Biker’s POV
Then I stopped.
The image of the woman at the intersection returned to me.
I frowned.
I had no idea why.
I had seen her for less than a minute.
Maybe less than thirty seconds.
There had been nothing remarkable about the encounter.
She had been standing on a street corner.
She had almost been hit by a car.
I had continued driving.
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, my mind kept returning to her face.
The slight crease between her brows.
The impatient way she’d shifted her weight.
The strands of hair that had escaped whatever had once been holding them in place.
The tiny silver bead attached to the black hair tie around her wrist.
I had noticed too much.
That was the problem.
I had always noticed too much.
It was one of the reasons I was still alive
