2017 Red Ribbon winner, The Wishing Shelf international book awards (Adult-Fiction).
A tattoo artist is pursued by the man of her dreams, but her biker-gang friends mistake him for a hit man out to get her.
It's 1995, and Galen Randall, the world'...
The sun's glow peeked over the desert horizon to see Randall asleep in the old van, in the parking lot of a closed, boarded-up Chinese restaurant (formerly "Wong Chow's Chow") on the bank of the Colorado River. He looked five times more like a bum than he had even the night before—and he had looked totally disreputable then.
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A black 1991 BMW K 1 motorcycle, with red cardinals hand-painted on both sides of its fuel tank, glided into the same parking lot and stopped beside a 1994 red Honda GL 1500 SE 'cycle, about seventy-five yards away from Randall's van.
Mule had slept on the ground, leaning against his bike. The arriving cyclist, whose name was Byrd, left his bike and stepped close enough to wake Mule without making sufficient noise to arouse Randall. Mule got up, stiff and groggy, pointed toward Randall's van, and shook hands with the new man, acknowledging Byrd as Mule's replacement.
Mule left the parking lot with a minimum of rumble, and Byrd settled in to watch his quarry for the day.
At the Nichols Bed & Breakfast, Lou was up early and leaving the house with all her camera gear. As she walked to her rental car, she passed a pale, round, bald man asleep on his motorcycle. She gave him a friendly elbow nudge as she passed.
"Let's go, Moon. Sun will be up in twenty minutes."
When she drove away a minute later, a yawning Moon rode his black 1993 Honda VT 1100 Shadow Phoenix Edition Custom Cruiser in her wake.
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Dawn was breaking over the dilapidated Wong Chow's Chow building when Randall woke up, stumbled from the van, and crossed a grassy verge to the riverbank nearby. He threw himself full length on the ground and scooped water at his face.
Byrd's booted foot came down on the back of Randall's neck, forcing his head under water and holding it there while Randall struggled.
Lou drove past the derelict Chinese restaurant, but she took no notice of the empty van and motorcycle in its weedy parking lot.
Moon, who was following Lou's car, and Byrd, who was standing on Randall's neck, exchanged a cheery wave and went on about their business.
Byrd stepped back at last, and Randall's head splashed up from the river bottom. He rolled, came to his feet, shook his hair from his eyes, and lunged for Byrd.
