A Perfect Storm (18 page)

“Spencer, I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll pay attention. I’ll stay out of danger.”

He rubbed his thumb over her meager biceps. “I really hate this.”

After an indulgent look, Arizona released the door handle and settled back in her seat. “Know what?”

Had she finally come to her senses? “What?”

She took out her gum, placed it back in the wrapper and put it in the ashtray again.

Then, before Spencer realized her intent, she turned to him, braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to brush a kiss over his mouth.

Everything male within him froze before going red-hot. Not grabbing her close was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He settled his hands on her narrow waist and relished her freely given affection. “It’s not too late—”

“Shh.” Against his lips, she whispered, “Keep your powder dry, Spence. It’s going to be fine.” She kissed him again, a light butterfly kiss, and then she pulled away. “You have my word.”

* * *

S
ITTING
IN
HIS
TRUCK
stewing, Spencer watched the entrance to the bar. Arizona should be showing up shortly.

He hated this.

Not once had he seen Dare, so he put in a quick call to the number given him.

Dare Macintosh answered on the first ring. “Problem?”

Spencer stared down the street, but the bus didn’t show. “Do you see her?”

“Of course.” There was a moment of silence, and then, half under his breath, Dare said, “She’d be hard to miss.”

“I know.” Spencer rubbed his forehead. “The outfit wasn’t my idea, believe me.”

“Not sure we can blame the clothes. On another woman, that skirt and top would be no big deal. On Arizona, it spells a lot of trouble.”

Suffering his own twinge of jealousy, Spencer growled, “I know.”

“Do you?” Dare went right to the point. “You’re going to have your hands full tonight. I suggest you get yourself together.”

What the hell did that mean?
“You have something to say to me?”

Lacking any real inflection, almost as if he was sharing the weather report, Dare said, “You’re personally invested and that’s not a good thing.”

The censure cut. “I know what I’m doing.”

“When it comes to Arizona? I doubt it. You’re letting her screw with your head.”

Instead of trying to deny that, he pointed out the obvious. “You were personally invested when you went after Alani, and when you rescued your wife, Molly.”

“I’m not you.”

Hell, no denying that. Spencer knew he could hold his own, but Dare was in a special league, shared only by Trace and Jackson.

“Right.” It occurred to Spencer that he sounded bitchy. He drew a deep breath, then another. It didn’t help. “If it was any woman other than Arizona—”

“You could be detached and calculating. I know. Arizona doesn’t exactly make it easy to stay uninvolved.”

Finally seeing the bus, Spencer wrapped it up. “She’s here.”

“I know.”

Of course he did. Cutting back a growl of frustration, Spencer said, “If you see anything, if you even suspect something might be going down—”

“I’ll send you one of the codes we went over. Don’t mix them up.”

Spencer ground his molars together. He looked around again and still saw no sight of Dare anywhere. Stealthy bastard. “I’ve got them memorized. Later.”

The second he disconnected the phone, he saw Arizona step off the bus and look around as if she’d never seen a lighted, flashy, busy bar before. Already two guys were hitting on her, one who looked around forty, one probably closer to her own age.

They both appeared charmed by her shy smiles and reserved manner.

Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, Spencer forced himself to sit still in the truck cab and observe without seeming to stare. That he’d pulled up across the street, in the shadows, helped him to go unnoticed.

Watching Arizona with the men, he had to admit that she just might be able to pull this off. He saw her as others would; her air of confidence gone, a show of vulnerability masking her bravado. A deliberate ruse, but still, he couldn’t stop staring. His chest hurt, his nostrils flared.

Despite her lack of invitation, the older man kept trying to look down her top, and the younger guy leaned back to check out her ass. Bastards.

But he’d expected no less. She looked amazingly hot while playing the innocent.

Not good.

Not good at all.

Damn, maybe he liked the helpless female act more than he’d ever realized.

For sure, he liked it on Arizona.

After giving her a minute to sidle away from the men and enter the bar, he drove up the block and around the corner to park. Later, when she called it quits for the night, they’d be able to leave together in his truck with no one the wiser.

Even knowing Dare watched over her, Spencer found it difficult to hold back, to give her time to get settled in the bar. With awful scenarios prominent in his mind, he locked up and strode along the sidewalk quietly, constantly scanning the area for any nosy onlookers.

He saw none.

Flickering white neon lights, shaped like a goose, wrapped around the words G
REEN
G
OOSE
. Beneath that, red neon spelled B
AR
AND
G
RILL
, though no one would mistake the priorities of the establishment. Thick bars secured the windows, but given the area, it looked like the norm.

Above the door, a lighted banner said, E
AT
,
DRINK
,
RELAX
, and another sign advertised, W
OMEN
,
WOMEN
,
WOMEN
! with the shapely silhouette of a busty figure beside it. Combined, the lights sent a fuzzy glow into the dark night, barely illuminating the hulking shape of an empty building on the opposite side of an alley. Beside that was a gas station. To the other side of the bar was a mom-and-pop convenience store, now closed, and beyond that, a tattoo parlor, also closed for the night.

All in all, it was an ominous, dreary, run-down area.

As Spencer approached the entrance, several women eyed him, smiling with invitation while advertising their wares.

Hookers, he decided.

Working for the bar owner? Probably. He smiled back—and walked past them into loud music and disorienting strobe lights. It took his eyes a moment to adjust.

Dim, mellow lights hung over booths in the sitting and eating area. A brighter light shone over the bar and bar stools but didn’t quite reach to the seating area, leaving plenty of shadows to swallow up shady deals and lustful assignations—and with every flashing illumination, he saw a few of each.

Discreetly, he scanned the interior until he spotted Arizona at the bar. As he watched, she knocked back a shot of whiskey. Judging by the shot glasses in front of her, it wasn’t her first.

Damn.

What the hell was she thinking? But when he saw the smiling bartender hand her another, he knew. Someone had already sent her the drinks. Things were moving fast. Too fast.

* * *

S
O
SHE
HAD
RETURNED
.

He’d hoped she would, but she was so hot, so cocky, and so different from the others, that seeing her here now, within reach, almost surprised him.

It definitely pleased him.

Rubbing his mouth, he scrutinized her face, her body.

She’d be perfect, the best yet, the most valuable. And he would have her.

The power of it surged through his veins.

Oh, she thought herself protected. She thought herself immune.

But now that he’d set his sights on her, now that she’d come back, she would be his.

Nothing and no one would change that outcome.

* * *

S
PENCER
SEATED
HIMSELF
at a booth as far from Arizona as he dared to be while still being able to see her.

Laughingly rejecting the proffered drink, she spoke to a waiter. Spencer couldn’t hear what was said, but when the waiter called over a boy with a menu, he assumed she planned to order food.

That would buy her some time—as long as she didn’t actually eat much.

The shot remained on the bar in front of her.

How much whiskey would it take to get her drunk? Probably not much. The way she giggled, she was already buzzed…or pretending to be.

With Arizona, he couldn’t tell.

But he could easily guess how unmanageable she’d be with liquid courage burning through her bloodstream. God help them all, she just might kill someone.

* * *

T
HE
SECOND
S
PENCER
WALKED
IN
, Arizona knew it. She didn’t need to see him or hear him. He had that kind of appeal, that much presence. With him inside the spacious establishment, the stagnant air seemed to swell and churn.

Every other woman in the joint noticed him, too. Women who danced beneath lights. Women who served drinks and sandwiches. Women with other men.

Yeah, she got that. With his incredible height and those broad shoulders and that unwavering air of control, Spencer was the type of man no woman would ever ignore.

But the men became aware of him, too. Likely they saw him as a possible threat; physically he’d annihilate them, and romantically, well, he hogged the attention of all the ladies.

With just a glance, Arizona saw the big bartender zero in on Spencer with nasty intent. While polishing a glass, he spoke to the dude who’d sent her the drinks, and that idiot nodded. Then the skinny man she now guessed to be her target, Terry Janes, eyed Spencer, as well. When Janes turned to say something to the bartender, he caught Arizona watching him.

She ducked her face but smiled—and peeked at him again.

Of course the knucklehead bought it, hook, line and sinker. Men were
soooo
damn easy.

Mouth curling and dark eyes warming, Terry Janes eyed her with possessiveness.

Oh, she recognized that look well enough.

Bingo.

Up close, his thinning brown hair was more noticeable, especially with the way he slicked it back. His scruffy goatee with patches of gray gave away his mid-forties age. When he tugged on an earring in one ear, Arizona again saw the colorful tribal tat on his left arm.

Tonight, he looked cruel. He looked like an easy mark.

And Spencer thought this might prove tricky. Ha!

Janes leaned on the bar to talk quietly with the other men, but his intimate attention remained on her.

He was such a repulsive excuse for a human being that acidic disgust burned in her stomach. But she played it coy, letting her smile flicker as she returned his interest.

If it weren’t for the loud music, she maybe could have listened in. But no way would she be able to hear unless she got right on top of them. And that’d be too obvious.

So instead, she watched him.

Not until the same boy she’d seen before approached with a menu did she look away from Terry Janes.

“You came back,” he said, his voice dead, cold.

“I said I would, right?” She smiled at him and slid the whiskey aside with a laugh. “I can’t do any more of that on an empty stomach.”

He rubbed his neck with his uninjured hand. “Something else to drink, then?”

Arizona took in the mop of thick dark hair, the swarthy skin…the cowed shoulders. That the kid wouldn’t look her in the eyes really bothered her. He had to be still in his teens. Too young to be working in a bar, but then, he probably had no one to champion him, no one to care about his mistreatment.

Being on the scrawny side, he was no match for the bullies clustered at the other end of the bar.

On his left hand, two fingers were taped together, but she could see by the swelling and discoloration of the middle finger that it had probably been broken.

When she wrapped this up, she’d repay the bastards in kind—with interest.

“How about sweet tea? Do you have that?” Leaning close to ensure he heard her, she tried to see his face.

He dodged her. “Yes.” He laid a menu on the bar in front of her. For only a second, his white shirtsleeve pulled up…and exposed fresh, purpling bruises above his thin wrist. He quickly retreated. “Do you know what you want to eat or did you need more time?”

The whiskey had burned a path down her throat and into her stomach; seeing the kid’s abuse burned her soul.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go ahead and order now.” To give the impression of desperation, Arizona rubbed her stomach as if hungry and scrunched up her nose. “What’s the cheapest thing on the menu?”