Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
He takes my elbow and leads me down the front walk. He opens the passenger door for me and I step up into the huge truck. I know it belongs to the Bridger Ranch, not only because I’ve reviewed their vehicle registrations as part of my investigation, but because there’s no way Miles would buy a truck like this. I picture him in a sleek Jaguar or a muscle car.
“No bike?” I ask as he pulls away from the curb.
He glances over at me, raking his gaze down my body. “Can’t wear that skirt on the back of a bike. If anything’s going into your panties tonight, it’s going to be me.”
Oh. My. God. I smooth the short hem. My cheeks heat when he chuckles.
I don’t say anything as he makes his way out of town. Once we’re on the road toward Silverton, he turns on some jazz.
“I love jazz,” I tell him, thankful for a topic other than my panties.
“Do you? Me too.”
I fidget a little. “So what do you do? I mean, for a job. At home. New York, right?”
Great, I’m babbling.
“Yes. New York. I build custom bikes. Sometimes cars, but mostly bikes. I’ve got my own business, but something tells me you already know this.”
Busted. “I know the basics from my investigation, nothing else.”
“I figure you know my blood type and dick size,” he murmurs.
I gasp and whip my head his way.
He’s smirking. “B negative, and you can measure the other thing yourself later.”
“Confident much?”
He reaches out, leaving one hand on the wheel, to run his knuckles down my cheek. “Sweetheart, I had my fingers in your pussy last night. While I never take what’s not willingly offered, I have a good feeling about you and me and later tonight.”
He’s probably right. No, definitely right. No guy I’ve ever met in Montana is like Miles. Direct. Straightforward. I’m not saying local guys don’t want sex, but he’s…different.
“What about the bike you rode last night?” I ask.
“Bought that the other day. I’ll work on it and make her shine again, on top of projects from clients. I’ve got a bike in transit right now for one of my regulars.” He laughs. “You know the type. Rich investment bankers who like to pretend they’re bikers on the weekends.”
I join him in laughter.
He rests his arm on the center console, the tips of his fingers brushing my thigh. “But hey, I love the work, and these guys love their toys. I’m lucky I can do what I love for people who can afford to pay me for it.”
I look him over. “You don’t seem like a mechanic.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Your hands are too clean.”
He laughs again. “I wear latex gloves. The real mess is when I’m with my brothers. You should have seen them after Austin, Chance, and I broke up that dam on the property. I looked worse than the greasiest day in my shop. Besides the gloves, they make special soap for mechanics, Hopkins.”
“Right.”
I knew that of course. I’m babbling again. Clean hands. God.
“How’d you become a detective?” he asks. “Nancy Drew books?”
I have to smile that a big, rugged guy like him knows about one of my favorite childhood book series.
“It’s kind of a long story.”
He tears his gaze from the road and glances my way. “We’ve got a twenty-minute drive.”
I don’t talk about my decision a lot. It’s too painful and brings up so many regrets. But for some reason, I want to tell Miles. For him to understand me.
“You’re probably expecting me to say that one of my parents was a cop or something. That’s how most people get into it. But my mom is a hairdresser and my dad owns a construction company in Billings. They’re divorced.”
God, Sadie, stop with the babbling already! He asked why you became a cop, not for your parents’ life stories.
“So it wasn’t some kind of family legacy,” he says.
“No. I went to two years of college. My grades were good, but it wasn’t my thing. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to study, and then, about three years ago, my brother disappeared.”
Miles looks my way, his jaw clenching. Those fingertips that had been brushing my leg settle on it, give a little squeeze. “My God. I’m so sorry, Sadie.”
I shrug and look out the passenger window. “We weren’t that close. He was ten years older and was estranged from my mom and me. I was a little kid when he left home and rarely saw him. Anyway, the investigation trail dried up quickly.”
He reaches and turns the radio down slightly. “Wait. Are you saying your brother was murdered?”
I sigh. “We don’t really know. They never found a body and all investigations were called off within a month of his disappearance. He was hauling freight across the Canadian border last anyone heard, so it’s possible he decided to stay in Canada, make a new life, but…why would he do that? Staying in Canada wouldn’t be so bad, but why not reach out to us?”