It takes only a few questions until I’m being led back towards holding. When I glance inside the cells, it seems that most of the women occupying them are gorgeous, well dressed and appear harmless; unless you consider long fingernails raking across your back in the moment of ecstasy harmful. I don’t. I arch my eyebrow at my young escort and the cop grins.

"High class prostitution ring," he offers without my asking. I don’t often have to ask a lot of questions, people seem to volunteer information to me. Must be my baby blues.

"You’re kidding," I reply dryly, trying to hold in the guffaw that threatens. Oh, Kels, this is priceless.

"Nope. That your friend?" he stops in front of a cell and motions with his arm. Sure enough, Kelsey is sitting on a bench against the back wall. She’s in a corner and appears to be asleep so I take a moment to look her over. She’s dressed classily and obviously had plans for this evening. Even slightly rumpled, her ivory skirt suit and white blouse are showing off the best of her attributes. Her blonde hair is plaited away from her face, highlighting the delicate bone structure to good effect. She is beautiful.

"Yeah," I nod, smiling. "Wake up, Sunshine," I call across the distance between us.

She stirs and blinks open those emerald eyes and actually smiles when she sees me. Then the look is hidden by her mask of indifference. "About time," she grumbles, rising to her feet and smoothing her clothes.

"Careful," I warn, smirking. " I could leave."

She looks worried for a moment that I might do just that so I wink at her. I’m here now. Unless there’s a reason I can’t get her out, I don’t plan to leave her here. She seems to relax as she comes forward to the cell door, clutching the bars like all the women in prison movies do.

"Did you get my purse?"

"Stupid hotel computer was still down, Kels," I say by way of apology. "But I stopped by the station."

She nods her understanding and turns her eyes to the cop who has been watching us. "Well?" She obviously expects him to be doing something helpful and not just gawking.

"Let me get someone who can help you," he stammers and trots away, leaving us alone. Well, mostly alone. There are the other women milling around in various cells.

"So," I say, unable to wait for her. "Please, tell me you aren’t in here on prostitution charges."

She looks away for a moment and then glances back, already blushing. "Don’t laugh at me, Harper," she says softly.

She looks tired and strung out, more than a little embarrassed, and I manage to find some sympathy for her. It’s not easy. I tend to live my life as I see best with little regard for how that might impact others or their opinions of me. Something about Kelsey appears to curb that tendency. "I’m done laughing," I tell her, realizing I mean it.

"I was meeting a friend at the hotel. We were going to go out. I guess these sluts were working-"

"Hey!" one of the women glares to Kelsey. "Watch it, pretty girl."

I shake my head as Kelsey turns to the lady and gives her the bird.

"Anyway," I prompt.

"Anyway, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Without my purse."

"What about this friend?"

"She’d gone up to her room to make a phone call and the stupid hotel computers ..." her voice trails off and I nod.

"Suck," I finish for her.

"Hmmm," she agrees. "Do you think they’ll drop the charges?"

I look over my shoulder where a uniformed cop is approaching and I glance back to Kelsey. "Leave that to me." I walk after the cop with a swagger in my step.

***

"Did you bring some identification?" Officer Crane looks to me over the report in his hands. He’s moved me to his desk across the room, leaving Kelsey in the cell.

"Mine or hers?" I ask with a smile.

He smiles back and I’m relieved. "Both."

I pull out my own driver’s license and put it on his desk. Then I place Kelsey’s credentials there as well. He eyes them slowly.

"Don’t you have her driver’s license or something?"

"Her purse is at the hotel with a friend and the hotel computers have been down. This is the best I could do."

He looks them over carefully and eventually nods. "She told us she was an anchor. Wanted to believe her. She’s different from the others."

"Yeah," I agree, glancing back across the room and winking at a very relieved Kelsey. "What about her record?"

"Record?" he was already pulling together her personal items and stops to look up at me. "Oh. No record. I didn’t book her. Like I said, I wanted to believe her. None of this will be official. As long as she doesn’t press charges. If she does, then I’ll have to let the whole story out." It’s a barely concealed threat but I don’t care.

"Not a chance. I’ll take care of that."

I’m grinning as we head back to the cell. Kels will think I worked wonders to get her off. She doesn’t need to know the whole truth.


* * *

It’s only a few hours before dawn when we leave the precinct and arrive at my Harley. Kelsey’s footsteps are slowing until she stops. When I turn to look at her, her head is cocked and she’s eyeing my bike.

"I can’t ride on that," she announces.

"Sure ya can. Best thing you’ll have had between your legs in months."

She glares at me and murmurs something about ‘what could have been’ but I don’t get the whole sentence or the meaning behind it.

"C’mon," I motion her forward. Eventually, she’s shuffled so she’s standing next to the Harley while I’m straddling it. "Put this on."

Following my instructions, she dons the helmet.

"And this," I hand her my leather jacket after I shrug it off.

"But you’ll be-"

"I’m fine. Naturally warm blooded." An understatement, I know. "Put it on."

Without another word, she shrugs into the thick black leather and lets me zip it up for her. I have a sudden vision of a small Kelsey, being dressed up for her first day of school. I catch myself about to kiss her forehead. Gruffly, I say, instead, "Now, hike up your skirt and hop on." Ah, things that sound dirty, but aren’t. That could be a fun Jeopardy category.

Behind the smoky visor, I’m guessing she’s glaring at me again. After a moment, she does as I’ve instructed and settles behind me. Slowly, her arms snake around my midsection and I pat her linked hands.

With a rumble, we’re off. Her arms tighten around me and I can’t help but grin at the warmth of her body so close to mine. Oh, the things I would do.

Too soon we pull up to the hotel only the place has turned into a media circus. I even see one of our own trucks outside and we catch comments about the prostitution ring and it being the biggest high class bust to date. Great.

Kelsey pulls off the helmet, still seated behind me, and looks into the lobby which is buzzing with reporters and cameras. She sighs.

"Put the bucket back on," I tell her, making my decision. As much as I enjoy teasing Kelsey, that doesn’t involve public embarrassment and ruining her career. Especially when her career and mine are so intertwined at present.

"Huh?"

"Do it."

***

"So, this is where you live?"

I don’t respond since it’s a dumb question. I am, after all, putting a cover on my bike in the parking lot of an apartment building.

She follows me silently to the elevator. Once we’re headed up, she looks to me. "Thank you."

I brush it off. Despite how I may seem, I’m not one to hold a kind act over someone’s head. I didn’t do it so she would feel indebted. I did it because, on some level, I do consider her my friend. I know she doesn’t feel the same about me.

"You think the computers are fixed?"

"Maybe."

"I should tell my friend I’m okay. She’ll be worried."

"What kind of friend is she?" I raise my eyebrows.

Kelsey sighs and shakes her head. "Just a friend."

"Whatever," I think she’s fibbing but I’m not interested in getting into a fight now that we’re stuck with each other. Instead, I lead her down the hall and open my apartment door, shoving her through quickly.

"Wha-" She’s baffled by my quick actions.

"Cat." I point to the feline in question who loves to slip out into the hallway. He’s watching us with those green eyes when I turn on the living room light.

"He’s beautiful," Kelsey whispers.

I shrug. He is. He’s a red Abyssinian from a show cattery. He came to me after he’d been retired. He belonged to a friend of my parents and, even after the pounds I’ve added to him, you can tell he’s not a mutt cat. He has sleek short fur that’s a rich auburn color, his limbs are long and tapered. Those green eyes watch us curiously.

"What’s his name?"

"Trouble."

"Really?"

I nod, removing my jacket from her shoulders and placing it in the closet. I put our helmets there, too, before closing the door.

"I love animals," she announces.

I roll my eyes. There’s a shocker. "Do you have any?"

"No. Too busy." She sounds deflated.

"Cats are easy, Kels. He was an adult when I got him, so no destructive kitten phase. You could do it."

"I suppose. Is he friendly?"

"Oh yeah. Have a seat on the couch. Are you hungry?"

She’s eyeing me suspiciously and I know she’s not sure how to take this side of me. I’m not pushing her or teasing her, not demanding anything from her. And my social skills are impressive and unimpeachable.

"It’s been a long day, Kels. No strings, I promise. Have a seat, you look beat."