Savior Ch. 08

I woke more rested and refreshed than I'd been since my arrest. Last night I'd slept like the dead, and though I vaguely remembered dreaming, I couldn't recall the dream's content, only that it had been pleasant. I showered and dressed, and by 7:45 I was pacing the room, waiting for Rand to arrive.

At 8:03 I began to fret, worried that the Bayport Riders had changed their mind about helping me. I again peeked through the curtains while chewing on my bottom lip in thought. I released the sheers. I'd give Rand until 8:30, but if he hadn't shown up by then, I was going out on my own to start searching.

I made another loop around the room and was returning to the window for another peek when I heard the far-off rumble of an approaching motorcycle. I swept the sheers open as I heard the bike banging down through the gears, and a moment later, Rand turned into the parking lot and rolled to a stop beside my Bug. I nearly wilted with relief. I picked up my purse and waited until he knocked before I flung the door open.

"You ready to go find your son?" he asked.

"Yes. I can't thank you enough for doing this for me."

He held my gaze a moment. "What?"

He was amazingly perceptive. "Nothing. You were just a little late... and I was worried you weren't coming."

His gaze flicked from mine to the clock beside the bed before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He glanced at it and then turned it to me so I could see. 7:52.

"Your clock is a little fast."

I felt like such an ungrateful shit. "Sorry," I whispered as I looked at my shoes.

"Hey," he said, pausing until I looked up to meet his gaze. He had a small smile on his lips, as if he understood. "Don't worry about it. We have a deal. You helped us so we'll help you."

I nodded as he stepped back. I stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind me before walking to the passenger side of my car.

"Let's take my bike."

"Shouldn't we take my car?"

"I saw your car running yesterday. If you drove all the way from Prineville in that, you're a braver woman than I gave you credit for."

"But...?"

"But...?" he asked.

"But what if we find Garrett? How will we...?"

"When we find Garrett, we'll call the cops and let them handle it." I opened my mouth to object, but he continued. "I won't let Carl leave with your son... you have my word." His eyes darkened slightly. "I'd almost like him to try." I chewed my bottom lip, my feet stuck in place. "Hanna, we have to get the cops involved or this could go sideways real fast. You said you have a restraining order on him, and the judge had granted you temporary custody, so all we have to do is find them. After that, the cops can handle it, you'll get Garrett back safe and sound, and Carl can sit his ass in jail."

"But what if Carl gives him back if we don't call the cops?"

"Then we'll take him, I'll call for backup, and you can hold him until someone arrives with a car."

I sighed as my gaze dropped to the ground. He seemed to have it all thought okay. "Okay. Sorry."

"Hanna..." I again looked up. His smile had been replaced by tenderness. "It's okay, really. I can only guess how freaked out you must be, but you have my word we're going to do everything we can to get Garrett back to you. We're not the Orcas, and I'm not Carl. You can trust us."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes, okay, but why not just take my car?"

"Because we have a lot to do today and I'd like to not waste any time broken down on the side of the road." His voice was still gentle and teasing, and there was no hint of condemnation in his tone.

I looked the car over and I felt a pang of shame. "It was all I could afford. It's temperamental, but it's always gotten me to where I wanted to go."

He slowly shook his head as his lips thinned. I could tell he wouldn't be caught dead in a car like mine, and I felt a bit more shame. "Well, today, I think you can do a little better."

"Okay. Sorry."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let get moving. Breakfast first, then let's go get your boy."

That brought a smile to my lips. "Okay, and thank you again."

Another smile tugged at his lips. "I have another idea. Why don't you try not saying 'thank you' and 'sorry' all the time? You know, just for an hour or so, to see how you like it?"

His voice was kind and I could tell he was teasing me. My smile spread, and fuck me if I didn't almost apologize again. "Okay, just to try it out."

"Perfect," he said, his smile spreading. "I brought you a helmet," he said, pulling a plain white helmet from the saddle bag.

"You just happened to have an extra helmet lying around?" I asked as I took the helmet, plopped it on my head, and began looping the strap though the rings to secure it as my purse disappeared into the saddle bag. His helmet had been too large for me, but this one was sized almost perfectly.

"Never know when you might need to give a lady in distress a ride."

A smile painted my lips as I wondered how many ladies he'd ridden. I finished strapping on the helmet and climbed aboard behind him. As the bike rumbled to life beneath me, I tucked in tight behind him, looped my arms around his firm stomach, and leaned into his broad, muscular back. I felt almost giddy. Having him talk to me like he did, with humor and warmth, made me feel all gooey inside.

After Carl and I were married, nothing I did seemed good enough for him. Even when he was being nice to me, his words could be cutting as he sometimes belittled me in front of other Orcas. When I complained, he claimed he was just teasing, but his words had still hurt. It seemed the harder I tried, the less he cared about me. After he started having his affairs, and I stopped giving a shit, that made his sneering attitude even worse when were alone, and his remarks more heartless when we were with others. Even though I was the one working to support us, and raising Garrett almost as a single mother, he often acted like I was beneath his notice.

That's why it was so hard to understand Rand. He barely knew me, but he'd been nothing but kind. He'd even gently suggested I should stop apologizing all the time, where Carl seemed to believe that everything that went wrong was somehow my fault, even if it had nothing to do with me.

Some of my girlfriends occasionally gossiped about how great their sex lives were, but I didn't understand what they were talking about. I knew sex was supposed to be fun and exciting, but with Carl it hadn't been, and I nothing else to compare. Listening to the gossip, I often wondered what was wrong with me and why I didn't enjoy it as much as they seemed to.

Now, having met the Bayport Riders, I was beginning to question everything. I'd often wondered if I deserved how Carl treated me because I wasn't meeting his needs, that I wasn't a good enough wife, lover, or mother. Looking back, even when we were dating, it was all about Carl and what he wanted. He never seemed to think of me, but being young and stupid, I was eager to please and thought I needed nothing more than his company to make me happy. Later, as the responsibilities of marriage, and my pregnancy, began to weigh on me, and I'd began asking more from him, that was when Carl's true nature began to appear.

I'd allowed Carl to have me whenever he wanted, like the dutiful wife, but I hadn't wanted sex in years, not since our first year of marriage, and especially not after he started banging other women. But even when we were dating, and early in our marriage when I still loved him, I'd never enjoyed the sex. Carl did, and he often spoke of how hot I was, and how good I felt, but even as I savored the closeness I felt during our post fuck snuggle, the sex for me seemed more of a duty than a pleasure.

I smiled into his back as I wondered if Rand knew how to please a woman. Looking like he did, and with his strong but gentle demeanor, I suspected he could have all the practice he wanted. Sitting on the back of Rand's motorcycle, his back warm against my chest, I felt a stirring, a yearning I hadn't felt in a long time... and it felt good.

He banked his bike into a large, crowded restaurant filled with bikes of every make and description, the sudden change in speed and direction pulling me from my thoughts.

"See anything?" he asked as we took a slow tour through the parking lot.

I looked at the bikes, feeling a rush of excitement when I spotted Carl's, only to realize an instant later it wasn't actually his. "I thought that one was Carl's, but it isn't," I said pointing out the bike as we putt-putted past. "Carl's doesn't have the backrest thingy."

"You sure?"

"Positive, unless he added after I moved out."

He found a place and backed his bike in before it fell silent. I thought we were going to grab a McMuffin or something quick for breakfast, not sit down in a restaurant.

"We're eating here?" I asked, not offering to dismount.

"Best breakfast in town."

"They look busy."

"They always are."

I fumed as I stepped off the bike. I didn't want to spend an hour waiting for a table, and then another hour waiting for our food and eating. "Okay."

He smiled at me as he pulled his helmet off. I followed his lead, reminding myself Rand and the Bayport Riders didn't have to help me at all. "This is the most popular breakfast spot in town for bikers, if you can't tell by looking at the parking lot. I'll give you even odds if Carl has breakfast, he'll come here. If he comes to us, that's better than us trying to track him down."

I held his gaze, wondering how he knew what I was thinking. Having just met me, he could already read me better than Carl could after five years of marriage. "Good idea."

"Trust me."

"Sorry."

His smile spread. "I thought we agreed..." he began, his voice full of humor as it trailed off in teasing.

"Shit. Sor... Dammit!"

He snickered. "Don't sweat it." He put his hand in the small of my back and directed me toward the door, and I felt a small pang of disappointment when he removed it. "When we get inside, if you see him, don't react, and turn away to face me or something. We don't want him to know you're here."

He opened the door for me, and again gently touched my back to urge me though the opening ahead of him. We joined the milling knot of people waiting for a table, and he gently shouldered his way to hostess.

"Hey, Rand! Good to see you again. One?"

"Two." He glanced around. "One of those tables over there, if you can," he said as he nodded at a group of tables that would give us a good view of the door.

She looked at him oddly but scribbled something down on a pad. "Sure, if that's what you want."

"It is. Thanks Mandy." He turned his attention back to me. "See him?"

My gaze swept the visible tables. "No."

"Why don't you use the restrooms, back that way," he said with a nod, indicating the larger of the two rooms.

I nodded as I moved off, my eyes flicking from one table to another. I saw nothing, but I went into the restroom anyway, washed my hands, and then exited, weaving a different path back to Rand, worming my way to him at the back of the crowd waiting for a table.

"I didn't see him."

"Not over there either?" he asked as he looked to the opposite side of the room.

"No."

"Okay. We'll hang here for a couple of hours until the breakfast rush is over."

As busy as Momma's Kitchen was, the service was surprisingly fast, but we still allowed several parties to claim other tables before us until we were finally seated. I was going to sit facing the door, so I could watch, but he placed me with my back to the door.

"What's Carl look like?" he asked as he watched the door.

I shrugged. "About your height, black hair, but longer than yours. He's a little slimmer than you. He'll probably be wearing a jean cut with the Orcas patch on the back. I doubt you'll be able to see it from here, but he has 'Ride Free' tattooed on his fingers, and another tattoo inside of his right hand, right here," I said, drawing my finger in an arc between the first knuckle of my pointer finger and my thumb knuckle, "that says 'Full Throttle,' with an arrow. He's also got some tats on his arms, skulls, a Harley shield, that sort of thing."

He nodded at the door. "Kind of like that guy?"

I turned, looked, and immediately knew who he was referring too. "That's not him, but yeah, a similar build. His hair is darker and longer though."

He nodded. "I think I've got it."

I glanced over the menu and selected the Colorado omelet with an English muffin and coffee. The food arrived with almost fast-food swiftness, and I nearly moaned as I bit into my omelet, the eggs, sausage, bacon, cheese, and green peppers delicious.

As I was shoveling food into my mouth, he nodded at the door. I turned. There was a woman there holding a boy about Garrett's age by the hand. I felt a rush of guilt and sadness as turned back, slowly shaking my head.

"So tell me about the Bayport Riders. You been a member long?" I asked as we ate, trying to forget the sight of the mother with her child.

"Not long... about five years."

"What does the club do?"

"Do?" he asked.

"Yeah. Do. Go on rides, hang out and drink beer, what?"

He smiled. "The Bayport Riders Motorcycle Club was formed in 1987 by Walt Cunningham to promote the sport of motorcycling and to foster good relations within the local community." I blinked at him and he grinned. "Basically, we get a lot of bikers in town, and Walt formed the Riders as a way to promote the activity and to build good will with the town."

"Has it worked?"

He bobbed his head side to side as his lips twisted into a teasing smile. "Pretty well, I think. Bayport is a bit of a destination for riders here in the Pacific Northwest. Since we border the Siuslaw National Forest, and the Willamette and Umpqua are not far away, we get a lot of riders in town that come to ride the roads. I think the Siuslaw is something like 600,000 acres, with the Willamette about twice that, and the Umpqua somewhere in between, and because they're all national forests, there's not a lot of development, but there's hundreds of miles of well-maintained, twisty roads through some of the most beautiful country you'll ever see. When a biker dies and goes to heaven, that's what it'll look like."

I smiled at his description. "It sounds lovely."

He nodded. "It is. Maybe, after we get Garrett back to you, you can come back and I'll show you around a little."

I felt a thrill at the suggestion. "I think I'd like that."

"Anyway, because of the constant influx of riders, the town caters to the bikers, in addition to the whale watchers, and the dune riders. Bayport lives and die on the tourist industry, so we want to keep the place friendly for everyone, and we don't want a few bad actors ruining a good thing."

He paused as he nodded at the door. I twisted and looked, but again shook my head as I turned back to face him. "No. So, the club is the local cheerleader for bikers?"

"Something like that. Regular visitors know this is our town and we keep an eye on what's going on. So long as they don't act the fool, everything's good, but if they want to show their asses, one word from us and they'll find the town, and its hospitality, closed to them."

"So basically, the Bayport Riders are like the first line against problem bikers?"

"That's one way you could put it, I guess. A lot of times, business owners will call Doug if they're having problems with bikers before they'll call the police. We show up and explain the situation to them. Most of the time, that's all it takes. Sometimes a biker will take advice from us, being fellow bikers, better than they will from the police. So long as we're only dispensing friendly advice, the cops appreciated the help."

"And you do that for free?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why? Isn't it obvious? We live here. We ride motorcycles. We don't want people from out of town causing problems for our friends and neighbors, and we want to keep the town motorcycle friendly. It doesn't cost us anything, and if the bikers want to be assholes, we simply call the cops and let them deal with it."

"How often does that happen?"

"Not often. Once or twice a year, maybe. Most people come back year after year and are no problem, especially after we warn them what will happen if they keep being assholes. But every now and then..."

I held his gaze for a long moment. "But there's more, isn't there? Keeping the peace isn't the Orcas' style."

"No, that's pretty much it," he said and then changed the subject by nodded at the door.

I took a quick look, and for the briefest of instants, I thought it was Carl, but when I got a better look at the man's face, I realized it wasn't him. I shook my head as I turned back to Rand.

I wasn't going to press him for more information. It was none of my business, and I didn't want to piss them off, but there had to be more to the Riders than he was telling me. If they were that heavily involved in the community, I couldn't see them running guns, drugs, or hookers, but there had to be something more or the Orcas wouldn't be sniffing around.

A chill washed over me. What if Leeda was wrong? What if Rand was telling the truth and the Orcas weren't even here? What if Carl wasn't here? I felt sick with dread, but this was the only lead I had. It was too soon to give up hope or assume Leeda was mistaken, but what if she was? I swallowed hard, and decided I'd give it a few days, and then if nothing turned up I'd... figure something else out.

I was torn, and felt slightly ashamed that I was hoping the Riders weren't as clean as Rand said. The more Rand spoke, the better I liked him and the Riders. I'd sworn off bad boys and motorcycle clubs, deciding I was going to only date accountants, computer nerds, and engineers from now on, but if the bad boys could actually be the good guys, like Rand and the Riders claimed to be, maybe I wasn't quite ready to completely give that up. But if they were what they claimed, it was unlikely the Orcas were here.

We were finished eating, but he seemed to be in no hurry to leave as patrons were still arriving, though the crush had passed. He'd pointed out a half dozen or so possible matches for Carl, and another little boy of the proper age, but none of them were Carl or Garrett.

"So tell me, Rand, are you the only one of the Riders that rides a Harley?" Before he could answer, another question popped into my head. "Is Rand short for Randy?"

"Technically, Randall, but yeah. The reason I ride a Harley is because I have more class than the rest of those other jokers."

I twittered out a laugh. "Really?"

He grinned. "That's part of it. I just like the look of the Harley better. The other things is, the crotch rockets those other guys ride are for one thing only, and that's going fast, but they all have cars. I don't, and my Road King is a little more... practical."

"Your motorcycle is the only wheels you have?"

"Yep."

"What do you do if it rains?"

"What do you think? I get wet."

"Oh, a tough guy. I get it," I said with a grin.

His lips quirked as he shrugged a shoulder. "If you want to look at it that way."

"How do you get groceries home? Stuff like that?"

"I haul what I need on the bike. I don't cook, so not much need to lug groceries. If I need to haul something that won't fit on the bike, I use the yard truck."

I nodded in understanding. "Cheaper than a car, I guess, if you can make it work."

We continued to sit, taking up the table and talking, for almost another hour until the influx of customers had slowed to a trickle. Finally, Rand scooped up the check. I turned for my purse, only to realize I didn't have it. It was still locked in the saddle bag on his bike. He must have seen me turn for the non-existent bag.