Chance rode back to his pad wondering what the hell just happened. He was naturally suspicious and sensitive to the actions of others, and what about the redhead. She hit him like a bolt flying off a speeding semi. He felt for a bruise next to his heart.
He unlocked his gate and rolled his chopper off the street. The homeless were still gone from his short industrial block in old Wilmington. Streets were asphalt, but the gutters contained historic reminders, with mortared bricks and cobblestones still reaching the surface.