She was fully armored again, zipped and Velcro’d, the yellow helmet under her arm. Milgrim was armored too, in borrowed nylon and Kevlar, stiff and unfamiliar, over tweed and whipcord. The toes of Jun’s bright brown brogues looked wrong, below the black Cordura overpants. His bag, containing his laptop and the clothing he’d worn the night before, was strapped atop the Yahama’s tank, which looked as though it had been gathered to spring from between a rider’s thighs. A striking image, now, with those thighs about to be Fiona’s.