"God, don't do this to me." Gina shook her head, her dark blond hair swaying just below her neck as she shook her head.
She was a pretty woman, Mikayla thought. She'd often thought Gina Foreman was too pretty for her portly, overbearing husband.
"Mrs. Foreman, I need answers," Mikayla whispered, her fingers curling into a fist as she pressed them against her stomach. "I have to know why so many people would lie for Maddix Nelson."
"And I can't let myself believe you," Gina said, refusing the request, though her voice was thick with tears now. "I can't let myself believe that what you say is true, Miss Martin. Because if it is, then it means not just Maddix Nelson, a man I've trusted for years, is a murderer, but it means my boss and other people I respect are lying for him. And that I just can't believe. I know them. I don't know you. Good-bye."
The door closed in her face.
Mikayla raked her fingers through her hair as she turned and stepped from the porch, her teeth gritting at another dead end.
She'd put off coming to talk to Eddie Foreman's wife for three weeks after the funeral, hoping that in that time Gina Foreman would begin questioning the excuses Maddix Nelson and his friends had given her.
The lies, Mikayla amended. There could be no excuse for murder, or for covering it up.
Moving back to her Jeep, she wanted to stomp her feet, scream. Even her family argued with her over the questions she asked, the people she had tried to talk to in the past weeks.
Her parents were beside themselves with worry, and she couldn't blame them. It seemed as though the entire city council was covering for Maddix Nelson rather than trying to bring him to justice.
The police force patronized her if she even tried to question them. They followed her at times, watched her, though as of yet no one had threatened her. She had a feeling it was a good thing she strictly obeyed traffic laws or she would be paying a hell of a lot of fines.
She was expecting trouble soon, though. She was surprised it hadn't happened yet. The police were actually all very polite, cool, and apparently quite dismissive, but she could see the promise in their eyes. Mikayla knew she would never be able to depend on them if she needed protection.
As she moved around the front of the Jeep, her head lifted at the sound of a motor throbbing up the street. The wicked black Harley was cruising down the street, pulling attention to the extra tall, broad form of the man riding it.
His entire face was shielded by a black helmet, but nothing could hide the incredible body covered from shoulders to feet in matching black leather.
It was almost enough to steal her breath. It wasn't every day a woman saw the perfect male form, but if this wasn't the perfect male form, then it didn't exist.
Long muscular legs, broad shoulders, powerful arms, and, if she wasn't very much mistaken, a corded, muscular flat stomach beneath the snug black jacket he was wearing.
Wow.
She had only seen men like him in magazines.
If only she had seen him before her life had gone to hell four weeks ago. Before she had seen a man murdered and realized that her word meant nothing in the town she had been raised in, the town she loved.
There were days that she wondered if her life would ever be the same again. Nothing seemed to matter anymore but justice. And as her friend Deirdre told her daily, she was searching for justice for someone she didn't even know.
Or was she?
There were days she wondered if she wasn't searching for justice for herself as well.
No one believed her. No one believed she had seen Maddix Nelson shoot and kill his foreman that evening. Oh, they were nice enough about it. Most people were quite good at patronizing her.
Perhaps it was someone who resembled him, they said.
Had Mikayla been drinking? Doing drugs? Those questions had been asked often.
Her lips tightened as she jerked her attention from the fine specimen on the motorcycle and pulled herself into her Jeep.
She didn't have time for a man. She didn't have time to fantasize or to long for one right now. A man couldn't help her. Until Mikayla found out why everyone was lying to her, no one could help her.
Because nothing else mattered.
She wasn't a liar and she wasn't deranged, and it seemed as though it was up to her alone to prove it.
Chapter 2
Nik tossed the black helmet to the bed before striding to the refrigerator just inside the door of his hotel room. The small suite wasn't luxurious but clean and comfortable.
"What have you found?" He turned to Tehya as she watched him from the sofa across the room.
"Pretty much nothing." She shrugged her slender shoulders as she brushed back her long fiery red hair and watched him with brilliant emerald green eyes. "She's honest, pays her bills on time, never bounces a check, and until four weeks ago devoted herself to the clothing store she owns in town. She's the oldest of four children; her father is considered dependable and honest, as is her entire f**king family. Two of her brothers have had speeding tickets, nothing more. They're your average American family, Nik." Tehya shook her head and stared back at him as though confused. "I don't think I've ever investigated anyone without a shady past, secrets, or a blemished reputation. I could be going into shock."
He grunted at that as he pulled a beer from the fridge and closed the door with a snap.
"Bullshit," he growled. "There has to be more."
She stared back at him with offended mockery. "I know how to do my job, Renegade, and I'm damned good at it. If there was something to find on her, I would have found it. The extremely interesting part here is that there's simply nothing to find."
Twisting the cap from the bottle, he moved into the small area and sat down in the chair across from her.
"Maybe she was sleeping with Maddix Nelson? Scorned love perhaps?"
A strange smile quirked Tehya's lips as she shook her head. "I accessed her gynecological records. Your mark is a virgin, my friend. Lily-white and pure."
Shock widened his eyes. "There are virgins left in the world?"
Tehya's brows lifted, her own gaze reflecting her surprise. "Well, there are few over the age of sixteen," she agreed with a laugh. "But she's one of them."
"Damn." He reached back, released the leather thong holding his hair at his nape, and shook his head in bemusement. "She's not a hag. Does she have a disease of some sort?"