Free My Biker Bodyguard by J.R. Turner

how all this
was more than just him, helped, but not by much. He lowered
his voice. "You wanna be careful, Jack."
The cop stepped forward. "What're you gonna do about
it?"
Mitch wondered if he wanted to square off against Jack
because he'd dated Jess, or if he just plain didn't like this man.
His head said turn around, and give in, but Jack would think
he'd won, that he'd pulled rank and Mitch decided he couldn't
live with that. "Step back, Jack."
"Try me."
Why'd he have to be such a prick? Mitch jerked forward
in a feint and Jack bought it. The cop raised a balled fist and
Mitch braced himself for the punch. Let the cop hit him first,
then all hell could break loose.
"Officer," a man shouted in the hall. "What do you think
you're doing?"
Jack immediately dropped his fist and Mitch rolled his
shoulders, dislodging tension as a pair of men, dressed in suits,
stepped into view. They were nearly the same height and stood
shoulder to shoulder.
If they try to come through the door like that, they'll get
stuck .
The darker one wore a pained expression, as if
constipated, and the other, with light brown hair was the sort
you'd forget the moment he passed out of sight. They stank of
government.
Jack, obviously pissed that he'd have to leave now, jabbed
a finger toward Mitch. "Remember, I got your number."
Mitch grinned. He couldn't help it. "Call me anytime."
The officer turned his glare on the waiting men. "He's
yours."
Jack left. Mitch faced Huey and Duey. They stepped
forward, one at a time, both holding up identification. He
caught their department location. They were from L.A. Mr.
Constipation spoke first. "I'm Special Agent Mordstrom of the
Federal Bureau of Investigation and this is Special Agent
Davis. We'd like to ask you some questions."
"Join the club." Mitch returned to the table. The faster
they got at it, the sooner he could leave. He gestured to the two
chairs opposite him and sat in the one he'd flipped. "Have a
seat. Let's get this over with. I've got things to do."
"And what is that, Mr. Conner?" Mordstrom offered a
bland smile as he and his partner occupied the chairs.
"I've got men to question. A job to do, same as you." He
nodded to the file Mordstrom set on the table. While he'd gone
stir crazy and thought baiting a cop a good distraction, they'd
been brought up to speed by the looks of it. "The men at St.
Mary's have information we both need."
The agents gave each other a look and Mitch knew what
they would say. His gripped the back of the chair, level with
his chest, and squeezed. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
It was Davis who said what he'd already guessed. "You'll
not be able to do that, Mr. Conner. Both men died–one on the
way, the other on the operating table."
Mitch uttered a curse and ran a hand over his head. Could
his luck get any worse?
* * *
Jess followed the uniformed officer off the elevator and
down one corridor after another. She shivered in her shorts and
tank top, the air-conditioning too cold after the hours she'd
spent holed up in the tiny room. Gooseflesh broke out over her
bare legs, and she glanced at their mottled color with a
grimace. That's attractive .
She lifted her gaze to watch where she was going. The
cop had said he was supposed to take her 'up', nothing else, no
explanation. When she'd asked why, he'd only shrugged. She
could be going before a judge for all she knew. Or maybe it
was some hot-shot district attorney who didn't agree with the
cops that she'd shot in self-defense. Maybe she was about to be
handed over to some frightening, muscular woman with a
German accent and traipsed off to Taycheeda–the women's
prison, where she'd wait years for a trial that would send her
away for life.
And I'm worried about what my legs looked like .
She should be finalizing her plan of action. While she had
waited, she had decided the worst thing about all of this was
that others were making decisions for her. Decisions she didn't
like.
Watching some talk