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wrong angle in a diagonal parking space marked “Reserved for Staff”.
    A short, pudgy man with a very red face and thinning hair threw the door open and stormed inside.
    “Whatcha’ bet that’s the Mag Judge?” Stacy laughed.
    “ Pink Cadillac? ” Spike looked slightly nauseous.
    “I’ve never met him but Chad did tell me his wife was a real Mary Kay success story. Let’s mosey on in, why don’t we? Maybe throw in the names of the attorneys we’re considering for the false arrest complaint.”
    Chad was walking out the door by the time we got back in, the short, pudgy red-faced man at his side.
    “Now, Chad, I’m real sorry ‘bout this misunderstandin’, don’t quite know how it happened. You’re a professional, you know mistakes happen—”
    I walked up to Chad and hooked my arm through his.
    “So! Everything straightened out? Judge Ogles, I take it. Never met you, sir. Ariel Garrett.”
    He almost tripped over his feet in his haste to take my offered hand.
    “Delighted, Miz Garrett, delighted to meet you. And sorry for the inconvenience, like I was tellin’ Chad, just don’t understand how the mix-up happened. Sure hope there’s no hard feelin’s, we’re all in the same business, just want to keep the legal system movin’, you know.”
    “Oh, I understand completely, Judge. I’ve spent years in a law office as a paralegal. One of the big ones, up in Macon. Know a lot of the attorneys, too. So I know all about the inner workings of the legal system. State, Superior, Federal. Stressful field, very stressful. ‘Course the advantage is I always have an attorney when I need one. And I always know which one I need.”
    I smiled brightly and Judge Ogles turned slightly green.
    “Erphm, yeah, well, I hope you don’t need one anytime soon.”
    “I hope she doesn’t need another one anytime soon, too,” said Chad, throwing the slightest emphasis on ‘another’. “Baby girl, I’m ready to blow this joint. Let’s get back on the road, the Eagle’s not just calling, he’s screaming.”
     

 
    Chapter Five
     
     
     
    We hit I-95 and rolled into Daytona right at sunset, heading straight for N. Atlantic Avenue and the hotel. Traffic was horrendous and slow and Chad’s brush with the jail cell had cost us two hours. Masses of bikes and bike trailers and pickups and cars moved bumper to bumper on the roads and jammed into parking lots, so it seemed like a good idea to make sure we had a place to lay our heads when it was time to lay them, reservations or not.
    The desk clerk ’s eyes widened as he looked at the computer screen. Not a good sign. He looked up at Spike and Chad and blinked nervously. Nope, not a good sign.
    “Uh, sir, I’m sorry, but it appears those rooms were—they’re not—they’ve already been taken.”
    “ Excuse me? ”
    “They, uh, they—those rooms aren’t available, sir.”
    “The hell you say!”
    The clerk backed up behind the desk. I would have, too. I’d never heard Spike’s voice sound like anything but melted butter—damn, that man had a great voice—but he could growl like a grizzly, too.
    “Get the manager up here. Now.” Chad didn’t make a move toward him but the poor guy backed up some more anyway, just to be safe. He reached out a cautious hand and grabbed the phone. Even more cautiously, he reached out and punched a button.
    “Mr. Harris? Can you come up front, please?” He hung up and backed away some more. “He’ll be right up.”
    He was. And very flustered to boot. The first day of Bike Week’s enough to make any manager of any hotel run screaming through the streets. He was a consummate professional, though. I could see the memory chips churning in his brain. He forced a smile and offered his hand.
    “Mr. Garrett! Mr. Forrester! Nothing finer than returning guests!”
    I made a mental note Spike didn’t advertise the M.D. after his name when in biker mode.
    “Not when they’re as pissed off as we are.”
    “I’m sorry, I