times before he walked over to the old coupe and tapped on the window.
Again he saw a wash of emotions on her face as she recognized him. At first there was what appeared to be happy surprise, then amazement and finally wariness.
“Sounds like your electrical system is out of whack. Maybe something as simple as a spark plug. Want me to check it?”
He saw the internal struggle. Nicole had a really hard time accepting help from anyone.
“My father’s ill,” she finally said. “I have to get there fast.”
He opened the door. “Forget this. I’ll drive you, or you can take my motorcycle. Come on.”
Nicole didn’t argue. She got out of the car and followed him.
“You could use the truck, but Jason borrowed it and I know he isn’t back yet. He never gets in until the wee hours.” He led the way through a maze of trailers until he stopped at a huge black motorcycle. From his jeans he pulled out the key and extended it to Nicole. “Helmet’s on the back.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never driven one of these.”
Jax nodded. He handed her the helmet that hung from the backrest and reached for another in a storage box beside the bike. “Come on, then. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
He had already swung his leg over the bike and straddled it when he felt her hand on his arm. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Doing what?”
“Being nice to me. Helping me. Why?”
Jax found that he really didn’t have an answer to her question. He hadn’t analyzed his reasons. At least not in any sensible way. All he knew was that Nicole had gotten more than one rough break in life. Maybe it was just a Texas thing to stand up for the underdog. It could even be that he enjoyed the courage and spirit she showed on the job. She tackled things that frightened her, and she did it without complaint. Or maybe it was simply because she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Angela Myers and Nicole could have passed for sisters.
Angela was a beautiful woman, but she lacked something that Nicole possessed. He couldn’t pin it down—yet—but he knew one thing for certain. He wanted a chance to spend time with Nicole so that he could figure it out.
He felt Nicole swing a leg over the seat and press against him. He turned the ignition switch and felt the engine purr to life. As he pushed off, he felt Nicole’s arms go around his chest. Involuntarily she clung to him as the powerful bike surged forward.
Jax grinned to himself. Sometimes real life was even better than fantasy.
NICOLE CLOSED her eyes and pressed hard against Jax as he took one of the hairpin curves at sixty miles an hour. The bike leaned down, hugging the curve, and she did her best to shift her body weight with Jax.
Beneath the fear of the ride was a deep excitement. She’d never ridden a motorcycle like this one. In a few movie scenes she’d had to ride a smaller dirt bike for several hundred yards and then lay it down in a patch of sand. That experience hadn’t been nearly this exhilarating.
And part of the excitement was Jax. Where had he suddenly come from? And why was he being so kind to her? In her life there had been one or two men who’d made overtures of friendship and kindness, but in the end there was always a price tag attached. A big one. Nicole had made a vow a long time ago that she wasn’t about to pay that price for anyone’s help. She could do perfectly well on her own.
Jax took a left turn down a darkened canyon road, and Nicole had to admit that he knew his way around town. Vincent Paul lived in a small house tucked away on one of the cliffs overhanging the Malibu colony. When he’d first moved there, decades before, the property had been cheap. Now it was the only thing he owned that was worth anything. Several times Nicole had urged him to sell it and move closer into Los Angeles proper.
His reply had been that his canyon home was the one thing that kept him going in prison. All he could think about was getting out and returning to the place where he’d been happily married and the father of a young girl. Now he was determined to live out the rest of his life in that place.
Nicole had given up fighting the strength of his memories, but as she sped through the night on the back of Jax’s motorcycle, she wished she’d been more insistent. If Vincent was having a heart attack, the ambulance would never get there in time.
She leaned into another curve with Jax and felt the bike slow as they approached the narrow gravel driveway that wound up to the house.
Jax eased the bike up the gravel as Nicole held her breath and prayed they didn’t slide backward. But in a few seconds they were pulling up beside the house and parking.
As she got off, her legs visibly trembled. She felt Jax’s hand on her arm as he steadied her. “You’re a helluva passenger,” he said as he removed his helmet. “You balanced perfectly on the curves. You’re a natural on a bike.”
“Thanks,” she said. She watched as he rubbed one hand over his unruly blond hair. She handed him the helmet. “Let me see how bad my father is.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She hurried into the house, using her key. “Daddy?” she called, walking through the kitchen and then the den. “Daddy?” It was a small two-bedroom house. Her former room had been on this floor and her parents had shared the bedroom beneath. It had been built so that it hung off the face of the cliff.
“Daddy?” She ran through the house, taking the stairs so fast she almost tripped.
“I’m in here.”
She hurried into the bedroom to find her father stretched out on the bed. He wore jeans and a turtleneck and looked every inch the European artist that he was, even though his face was pale.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, rushing forward to put a hand on his forehead and then to grab his wrist to check his pulse.
“I just had a little scare,” he said.
“What kind of scare?”
“I was afraid I was having a heart attack, but I feel a little better now. I’m sorry that I frightened you, Nicole. You must have flown here.”
“Almost,” she admitted with a slow grin. Her father’s pulse was elevated, but with each passing second she could see that he was recovering. “What got you upset, Dad?”
Vincent shook his head. “I can’t really say. You know how these medical things are. No rhyme or reason to them.”
Nicole noticed that her father wasn’t looking at her when he talked. Even after twenty years in prison, Vincent shared an extraordinary ability to communicate with his daughter. They’d always been able to simply sit across from each other and tell the truth about whatever was happening in their lives. She remembered clearly when Vincent had called her into the kitchen to tell her that he’d been accused of stealing the Dream of Isis. He’d told her flat out, and then he’d also told her that he didn’t do it, but that he was going to be tried as a thief. He’d never sugar-coated a single bit of it, and she’d never doubted that he was innocent.
“Dad, you aren’t telling me
