3. Quentin

3

QUENTIN

M y watch glows in the post dawn light. I told Charlie we were leaving at zero-six-hundred hours, and it’s now zero-six-fourteen.

She’s late.

I’ve been on the compound since zero-five hundred doing final checks of the truck and loading the last of the supplies. The mobile drinks truck is filled with bottles of our finest beer for the festival customer and samples of our best brews for potential new distributors.

I’ve got everything tied down and padded so we don’t lose any bottles. My duffle bag is in the back, and I’m waiting with the door open to load Charlie’s bag and hit the road.

I check my watch again. Zero-six-nineteen.

I grind my teeth together. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover in the next two days, and I like to start early.

The roar of a bike shatters the stillness of the morning, and Charlie comes into view. She’s going too damn fast up the mountain road, and for a moment it looks like she’s going to fly right past. She turns at the last moment, only slowing down enough to make the turn and not enough to avoid kicking up gravel in a skid.

Her bike tilts dangerously far to the left, and my heart leaps into my throat. Then she rights herself and pulls to a stop next to me, kicking up dust.

“God help me,” I mutter under my breath.

This woman’s going to give me a heart attack. Sometimes I think she’s deliberately trying to provoke me.

She slides the helmet off her head, and a shock of pink hair tumbles out. It’s mussed up and sticks up around her ears. Charlie gives a big yawn as she stretches, lifting her arms up in the air.

“Morning.”

She isn’t wearing her usual dark eyeliner and layers of makeup, and without the face armor she looks sleepy and adorable, like a kitten who’s just woken up. But she’s a kitten with claws, and I’m not fooled.

“You’re late.”

The softness of her expression immediately turns into a frown, and I regret my harsh tone.

“Not all of us are used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn, sergeant.”

Her hand runs through her hair, smoothing down the pixie cut as she gives a huge yawn.

“We got time to make a coffee?”

She slides off her bike and heads toward the back of the restaurant. The building is dark. No one’s staying in the clubrooms at the moment, and Davis won’t be here to open up for at least another few hours.

“Nope. We need to hit the road.”

She stops and turns, and her hands go into her jacket pockets. She’s all five-foot-four, puffed up and glowering at me like an angry cat.

“Where’s your stuff?” I ask.

“In my saddle bags, why?”

I stare at her, trying to keep my voice calm. “To load it up so we can hit the road.”

Realization dawns on her face. “We’re not taking the bikes?”

“Of course we’re not taking the bikes. We’re going to a beer festival with the mobile bar.” I fight to keep my voice calm. It’s like she heard nothing of the briefing I gave her last night.

I think she’s going to kick up a fuss, but Charlie just shrugs her shoulders.

“Okay. My stuff’s in the saddle bag.”

She strides back to her bike and hands me an oversized purse. It doesn’t look big enough for three nights away.

“This all you’ve got?”

She shrugs. “All I need is a toothbrush and spare underwear.”

An image flashes through my head of Charlie’s underwear. I bet it’s black and lacy. I shake the thought out of my head, and grabbing her bag, launch it into the passenger seat.

“Get in. We’re going.”

She huffs at me, but there’s an amused smile on her face. “You leaving your bike out here?”

“Hell no.” I wouldn’t leave my baby out in the elements for three days. “Colter will bring her into the workshop for me later. Leave your keys, and he’ll do the same for you.”

She strides across the parking lot and drops her keys into the slot by the door to the workshop. Her black leather pants hug her curvy ass and make my palms sweat. I hope she brought something else to wear at the festival or every hot-blooded man in the county will be hanging around her.

The thought makes my blood boil. I make a mental note to stop by a clothing shop and get her a sensible blouse and long skirt to wear. Something baggy. Then I dismiss the idea. The day Charlie lets me dress her in sensible clothes with be the day hell freezes over.

I climb into the driver’s seat and watch her stride across the parking lot toward me.

This is going to be a hell of a few days.