Chapter 2

Lined up on the shoulder of the four-lane highway, three of the women swung their legs off their seats. Anya stood straddling her bike, prepared to dismount. She anticipated the state trooper to realize they were harmless women bikers and wave them on, recognizing his mistake. But before they had two legs on one side of their bikes, the trooper barked orders as if he were alarmed by their hostile movements.

“Hold it right there!” The barked. “Get back on your bikes!” The state trooper’s right hand hovered over his weapon at his hip. He crouched slightly with his free hand bowed out like a wing, ready to take flight should they prove to be dangerous.

What in God’s name did he think they had done? Anya watched carefully. Moving slowly to sit and then reach inside her jacket to retrieve her driver’s license with two spatially-spread fingers. Since he wouldn’t let her off her bike, she couldn’t get her registration or insurance out of her saddle bags. But that was his fault, not hers.

The trooper walked straight up to Chris, in the middle of the bikes, all the while watching the other four as if they might jump him any minute. Chris popped out of her flowery helmet and shook her locks to life. Anya’s patience was running out. Why was he talking to Chris?

“What’s the matter, officer?” Anya called.

The trooper glanced at her with a frown. He eyed each of the women as if he were making a decision about something. Turning back to Chris, he said something to her. She bobbed her head. Anya could not hear what they said for the wind whipping their words to the south. Perhaps Nikki and Ash heard what was being said since they were essentially down wind of Chris and the officer.

Chris smiled happily at the officer and he hesitantly returned to his sedan, turned off his seizure-inducing strobe lights, and pulled away slowly, all the while glaring at Anya and Jackie Lynn who where parked in the lead.

Anya shoved her license back into her breast pocket and swung her leg off her bike. She stomped toward Chris, gravel crunching under her leather boots. Jackie Lynn and the others did the same, all converging on Chris in the middle.

“What was that about?” Anya asked angrily.

Chris laughed. “He thought you were kidnapping me.”

“What?” They all said as if cued.

“I’m serious.” Chris guffawed, obviously enjoying the annoying delay. “He asked if I was riding with you against my will. I told him no, we were riding to avoid Valentine’s Day and he acted like what I said was so bizarre that he had to believe it.”

“Well.” Anya sighed. “Can we get going then?”

“Sure.” Chris tugged her flowery helmet back on and revved her stupid scooter. It sounded like a bee on steroids. Anya gritted her teeth as she marched back to her bike and fired it up. Revving the gas a few more times than necessary to relieve her frustration, she turned to see if everyone was ready. They were.

She pulled back onto the highway and gave her Harley the gas, only to back off and allow Chris and her Vespa to set the pace from the middle. Thinking about the number of state police along this highway, Anya eased off her gas some more and gestured for Chris to take the lead. Maybe if four motorcycles followed the darn scooter, the law wouldn’t think they were kidnapping her. Anya’s eyes involuntarily rolled in their sockets before focusing on the long stretch of black top. Chris was likely loving that this had happened. Everything was fodder to her for a story.

She embraced bizarre situations and seemed thrilled when things went unusually awry. She flirted shamelessly with that cop but had convinced him she was alright. Rolling her eyes, Anya hoped Chris would get over herself soon. Ever since Chris’s divorce, she had become a strong, self-governing, successful woman who seemed fearless when it came to her career as an author. She had adapted the pen name Parker Longbody.

Christine had married young and tried for over ten years to be happy, but her husband disapproved of everything she loved the most, especially her “hobby” (in his opinion) of writing historical fiction. Among his list of criticisms: she read too much, her head was in the clouds thinking she could write a story that would be good enough to be published, let alone interesting enough for people to want to read it, she spent too much money on a ridiculously expensive computer, writing software, and God forbid she spend anything on superfluous things such as advertising or graphics and formatting apps!