Page 18 of The Biker's Brother

“There should be a law.”

“You’re stalling. Give me something else to listen to. IfStink Fistis off the table, you’re up.”

“Why do you want to hear this?”

“What else have we got to do? You’ve got a story that I’ve become a part of even if that was by contract. So I’m curious. How did a…” he smiled, ”well-educatedwomansuch as yourself end up here in the rain in a car too old for satellite sounds or navigation, leaving West Virginia in the dark? With me.”

“Is this in confidence?”

“Are you asking for it to be?”

She bit her lip. “Yes.”

He waggled his head back and forth.

“Sure. I’m not very big on carrying gossip anyway.”

“Hmmm. I took you for a tongue wagger.”

“Stalling.”

“Alright. Alright.” She faced forward, like she didn’t want to know his reactions. “I met Trey at a party, a fund raiser for Catholic Charities. I’m not Catholic, but you know… Boston.” She said that as if the name of the city carried a world of background information and explanation. “It’s good for the family business.”

Brandon knew a lot about attending charity events and giving generously because it was good for the family business, but he wasn’t about to share that they had that in common.

“Somebody I’d known from school was there and introduced me. Mary Donovan,” she added, like the name was somehow pertinent. “I’d noticed him staring at me throughout the evening. It would have been impossible not to notice because he’s not the sort of personality who’s easily overlooked. Well… and he’s very good-looking.”

Brandon shifted his weight in the seat when he heard that. It bothered him that she thought the villain she was running from was good-looking, though he had no idea why. Why should he care what she thought about her ex’s looks? He reached for a bag of peanuts and ripped it open with his teeth.

“He immediately launched a full courtship press. Apparently he decided on sight that I was going to be the lucky girl.”

“Woman.”

“What?”

“No double standards. If I can’t call you a girl, you can’t call yourself a girl.”

“Oh. Right. It’s just an expression.”

When she didn’t resume her story, Brand prompted her. “It’s just an expression when I say it, too. Go on.”

“Ah, well, this is harder than I thought. I’ve never told the whole story before.”

He glanced over at her. “Not to anybody?”

“Nope. Not even my mother.” She laughed. “Of course she’s the last person who’d be interested.”

“Your dad is interested. I know that for a fact.”

She nodded. “I don’t know how I would have been able to pull away without his help.” She sighed. “So he did that thing that predators do. Now I know how to recognize it because I’ve done a little research, but at the time, it just looked like a very attractive and successful guy was head over heels in love with me and desperate for my attention.

“It was nonstop flower deliveries and handwritten love notes. He even showed up at work to take me to lunch two or three times a week.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. Work. I’m, well, I guess I should say Iwasa junior Art of the Americas curator at the MFA.” He whistled and gave her a look that made her feel defensive. “I know what you’re thinking. That I got the job because of my family. And you’re right. I did. But it’s not like I didn’t do the work. I have an M.A. on the subject. I spent a year of high school in Mexico City and two years at the art museum in Sao Paulo.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow.

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