Bria had gone to ground and there hadn’t been any other Facebook posts. Geneva mentioned that Jock hadn’t heard from her lately either except for one odd late-night call demanding to see her children and issuing threats when he said no. She’d sounded drunk or high or both, and Jock had hung up on her. She hadn’t called back, as I understood it. Obviously, she hadn’t complied with Jock’s demands regarding substance-abuse assistance.

This afternoon’s weather was cloudy and in the fifties. Not bad for March in Seattle. I wore a very warm sweater and black dress pants, along with a warm jacket. I thought I looked pretty damn good, enough to make Geneva glad she’d agreed to a date. In my hands, I held a small, neatly wrapped package of specialty truffles. Teagan had let it slip that Geneva loved chocolates, so I’d been showering her with different types of gourmet chocolates for the past week.

A motorcycle roared down the street, going so fast I assumed it’d pass on by. At the last minute, the driver skidded into an empty parking spot in a cloud of dust and screeching tires.

For a moment, I stared dumbfounded and unable to move. I’d seen this particular Harley before, and I’d know that body clad in leathers anywhere, even though I hadn’t had the fortune of seeing said body divested of its clothing.

Someday, I swore to myself. Someday.

Geneva shut down the bike and kicked down the stand. She pulled off her helmet and shook out her long, dark hair. She sashayed over to me, dangling a spare helmet in her hand. My eyes drank her in like I’d been lost in the jungle for twenty years and had finally seen a woman again.

She looked me up and down and cocked a brow at me. “You’re wearing that?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I was slightly insulted. I’d never known a woman to have an issue with how I dressed. I wasn’t vain about it, but I did have good taste in clothing.

“Nothing.” She smirked at me, amused by some private joke I wasn’t privy to. “You’ll fit right in.”

Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on me. I frowned and narrowed my eyes, studying her closely. I didn’t have time to reconsider my choice of clothing. She tossed the helmet at me and strode back to the motorcycle.

Suspicion raced through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being set up. Perhaps she was trying to prove her point that we weren’t compatible. I wondered briefly if I should run inside and change into something more casual. I didn’t have a clue what she might be wearing under those leathers. Nothing would be acceptable.

But I was regressing to the gutter my mind loved to wallow in whenever a hot female approached. Geneva was the hottest of the hot, and I’d gladly make a fool out of myself to be with her.

“What’s the dress code where we’re going?” I asked.