“I was bored myself,” he said, slipping a card from his wallet as they reached a row of motorcycles. “She asked where I was going, and I invited her.”
“So what did she give you?” Cassidy asked.
He replaced his wallet to his pocket and frowned.
“For the ride,” Cassidy added. She realized that the trip to NOPA would be on the back of Saxon’s motorcycle—the same that had delivered Izzy. Her mind tried to sift through her emotions, but they were too raw and fleeting.
He unlocked the boxes attached to the back and pulled out two helmets. “Nothing,” he said, his face blank.
“What, biker code doesn’t apply to pretty college girls?” she said boldly, desperate for something to knock the self-assured grin off his face.
But Saxon appeared unflustered. “That tradition has a long history but it’s hardly in tune with today’s rules, professor.” He flashed his cunning smile again. “She needed a ride, I was heading that way, end of story.”
Sliding onto Saxon’s motorcycle brought on a heightened sense of panic. As she tucked into Saxon’s extra helmet, she expected the inside would give her some clue that Izzy had worn it—a scent, perhaps, but it only blocked out the cold and the noise. She gripped Saxon’s sides and he glided out of the parking garage, tapping his keycard at the gate.
This is all perfectly legit, she told herself. Sure, Saxon ran a club where women removed their clothes for money, but that didn’t necessarily make him a bad person. Even though his vibe unsettled her, he had given no reason to fear him. Unlike Dutch who apparently paid women for favors. The thought made her furious—at him, at herself. I should have known not to trust him, she thought.
They glided up darkened streets, Saxon driving with purpose. She tried to move with him the way she had with Dutch, but Saxon changed lanes quickly, accelerated unexpectedly. Her confusion and fear seemed to rise inside her like a flooding tide, sending tears over her lids. She realized how out of control she felt, and how little power she had to stop it.
They passed landmarks she recognized, tall buildings and neighborhoods, then ascended the divide that separated the east and west sides of the city. At what looked like a tall apartment building, Saxon pulled over.
“Wait here,” he said, dismounting. As his body shifted, Cassidy noticed the butt of a gun tucked into the back of his jeans. Once he entered the building, Cassidy felt her body begin to shake.
Should she run? Her rattled mind tried to find some central point to connect to, but it was futile. Flashes of memory played behind her eyes: Dutch’s promise to keep her safe, then Mel’s terrifying face hovering over hers, then Saxon swirling his drink while watching her with that predatory look. The doorway of the apartment opened wide and Saxon strode through it, holding a brown paper bag. He stepped quickly to the motorcycle where Cassidy could feel her limbs trembling.
Saxon tucked the bag into his jacket and then they were underway, with Cassidy wrapping her reluctant arms around his waist. What was in the bag? Had Saxon used his gun to get it? If I need to jump off this bike, I will, she thought.
They approached the University of San Francisco and Saxon turned left, then right, passing a housing complex, a library, a neighborhood grocery, and several coffee shops. Just a little farther, she told herself, discreetly swiping away her tears beneath the helmet.
Saxon decelerated near an intersection and Cassidy tried not to fall forward into his back, using her thighs to grip the saddle. The bike’s engine vibrations rattled through her as Saxon coasted to the curb. He idled while Cassidy dismounted, then parked the bike. Down the street, a sandwich board advertising a restaurant called NOPA Noodle House stood on the sidewalk. Cassidy also noticed a coffee shop, an art supply store, and an office building.
“Which building did she go into?” Cassidy asked, removing the helmet and averting her eyes in case they revealed her emotions. She wanted to move away from him as quickly as possible.
“No idea,” Saxon said, widening his stance.
Cassidy glanced at the nearby buildings. Across the street stood a three-story faded beige building with ugly, metal-railed balconies, making it stand out compared to the attractive San Francisco Victorian style of its neighbors.
Saxon stored her helmet then straddled his bike.
“Thank you,” she said, the words sounding foreign.
As if he hadn’t heard her, Saxon tucked into his helmet and started the bike. Then, after checking for traffic, he lifted his feet from the pavement and accelerated up the street.
Cassidy hurried to the crosswalk and stood waiting for her turn. Her scattered mind latched onto the task of locating the apartment where the party had taken place, and hopefully, picking up Izzy’s trail. A tingle of anticipation zipped straight to her core—she imagined Izzy coming to the door, her face looking haggard after a late night but otherwise unharmed.
To get inside the apartment building, she needed someone to buzz her in, so pressed a random number. No answer. She tried again and this time, a male voice answered.
“Um, I’m looking for my friend that may have hung out here last night?” she tried.
“Who’s your friend?” the voice asked, suspicious.
“Her name’s Izzy.”
“Nobody here by that name that I know of,” he said, and hung up.
Cassidy tried again, feeling her emotions float to the surface again. I have to find her, she thought, almost as if she could see herself from above. That’s the only way this will ever make sense.
A female voice answered this time.
“Delivery for Jones,” Cassidy lied, knowing this was a terrible idea but it was all she had left.
The door buzzed open and Cassidy felt a burst of optimism. I can do this, she thought.
Inside the hallway, everything felt muted and closed
