kidnapping, he didnât let on. His green eyes were sharper now, determined.
Her body ached from lack of sleep and little food. Even though her stomach growled, she couldnât imagine being able to hold down food. Not with what was at stake. Knowing a little girlâs lifeâDylanâs little girl, at thatâhung in the balance pretty much ensured Samantha couldnât have eaten or slept if sheâd tried.
With the dark circles cradling Dylanâs eyes, that was most likely all he could think about, too. Talking about how desperate the situation felt wouldnât change anything, wouldnât help matters. In fact, he needed a distraction.
âHow far is your place?â
âAbout thirty minutes or so from here,â he said.
He knew this area like the back of his hand, so she would rely on his skills to get them there safely.
The half-hour hike wasnât bad even through burning thighs. Dylanâs silence was far more unnerving. Having grown up with three brothers, she knew that a quiet man was not a good sign.
It was black as pitch outside with no sign of light.
She listened for the sound of Dylanâs footsteps and stopped a little too late, running into his back.
His hand found hers for the rest of the walk.
She couldnât have seen a tree if it was right in front of her face. His phone light appeared every once in a while, guiding them through the night.
They pushed through trees and brush, eventually making their way to the edge of a clearing. This had to be his place. An outside light was on over his carport and there were two others lighting the front of the small
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