Page 39 of The Belle and the Biker

That's Bitter End for you. They're only distantly related to me, and I was awful to them for a long time, but if I have a problem, they all have a problem. On the other hand, the ladies here in Sugar Hill would set up a private text channel to gossip and mock me—from a safe distance. They'd be conveniently busy whenever I called, and servants would come to the door to tell me they weren't home if I tried to visit.

Crash shakes his head, forehead creasing in a scowl. "I'm not gonna lie to you. We're running into a dead end, and that's why Savannah and I are leaving town for a while."

"If the person who followed us yesterday is the one who shot at her in New York, do you have any idea how they would have tracked you back here?" Daisy asks.

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're going all detective club right now."

"No, she's not." Chase's voice is sharp with a warning.

"Just a simple question," she says, her eyes all wide and innocent. "I already looked at all your social media accounts, anything that the killer might have had access to, and you didn't post anything about coming home, which would have been the most obvious way he'd find you. Did I miss anything?"

"No, I didn't post online. And the only people who knew I was coming here were Aunt Hepzibah and a few people in the Iron Ride. Really just Tawny and Axl and Sprocket." I chew my lower lip. "My social media accounts say that my hometown is Sugar Hill, though, so it wasn't that much of a reach."

"I have an idea," Callie says. "We can get the Bitter End Bulletin to announce that you came to town for a visit, and now you've left, and you're hitting the open road. Lie and say you're heading to Tennessee or something. You could even upload a few pictures from other parts of the country to your social media account to throw the shooter off. And since the Bitter End Bulletin is online now, we can get that announcement out this morning."

"Good thinking," Daisy agrees. "Now, what do we know about the killer?"

"Enough!" Chase explodes, leaping to his feet. "This investigation is not happening. This is not some grade school adventure where you find out who's stealing money from the cafeteria. You're dealing with a psychotic stalker with a gun who very likely was able to follow Savannah from New York to Swampy Bottom County. There is no way in hell I'm letting my pregnant wife get dragged into this. I'll hire bodyguards to keep Savannah safe. An entire squad of them. And no offense, Savannah, but those bodyguards will need to take you to the other side of the country. As far away from my wife and unborn child as possible."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Crash jumps up and gets right in Chase's face. "You think I can't protect her?"

The two men bristle, fists clenched, eyes blazing in fury. The testosterone is so thick you could choke on it.

"Hey!" I yell.

They ignore me. We all stand up. Everyone's shouting. Crash and Chase, two big, angry men with good intentions and too much testosterone, are nose to nose, fists clenched.

I upend the coffee table, spilling a glass bowl of potpourri on the carpet. "Hey!" I yell at the top of my lungs.

The shouting stops, and they turn to look at me.

"I would never, in a million years, let Daisy get involved in this." I set the coffee table back in place and start scooping potpourri back into the bowl. "Or any of you girls. And Chase, I appreciate the offer of bodyguards, but there's no better protection for me than Crash and the Iron Ride. They're known for being vigilantes. Crash is ex-military, and most of the club is ex-military or ex-cop. Or current cops and current military. I'll be fine."

I grab Crash's arm. "We need to hit the road, right? The sooner I get out of here, the safer I'll be?"

"Right," he growls, glaring at Chase.

I usher everyone to the front door and say my goodbyes. Chase's eyes are still snapping with anger and Daisy's pouting. "Promise me you will not investigate," I order her.

She rolls her eyes. "I swear on a stack of Godiva chocolate boxes, which I'm suddenly craving. That and anchovies. Together." She pats her small rounded bump of a stomach. "Is that weird?"

"Extremely. I love you guys for wanting to help, and again, I apologize for my former bad behavior."

"You know how you can make up for it?"

"No, but I'd do anything. I mean it. Shave my head, run a marathon, tattoo 'I'm sorry' on my forehead." I hope she doesn't take me up on any of those suggestions.

"You can make up for it by not mentioning it again," she says firmly. "Seriously. You apologized, you wrote a letter, you've changed. And you paid for your mistakes. Let's all move on." She turns to face the rest of the family. "You hear me? I know there's been some lingering bitchery here, supposedly on my behalf. Drop it. And I'll tell Gramma Mae that too."

"While you're at it, tell that old whore to stay away from Beauford Spillwell if she doesn't want me to knock her dentures down her throat!" Aunt Hepzibah bellows from the other room.

I wince.

"Don't tell her that," I urge Daisy. "Things are bad enough between them as it is."

"Can I insult Savannah one more time?" Callie asks. "For old time's sake?"

"Yes," I sigh, resigned.

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