“I’m not going anywhere!” a shrill young voice cries.
“Alicia! I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming to help.”
“I’m not wasting my Saturday walking around a grocery store. You can’t make me.”
“I know I can’t make you.” I hear the resignation in Mary’s voice. “I’m not leaving you here on your own.”
“I’m not a fucking baby.”
“Don’t swear!” There’s a pause, then, “I know you’re not.” It’s said in a reasonable tone, and I admire her patience. “Please, I could do with your help.”
There’s silence. Then. “Alicia, no. You’re grounded. You’re not going—”
In front of me the door is flung open, and the girl who I last saw modelling by my bike comes running out, in her haste, crashing right into me. She’s a small tender thing and I barely bend. She though, well, she looks as shocked as I am to find a girl in my arms.
“Who…? What…? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Alicia, get back inside.”
Mary’s got a look of relief on her face as the escape of her daughter has been stopped. It overcomes her curiosity at seeing me here. The girl who’s smartly removed herself from our inappropriate closeness by taking a step back, looks past me as if calculating her chances of making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, using my best sergeant-at-arms voice, the one that pulls my brothers up short.
It seems to work on her as well, as with one last glance at freedom, she turns, pushes past her mom, and disappears into the house.
I stare after her. “You got a back door?”
“Locked.” Mary pats her pocket letting me know the key’s in there. Then she sighs. “But the windows aren’t. Though I hope she isn’t that desperate.”
“She got somewhere she needs to be?”
“Just as far as she can get from me.” Mary slumps against the doorframe as though needing it to hold her up. “I’ve grounded her.”
I could ask what she’s done, or not done I suppose, to deserve that, but that’s not why I’ve driven through the traffic today. I think that the conflict between mother and daughter is the reason Mary’s not immediately asked the reason for my visit either. Deciding I’ve better things to be doing than dealing with two fighting females, I come right out with it.
“Alicia get her modelling fee?”
Mary tilts her head to the side, and her brow creases. It takes a moment for the penny to drop. “Oh, from the photo shoot. No, nothing came of that. Obviously no photos were sold. Not from that shoot, nor the other she did.”
I notice the way her mouth twists in distaste but push her reaction to one side of my brain.
I’d expected to find Devon Starr had fleeced me because I was an ignorant biker, and because it was my bike that had modelled and not myself. But now I find it wasn’t only me he’d tried to scam out of money. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, so instead of using words, I get out my phone, and call up the photo of the cover of the book Patsy had shown to me. I turn it so Mary can see the screen.
She reaches out to take it from me and I let her. After she’s studied it, I swipe to the next photo which has the model details inside. Her eyes widen, and she raises them to me.
I nod, letting her know what she’s thinking is right. Devon Starr has sold at least one of the photos he’d taken and neither paid me nor her daughter.
“The rat,” she states firmly. “That rat bastard. He’s not said a word.”
Chapter Eight
Mary
I called him the worst thing I could say out loud, but in my head I’m not as ladylike. I’m not so annoyed on my own behalf, but on my daughter’s. Alicia, so young and innocent of the ways of the world, is going to have her illusions shattered. For a moment, I wonder whether I could lie and pay her the money myself. But while I work, I’m paying a mortgage and bringing up a daughter on my own, and my car needs work done. I can’t find two hundred dollars out of thin air.
Perhaps the biker in front of me is mistaken.
“When was the book published?”
“Recently. I contacted the author. She bought the rights to the photo a few weeks back. Paid in full.”
I bite my lip and look back at the phone I’m still holding. “Maybe he takes time to contact his models.”
The biker, whose name I’m struggling to remember, shrugs. “I’d like to ask him to find out.”
“I’ve got his number…”
Another rise and fall of his shoulders. “I like discussing money face-to-face.”
I eye the sergeant-at-arms patch on his cut and wonder if money talks with him normally involve fists. It wouldn’t surprise me from the little I know about bikers.
“Do you, or your daughter, have an address for him?”
“No…” I start, then stop. “Alicia did another shoot with him, but it was in a rented studio space.” Again, my teeth worry my lip.
“Can we ask her if she’s got any more information?”
“I was with her the whole time.” I’m not being difficult, I just don’t know how I can help. Obviously the biker wants his agreed payment. I realise I want justice for my daughter and find out where hers is as well. Thinking again, it’s possible Alicia might know more, she’s gotten very friendly with the first model, Owen.
With my head still bent, I look up through my eyelashes, eyeing him shrewdly. I don’t get
