He had no clue what the hell was going to happen with the Death Heads, but he'd die before he'd let them get their hands on her. He lifted his hand and cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, brat. Understand?"

She just stared up at him.

"You trust me?" he asked when she didn't reply.

She nodded, but that wasn't good enough for him.

"Say it."

"I trust you, Billy."

"Ghost," he corrected. "I go by Ghost now."

"Ghost."

He studied her a long moment, and then nodded. Dropping his hand, he lifted his chin toward the wall she'd been sitting against earlier. "Get some rest."

She sat as he moved toward the half opened door, dropping down on the floor next to it, leaning back against the wall to keep watch.

"When it stops raining will we be able to leave?" she asked.

He kept his eyes on the landscape. "Not until I fix my bike."

"Fix your bike?"

He turned back in time to see her frown.

"What's wrong with your bike?"

"Did you feel when we jarred against something right before I shut it off?"

She nodded.

"We hit something. Broke the shifter."

"The shifter?"

He nodded, pointing toward a metal piece that was flopping down on the bottom left of the bike. "The shift linkage. Can't ride if I can't shift gears. Hopefully, I can fix it when we've got daylight tomorrow and I can get a better look at it."

"So we're stuck here tonight?"

"Looks that way."

As hours passed, the rain slacked off. Eventually Jessie put her head back against the wall and drifted off. Ghost kept his vigil by the door, determined to stay awake and make sure the Death Heads didn't return searching for them.

As night fell, the temperature dropped, and Ghost cursed the fact that he'd left his leather jacket back at camp. Not for him, but for Jessie. He knew she was cold.

As if his thoughts communicated to her, she came awake, shivering. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm. Her eyes moved to him. He could see them in the dim moonlight that shone through a hole in the ceiling.

"Why don't you sit over here? Isn't it cold over by the door?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe our body heat would help keep each other warm," she suggested.

"Then come over here."

"Ghost."

He knew she thought he was being difficult. That wasn't it at all. He might as well admit it. "I have a problem with small spaces."

He watched her frown.

"You do? I didn't know that."

"Yeah, well, I do."

He felt her studying him, like she was trying to figure him out. And then she tilted her head to the side as if something had just dawned on her.

"Is that why you always took the stairs instead of the elevator?"

He grinned, wondering how she'd never put it together before now. But then he had to remind himself she'd just been a child. "Yeah, brat. That's why."

His use of the nickname he'd had for her back then made her smile and roll her eyes. Then he watched her stand up. His eyes followed her in the dim light as she moved toward him and sat next to him. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his body. "Might also explain why I prefer riding a bike to being closed up in a car."

She laughed. "Probably."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

"Do you remember the year we came to live with you and your dad?" she asked.

"Of course. I was thirteen. And Tommy was twelve. And you were, what? Eight?"

"Um hmm. I remember when we walked inside for the first time. You were sitting on the couch, all sullen and pissed off, looking like it was the last place you wanted to be."

"I tried to take off, sneak out the back. Dad caught me. Threatened to ground me if I didn't stay and meet you."

"No wonder you looked so pissed off when you looked at us."

"Sorry, brat. I was an adolescent boy that had lost his mother and didn't want a new one."

"I know. I didn't want a new father, either, or a new brother. Until I met you, that is."

He gave her a squeeze.

"Do you remember what you used to call me?"

"Brat?"

"No, before that."

"What did I call you?" he asked with a frown, struggling to recall.

"When we met I had on a polka dot dress, and all that summer you called me Polka Dot."

He grinned. "I did, didn't I? Hell, I'd forgotten that."

"I hated that dress."

"You hated all dresses back then. You were a little Tomboy, always wanting to tagalong with us. Remember when you wanted to enroll in Little League with us?"

"Yeah, Mom made me take ballet class instead."

"You hated it."

"Want to know a secret?"

"Sure."

"I really didn't hate it. I liked it. A lot. I just hated that I couldn't play baseball, too."

"Really?" He dragged the word out. "Interesting."

"I used to love when you'd let me play ball with you in the neighborhood."

"Well, you were the best third baseman we had," he admitted in a teasing voice.

She grinned, lifting her chin proudly. "I was, wasn't I?"

"Yup."

"We had some fun times, didn't we?"

"Sure did." He pushed her head down on his shoulder. "Get some sleep, brat."

She eventually drifted off. He could tell when her breathing changed, deepening, and her weight settled heavily against his side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and continued to stroke her hair, his fingers sifting through the silkiness.

The curves of her warm body, soft against his side, reminded him that she was no longer a child. She was a grown woman now, and his body reacted to hers accordingly. He tried to tamp those feelings down, knowing the last thing he should be feeling toward her was desire. Somehow it felt wrong. He'd always been more like a big brother to her. And he was sure that wasn't the type of relationship she'd sought him out for. She needed protection, someone to look out for her, someone to fill the role of the big brother she'd lost. And he was fine with filling that role. He'd be whatever she needed. It was the least he could do for her. The least he could do in Tommy's memory.

His mind drifted to the trouble Jessie was now in, going over in his head everything she'd told him about the Death Heads and the plans she'd overheard. If it were true, it was damned valuable information. Information his club could use. Information the DKs would also find valuable. And there was the rub of it. His club would use her and that information to make a deal with the DKs.

Question was, would he be comfortable with that? Using her like that didn't sit well with him. It put her smack in the middle of an escalating biker war. Could he live with that?

CHAPTER FOUR.

Jessie stretched, coming awake. It was daylight now, and Ghost had propped the door wide open, letting in the bright sunlight. He was squatted down next to his bike, fiddling with it. When he heard her movement, he twisted, looking over his shoulder.

"Mornin'," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, getting stiffly to her feet. She moved to stand next to him and nodded toward the bike. "Did you figure out what happened to it?"

He looked up at her. "The bolt connecting the shift linkage snapped."

"Can you fix it?" She watched as he continued fiddling with it. Then he stood, wiping his hands on a bandana and answered sarcastically, "Yeah, you got a couple of five-sixteenth bolts on ya?"

Her mouth pulled up in a half smile. "Right. See your point." She eyed the door. "So what do we do? Walk?"

He huffed out a breath, and her eyes came back to him.

"I'm not leaving my bike here."

"Then what?"

"I'll fix it. I just have to figure out some way to jury-rig it."

"Jury-what?"

"Jury-rig. A makeshift fix."

When she frowned, still not understanding, he expanded.

"Improvise, Cobble something together, half-ass it."

"Gotcha."

He glanced around the shed. "Check the floor. Maybe we'll find something I can use."

The shed was cluttered with some garbage in the corner. What appeared to be the trash left over from when whoever emptied out whatever had been stored here long ago. They both scoured the place top to bottom.

Jessie dumped her meager pile of 'found' items next to the bike. Ghost squatted down, looking them over, moving them around with his finger. A couple of nails, a paperclip, and a fat rubber band.

She looked at him hopefully, like she'd found the jackpot. His brows rose as he looked up at her indicating he had his doubts about what he could do with these items. Did she thing he was goddamned MacGyver? He huffed out a breath. Maybe it was the hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe it was the memory of how she used to always look up to him as a child, believing he was capable of anything, Whatever it was, he found himself looking back at the bike and grinning.

"I'll try, baby doll."

She grinned back.

Hours passed as Jessie watched as Ghost tried one fix after another. He tried the rubber band, but the first time he climbed on and hit the shifter with his foot, it snapped off. Then he tried to fashion a fix with the jumbo paperclip, twisting it through where the bolt would connect. It popped off with the first tap of his foot. He studied the nails, and she knew he was trying to figure out a way to bend them to hold the connection, but that fix didn't pan out either.