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Riley Cooper might’ve enjoyed this late-night drive. He was a man who appreciated being on the road, took pleasure in going places and discovering new things. With no family left to tie him down, no home but the memories of what had been, Riley had spent most of his adult life drifting across the continental United States like tumbleweed. He didn’t need much to be, if not happy, then at least content. Give him space to move, good music, a little money, and something to occupy his mind, and Riley was doing just fine. Emotionally fucked-up enough not to care when life got lonely sometimes, he’d mostly managed to get by without forming any lasting emotional attachments to people bound to break his heart one way or another. The key word, unfortunately, being “mostly.”
    As it was, Riley had had better nights. He was tired, footsore, and more than a little unsettled. He’d left San Antonio in a hurry, grabbing only his bug-out bag, which left him with the bare necessities and not much more. He wasn’t broke, but he’d just ditched a very cushy job in a fit of what had probably only been paranoia, and that meant he’d have to watch his expenses if he didn’t want to touch his savings. That he was used to it didn’t make him any less irritable about it.
    The only reason Riley hadn’t already turned around and driven back to San Antonio was that it was possible that maybe, just maybe, his paranoia wasn’t entirely unfounded. Better safe than sorry and all that. He hadn’t known the risks when he’d gotten involved with Misha, but he knew them now, and it was the kind of knowledge that couldn’t be undone. Shouldn’t be undone, wouldn’t be undone, because he had no intention of getting caught off-guard like that ever again. It still grated. Riley knew people, was good at reading them, seeing behind their public personas. He’d thought…. For a while there, he’d really believed…. He swallowed, hands tightening on the wheel. No. No thinking about that anymore. He’d fucked up. He knew it, he’d accepted it, he was over it. It still stung, would sting for quite a while, but damn if he was going to let it bring him down.
    That was another thing though. Riley didn’t let broken relationships haunt him. He wasn’t used to being so jumpy, didn’t like how the mere possibility of pursuit made him turn tail no matter how reasonable this kind of response might be in this particular situation. When Riley moved on, he did so because of job-related reasons or because he felt like it. He didn’t grab the essentials and take off like a bat out of hell just because he thought he’d seen a familiar face in the crowd. He hadn’t even given his notice, which annoyed him to no end. He’d liked working at the Southern Screw and it bugged him that he’d had to leave his boss and colleagues hanging. Nothing he could do about it, either, because he’d tossed his cell phone in the trash on the way to his apartment. At least nobody could accuse him of doing things halfway. Hell, he’d startled so badly he’d splashed coconut rum all over his shirt. He hadn’t spilled a drop in years, but when he’d thought he’d spotted Kolya, he’d almost dropped the entire bottle.
    He wanted to consider this a one-time strategic retreat, but the truth was he’d been on the run since New Orleans. Two months of always looking over his shoulder, feeling like a fool, being angry and hurt and missing Misha despite it all, because he was just that stupid. Had been just that much in love. It was enough to make him want to punch somebody, preferably the fucker responsible. This was exactly why he didn’t do relationships.
    In addition to feeling sorry for himself and like a chickenshit idiot to boot, Riley was getting beyond tired. It was past midnight, and exhaustion was sneaking in on velvet paws. He’d worked a double shift tending bar at the Southern Screw and hadn’t had time to rest before his unplanned and very hasty exit, so