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Striker’s friend, Jinx, meets us in the corridor and we head to what I assume is their meeting room. When I look inside, I see three of the Jackson brothers waiting there: Jasper, Onyx, and Slate. I’m half expecting the atmosphere to be strained, because Striker probably told them all about me and they’ve spent the past three years thinking I was going to sell out the club. But much to my relief they just jerk their chins in a welcome of sorts.
Striker hands Josie off to me and proceeds to get the others up to speed on what’s happened. When he gets to the rumor about me working with the feds against my former employer, rather than the club, he owns up to his mistake in accusing me of informing against his club.
“Back then, she told me the truth about what she was doin’, and I didn’t believe her. Some of you probably remember how it all came out in the news later and how wrong I was. She was never once against this club.”
His club president, Jasper, responds with a frown, “I remember that happening. You were sure as shit she was informin’ against the club, and it all came out later.”
Hearing him take responsibility in front of all his club brothers loosens something in my chest. I hug my daughter closer and force myself to control my emotions. He knows he did me wrong, and that takes some, but not all, of the sting out of the awful things he said to me back then.
Slate speaks up, “Forget about what happened three fuckin’ years ago and let’s stick to the problem at hand. A man shadowin’ a woman and a baby in our town should be our primary fuckin’ concern.”
Jasper responds decisively, “As long as this woman and her kid are under Striker’s protection, we’re all in.”
It seems like time speeds up from there. They come up with a plan. It’s smart, fast, and right on target. I can tell this isn’t their first rodeo. They discuss the relatively tight security at Striker’s house, not leaving his property without an escort, and staking out my uncle’s house to see if the gray truck shows up there. The deeper they get into the conversation, the quicker it goes, and they end up speaking some kind of biker shorthand. I can’t grasp it all, but I pay attention and make a mental note of the questions to ask Striker later.
I have to admit they’re very thorough, and it’s a genuine relief to be surrounded by so many competent, motivated men. Some of my fear and anxiety melt away as I begin to believe they truly care about my plight.
***
When we get back to the house, Striker goes straight back to work on our case. He starts ordering upgrades for his home security, which is already pretty tight. He orders more cameras, a better gate sensor, and some kind of sensor for his windows. The house is already the most secure building I have ever seen, and he is beefing up security even more.
I know Striker well enough to know why he’s doing all this. He’s a security specialist. Protecting equals caring in his world. I understood what makes him tick years ago. Nothing’s changed on that front.
Later in the day, after the order arrives, he walks up to me with some gadget in his hand. “I want to put a sensor on the window in your bedroom,” he says. “I think it’s best if you and Josie share a bedroom. I’ve got plenty of spare rooms, but I want to be able to secure the area.”
“Secure the area?” I ask, confused. It sounds like we’re going to be under house arrest.
“Window and door sensors. The whole house is secure, but it makes sense to take extra precautions where you’ll be sleeping at night. Josie’s too young to recognize danger, and if something happened, she might not be able to call out.”
“Isn’t this a bit over the top?”
He shakes his head. “That truck meant business. Until I know who it is and what they want with you, we gotta take this seriously, okay?”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I guess. Thank you for doing this.”
He gets his tools and follows me upstairs. I take Josie with me and watch him install this extra safety gadget on the window.
It feels like he’s trying to show me, in the only way he knows how, that he understands that what he did wrong was refusing to listen to me, and now he’s correcting that problem. It is an excellent apology executed in real time.
I make homemade baked mac and cheese for Josie and dish her up a child-size serving that she can manage on her own. I dish up a bowl for myself and then make one for Striker as well. Carrying it into his dining room-turned-command-center, I hold it out with both hands. “You should eat something. It’s been a long time since breakfast and you’re shaking again.”
He looks at the bowl and then at me. “It smells fuckin’ delicious.”
“It’s a recipe I used to make with my grandmother. The topping is made from crackers and Parmesan cheese. It’s Josie’s favorite.”
“Thank you, Beth. I appreciate you sharing food with me.” It breaks my heart when he reaches out with one shaky hand and picks up the fork. He proceeds to eat every single bite. I catch him looking towards the kitchen when he’s finished. He wants more of my cooking, I think with quiet pride.
“There’s plenty more if you’re interested.”
That man is out of his chair and stalking towards the kitchen before I finish the sentence.
He glances at the pan of mac and cheese and asks, “You and Josie eaten enough?”
“Yes.” I see him gazing at the pan longingly and add, “Take it.”
He doesn’t need telling twice and grabs the pan off the counter and wanders off with it. This man needs a wife more than any guy I’ve ever met, I think to myself. Not that I’m interested in signing up for the job or anything. Despite the fact that after all these years he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, I’m not even thinking of us getting back together.
No matter what my traitorous body has to say on the matter.
