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her nose. These didn't look like the cute little bikes a family might use on weekends. These were burly machineshogs, chopperssteel mounts for tattooed men with skulls emblazoned on the backs of their denim jackets. |
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Or boys who like to fancy themselves tough, Maureen thought as she strode toward the lighted front porch of the house. |
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She was pretty sure she wouldn't find a band of savage bikers here. Even in Bixby, where real estate was cheap by California standards, a home like this must be worth at least a hundred and fifty thousand. |
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More than likely, the pizzas were for the son and his friends. |
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If bikers had taken over the place, they wouldn't be ordering out for . . . |
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Overhead, the night seemed to explode. |
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'Oh, wouldn't you just know it,' she muttered, and started to run for the porch. |
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The rain came down before she got there. When she felt its heat on her head, she stopped. |
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Hey, she thought, this is nice. |
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Bending over, she set the pizza boxes on the walkway at her feet. She took off her coat, stretched out her arms, and tilted back her head to feel the rain on her face. In seconds, her dress was soaked and clinging to her body. |
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A warm tremor spread through Maureen. She felt an urge to strip naked and roll on the grass. But a different urge was stronger. |
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