She did? Why the hell would she do that?
Morgan looked down at the gun Ty was tucking into his waistband. The man had just cold-cocked a man with a gun in front of her without so much as blinking. He may have shot another to death.
Of course, he’d done all that to save her ass.
“Get on,” he said, gesturing behind him.
Morgan hesitated.
Sirens wailed off in the distance.
“Now, Morgan.” Ty’s voice was hard.
“But the cops are on their way,” she said, as if he didn’t already know. Wouldn’t it be better if we waited and let the authorities sort this out?”
“Barinov has moles inside the police department, Morgan. If you go with them, his men will know exactly where to find you. And this time they will finish the job.”
Morgan’s blood turned to ice.
The sirens were louder now.
“Crap,” she muttered under her breath and jumped on the back of his bike.
***
Morgan held on for dear life as Ty’s bike tore down her street and away from the police sirens. She closed her eyes as he pushed the throttle to what had to be its limit. Morgan was pretty sure she’d never gone this fast on anything but an airplane.
Strangely, ending up a smear on the pavement wasn’t her primary concern. It was whether or not she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
How many times in the last couple of days had she had that same thought?
Of course, running from the police with an armed gunman had a way of making you take a serious look at your life choices.
The cops would be pissed. That much was obvious. But it all came down to which she was afraid of more—the police or the Russian Mafia. In the end, she could only hope that the SFPD were an understanding lot.
At the very least, they probably wouldn’t shoot her on the spot. The same could not be said for the Bratva.
The image of her attacker’s eyes flashed in Morgan’s mind. He wasn’t there for her money. He hadn’t given a single damn about her purse. He’d been there to hurt her. Maybe even kill her.
And there wasn’t any doubt in her mind why.
Evgeni Barinov had sent him.
He was past warnings.
A chill that had nothing to do with the cold night air ran up Morgan’s spine.
Dear God. The Russian Mob wanted to kill her.
And Ty had saved her.
He’d been like a damn ninja tonight, kicking ass before she could even blink. Where the hell had he learned to fight like that?
The same place where he’d learned to pick locks and shoot with a split second to aim.
Maybe she wasn’t riding off with the White Knight after all.
Morgan opened her eyes as the Ducati slowed. She glanced at the rainbow of plaster-covered buildings whizzing by. It looked like they were somewhere in the Mission.
Ty pulled his bike around the back of a building and stopped next to a tarnished metal fire escape that snaked up to the top.
“Where are we?” Morgan asked.
“My place.” Ty killed the engine and stepped off. He held out his hand.
Morgan stared at it. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea.”
“It’s okay. I’m certain no one followed us.” He pressed his hand closer.
She crinkled up her nose. “I just…”
“You’re scared of me,” he said.
That couldn’t be surprise she heard in his voice. It just couldn’t. She’d just watched him pummel a man into the concrete for heaven’s sake. Did he think that was an everyday occurrence in her world?
Still, scared might be too harsh of a word.
“Wary,” she amended. “Cautious.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Morgan.”
“I know. I know.” And she did. He’d done nothing but help her. Hell, she’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for him.
Ty glanced around the parking lot. He shifted from foot to foot in his impatience, but still, he didn’t pressure her. “So what’s the problem?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? What was the problem? Deep down, she trusted him. More than that, all of her instincts screamed that he would do anything to keep her safe.
But why? Why would he risk his life for hers? Why had he wanted to spend time with her in the first place? Because Morgan was starting to get the idea that it wasn’t just because he couldn’t resist her sparkling personality.
That was the real reason she hadn’t stepped off his bike. That was what she was really afraid of. Going with him meant getting answers, and even after everything she’d been through, the truth scared her more than anything.
Her shoulders sagged at the realization. It was much easier just to pretend that it was Ty and his gun that she was scared of. But easier didn’t make it right.
She drew in a deep breath and looked up into his eyes.
“You’re not really a bartender, are you?”
The flat line of his mouth tightened. His nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. “Morgan—”
“You’re not.” Her hand flew to her mouth. See, she knew she didn’t really want the answers. Not that she had any. But her head was swimming with possibilities. “Do you work for the Russians? Or some other gang? Or are you a lone wolf?”