Page 22 of The Verdict

Chapter Four

Merritt

It was too loud to ask questions. Too fast to worry if we’d been followed. And too far to think about where we were headed. The only thing left was to soak in all of him.God, I’d forgotten just how solid he was—bricks of muscle mortared together with pure heat.

Rhys.

I measured the steady march of his breath as it pressed his chest into my hands. The coordinated ripple of muscles as he maneuvered the bike like an expert matador. Bold and commanding over the powerful steel bull underneath us.

We’d been riding along the coast for a while—over an hour, maybe closer to two—when the cold air whipping around us settled as we slowed and turned off the highway onto an unmarked drive. Night had started to stretch its fingers over the high sky, the horizon disappearing into a wash of warm colors.

Back and back and back, the road wove for at least a mile through thickening foliage until there was no sign of the sea orshore or the highway behind us. After another minute or so, a large garage came into view, the front bay open, the inside glittering with bright lighting and stark white walls.

Rhys slowed and brought the bike to a stop just inside the garage, the rumble of the engine rippling like a low tide through the wide-open space for a second before he shut it off.

My hands slid to his shoulders, and they stiffened when I leaned into him in order to swing my leg over the bike.

“Where are we?” I stepped forward and did a slow spin, noting all the motorcycles that gleamed the same way diamonds did—expensively.

“The Sherwood Garage.”

Obviously, a garage,I wanted to retort, but I held back, absorbing the details of the space in silence. Aside from the bikes, tool chests stretched along both walls, and monitors mounted above them stepped through a reel of photographs of motorcycles, presumably all ones they’d done work on.

“This way.” He glanced over his shoulder before weaving a path through the cleanly outlined squares on the ground.

In many ways, this place reminded me more of a jewelry store than a grungy garage. Expensive steel gems were positioned in perfectly marked displays. Thousands of square feet of worthy distractions. But that was what they were: distractions.I knew because I’d crafted plenty of my own over the years.

“Is this your garage?”

“Sort of.”

We reached the back of the garage, and a bike stowed along the wall caught my eye. It wasn’t in a marked square on the ground, instead, only a black Special Forces flag was draped over it. My gaze lingered for a second, understanding so much. His calm reserve. His lethal skills. His DNA-coded sense of duty.

“Merritt.”

I jerked my head, finding him holding open a door that led deeper into the building. I complied silently. There was more to this garage than met the eye.Just like there was more to this man.

I fell back behind him through one hall and then another until we reached an unmarked door, his fist tapping on it with measured force.

“Ty?”

“Yeah? Come in,”a voice on the other side replied.

I watched him hesitate—hand on the doorknob as his gaze slipped to mine.He was preparing to have to explain me.And not because I was wanted for murder. It was something else. But before I could decipher the look, he opened the door.

“What did you find?” the man inside, Ty, asked.His back was to us, but his stature was very similar to Rhys.Another soldier.

He started to turn as Rhys answered,“The suspect,” and the other man froze mid-movement, his head snapping up and pinning me with a stare that was as sharp as a sniper. I had to give him credit, Ty didn’t even flinch in shock when he saw me, his perceptive eyes instantly matching me to the image of the woman on the news.

“Well,” he said, his dark gaze switching between Rhys and me. “This certainly just got interesting.”

“I agree,” I murmured, letting myself glance at my surroundings. Screens. Computers. Servers. A mecca of information.

An operations room.I’d seen enough of them—lawful and unlawful—to recognize the anatomy of something bigger than a motorcycle garage.

“Merritt Manning, this is Tynan Bates,” Rhys introduced low. “Ty, this is Merritt.”

I folded my arms and pulled them tight to my sides, holding the other man’s stare.Breathe, Merritt. You’re here for answers.

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