I had the afternoon to kill, and I let curiosity get the best of me. It didn’t take much sleuthing to discover Sierra’s address and her place of employment. Phaxelon Therapeutics. With Tyson’s assistance, I learned she drove a black BMW SUV and was currently at the Clearwater Medical Pavilion, according to the GPS data from her phone.
He warned me not to do anything stupid.
Of course, Sierra was a pharmaceutical rep. It all made sense. She met Grayson on a sales call. Duh!
I still hadn't been cleared to drive after the head injury. I'd been avoiding it, but you have to get back on the horse at some point. That horse was a 600cc sportbike that I had no recollection of. I grabbed my helmet, gloves, and hustled down the dock to the bike, which had been sitting for a while now.
I stared at it for a long moment.
It was the only one in the parking lot. I didn't even know how to ride the damn thing, but like field stripping a weapon, I figured it would all come back to me. At least, that's what I hoped.
I pulled on my helmet and gloves, straddled the bike, and twisted the ignition.
The high-strung engine rumbled to life. I revved the throttle a few times, and the exhaust growled. The power of the engine vibrated through me.
The thought of it was frightening and exhilarating at the same time.
As though I'd done it a thousand times, I let out the clutch and gently twisted the throttle. I rolled out of the parking lot, then turned onto the road, still getting my bearings. To my surprise, I was instantly at home on the bike. It didn't take long for me to settle into the idea that this was my preferred method of transport. I cruised down the road, keeping my speed in check. The wind howling through my helmet.
I was only on the bike for a few minutes when my old nature presented itself. Stopped at a stoplight with the open road ahead, I decided to hug the tank and give it the juice whenthe light turned green. I dropped the clutch and launched forward like a bolt of lightning.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and my heart thumped my chest.
This bike was piss-your-pants fast.
It didn't take long before I was well over the speed limit and risking a night or two in jail. I backed off the throttle and brought it to a more reasonable speed.
The bike was one bad decision away from death. One unlucky break. All it took was some asshole to pull out in front of you, not looking where he was going, and it would be all over. A grease spot on the road at worst, a few broken bones and several weeks in the ICU at best.
I’d had my share of hospitals, but there was something undeniably addictive about being on the edge like that. In that short trip, I learned a lot about myself. I understood why I had probably joined the CIA in the first place. Apparently, I was one of those people who needed to live on the edge. That's where I felt most alive. That was a scary thought.
It seemed instinctual. I made a few twists and turns and doubled back around, trying to shake any tails if I had them. At this point, I took for granted that somebody was probably following me around.
After a few quick maneuvers, there was no way anybody could catch up with me. Not on this crotch rocket. I began to realize maybe that's why I had a sportbike.
I pulled into the parking lot of the medical pavilion and found Sierra’s black BMW. I figured she was on a sales call. Ifound a place to park not far from the entrance and pulled off my helmet.
I was more nervous about confronting Sierra than I had been about getting on the bike.
I kept my eye on the main entrance to the building, watching people come and go for about a half hour before she stepped out. When she did, adrenaline spiked my heart again. She was breathtaking. The wind blew her golden blonde hair like she was on the cover of a magazine. God was her own personal stylist.
She was dressed in a professional but sexy navy blue sport jacket and skirt. The skirt was as short as reasonably possible in a professional setting. Her silk blouse was unbuttoned just enough to entice. An elegant set of pearls dangled around her décolletage, giving a legitimate excuse for a quick glance or two. Maybe three. She was a smart girl. She knew what side her bread was buttered on.
Sierra had classic bone structure and an enviable figure. The men she passed did double takes and had to put their tongues back in their mouths.
Jealousy and insecurity kicked in, and I'm not even sure why.
Sierra had full lips and azure eyes.
This was a woman who had stolen my would-be fiancé away.
My anger and disdain stemmed more from the fact that she was married, too. It just seemed wrong all the way around.
I hopped off the bike and marched toward her. It's always unsettling when someone approaches you in a parking lot. I put on a friendly face and smiled. "Sierra?”
Her head twisted in my direction.
I offered a friendly wave, and her eyes narrowed, trying to place me.
