A Perfect Storm (20 page)

Leaning toward him, her voice low, Arizona asked, “How’d you break your finger?”

Uneasy, Quin opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Pretending to smooth the front of his shirt, she slipped the note into his breast pocket.

The alarm in his gaze said he knew what she’d done—but had no idea why.

“If you ever want to talk, call me. I can help.”

Trembling, he licked his lips again, afraid, maybe hopeful. “What are you talking about?”

She tried a sympathetic smile. “Your finger?”

He held his breath but finally said, “That was…an accident.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I have to go.” He tried to gather up the rest of her dishes in a rush and nearly knocked over the remaining shot of whiskey. “You must drink that.”

Poor guy. Pity welled up; she could see his fear, even smell it, and it made her livid, made her want to raze the place.

It also nearly crippled her with the need to help.

“You live around here?” Though already his reactions were telling enough, she pressed him. “Or do you live…
here?
”

After darting his fearful gaze around, he pushed the whiskey toward her. “Drink it. Please.”

To appease him, she tipped up the glass and swallowed it back, then handed him the empty. “Okay?”

Instead of answering, Quin stared past her shoulder—and there stood Terry Janes, not more than a yard behind her. A woman hung on his left arm, and a man counted money to his right. And still he stared straight at Arizona.

Well, hell. She’d been so absorbed in the young waiter she hadn’t even sensed Terry Janes getting near.

With the loud music blaring and the drone of multiple conversations, he couldn’t possibly have overheard anything they’d said. But maybe Quin’s guilty expression had given them away, because the bar owner’s ominous intensity engulfed them both.

Oh, God, if she got Quin in trouble… “Look,” Arizona said in a rush. “Let me help—”

“If you don’t want anything else,” Quin interrupted, “I will get back to work.” He started away.

Arizona caught his sleeve. “Wait.”

First miserable and then defiant, he paused. “What?”

Arizona pressed the pie toward him. “Please. I’m watching my weight, but it’d be a shame for the dessert to go to waste. Would you eat it for me?”

His jaw worked. “It is for you.”

“But I don’t want it. Not tonight.”

Cynicism flattened his expression. “You should eat it anyway.” And with that he walked off—but he left the pie behind.

So had someone tampered with it? Did it contain something that would drug her, make her malleable, or worse?

Unwilling to take the chance, Arizona pushed the pie away. But now, without Quin to talk to and with her targets all busy, she felt at loose ends.

She’d always had a problem with impatience.

At least Quin now had the number for her day-to-day cell. Hopefully he’d call. Hopefully he’d let her help. And soon.

She wanted to act, to “fix” things however she could, preferably by stomping on some bad guys. She had new respect for how Trace, Dare and Jackson handled the involved, multileveled stings that had brought about so much justice.

She tapped her fingertips on the bar, swung one foot in time to the music, glared at one leering drunk and wished Carl would hurry up and return to her so they could get the show on the road.

* * *

“H
ANG
ON
A
SECOND
,
HONEY
.” Dodging graspy hands and a wet mouth, Spencer pulled the buzzing phone from his pocket. He flipped it open to see the message:
Lights out in thirty.

Not a code, but from Dare. What did it mean? Unsure if he should anticipate a knockout, a blackout or both, he checked the time on his watch.

Unwilling to let the redhead kiss his mouth, Spencer dodged her again—and she bit his chin.

With a hand on her shoulder, he pressed her back. “Hold on, sugar.” Quickly, before things got out of hand, he beeped back a confirmation of receipt and returned the phone to his pocket.

“Business?” she asked while settling back into her seat across from him.

“Nothing important.” Should he round up Arizona and say to hell with it for the night? At the very least, he had to keep her close. Right now she looked bored, and that didn’t bode well for anyone.

Then suddenly Terry Janes moved on past her again, heading down a hallway toward the back of the bar, past the bathrooms and kitchen.

And Spencer knew—
he knew
—exactly what Arizona was thinking.

It was uncanny how he could read her, but when she pushed off the bar stool without looking back at him, giving him no opportunity to dissuade her with a subtle signal, he knew it was to follow Janes.

When he got her alone again…

Thoughts scrambling, Spencer prepared to go after her, and to hell with their cover.

At the last second, it proved unnecessary.

With relief, he watched as she got sidelined by a new distraction.

* * *

G
ODDAMNED
INTERRUPTIONS
… He curled his hands into fists, locked his knees and accepted the inevitable.

Stalled, yet again.

For so many nights now, he’d waited for her to return to his bar. Now she was here, but nothing was yet settled.

Frustration clawed at the surface of his calm façade, a façade of control, of normalcy. He had to have her. Sooner would be better…but if forced to it, he could be patient.

Waiting often led to the best rewards.

For now, she was too nice, giving attention to those who didn’t deserve it. Stupid bitch.

When the time was right, he’d teach her better.

But it wasn’t that time yet. Not yet.

Soon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“W
AIT
.”

Thrown off by the interruption, Arizona peered down at the small, pale hand now latched onto her arm.

“Please.” It was quickly retracted by a goofy little dweeb in thick glasses with an unruly head of brown hair half-hidden beneath a worn sports cap. “Wait.”

Un-freaking-believable. Her brows rose with indignation. “Excuse me?”

“Look.” Trembling, he thrust a large, stiff piece of paper toward her. “It’s you.”

She suspected the little guy had turned bright red, but low lighting made it impossible to tell. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t have time for this. “What is it?”

Eyes darting everywhere, manner demure, he turned the pencil drawing around so that the light shone on it.

Oh, wow. It
was
her.

She eased closer to the small round two-seater table where he sat. He’d captured her likeness in profile. Amazed, Arizona studied the drawing he held.

Though she hadn’t exactly posed—or sat still—he’d managed an accurate rendering that looked like her…except way better. He’d even given her a smile that seemed genuine instead of forced. And the drawing didn’t emphasize her boobs or her legs.

Anyone looking at it would see no more than a young, carefree woman. He’d drawn her as innocent, even sweet.

She’d never admit it to anyone, but occasionally she wished she was that woman.

“I don’t know what to say.”

A bright smile lifted his homely features. “So you like it?”

“Well…yeah. It’s terrific. Really flattering.”

He ducked his face. “It’s not as pretty as you are.”

“Pffft.” She had mirrors, but she knew she had never been that…soft. Or gentle.

As if surprised by her reaction, he looked up again. “I tried, but I didn’t really do you justice.” And then with a puzzled frown: “You don’t know how pretty you are?”

On the round table rested a stack of papers, more pencils and a drawing pad. Huh.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted the top drawing, but it was a still life of the jukebox and a booth. The one below it was the moon through the big front window, obscured by the thick iron bars. In the drawing, people filled the seats around the window, but they weren’t the focus.

Ignoring his question, Arizona asked, “That’s what you do?” She gestured at the papers. “You sit here in the Green Goose and draw?”

“I have to order food, too.” He smiled shyly. “Otherwise they make me leave.”

“Why here?”

“The lighting is good.”

Yeah, right. Arizona eyed the dim lamp over his table. Only the bar area boasted real light, and even there it was more for effect than illumination. “Those strobe lights can’t make it easy to draw.”

“They give interesting shadows. And I can draw people without them knowing it, because they can’t see what I’m doing.” He frowned. “Or maybe they just don’t care what I’m doing.”

Sad. With his mismatched clothes and childish manner, Arizona wondered at his age—and maturity level. Definitely not a kid but…all there? She couldn’t tell. “You’re really good.”

He adjusted his cap, shifted uncomfortably, then thrust the picture toward her. “It’s for you. Keep it.”

“Seriously? Gee, thanks.” What the hell was she going to do with a pencil drawing of herself? Not like she could hang it in Spencer’s home or on a motel wall. But no way did she want to hurt his feelings.

The noise swelled and ebbed around them. Someone jostled her, a couple edged past, two men laughed loudly.

Done wasting time, Arizona rolled it up and stuck it in her purse. The sketch was large enough that more than half stuck out of the top of her bag. She’d have to take care not to lose it. “Appreciate it.”

Flickering lights gave a glimpse of his beatific smile.

Now where had Terry Janes gotten to? She’d lost sight of him, and no way could she go snooping in back rooms.

Spencer would have a fit.

But she needed to locate him. Had he known she was about to follow? Was he hiding from her? The smarmy bastard.

Before she could decide what to do, the artist caught her arm again. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be pushy.” Concern replaced his happiness. “But you don’t want to talk to that one.”

“Who?”

Swallowing hard, he hesitated, then darted a fearful gaze around the room. “The guy you were going to follow.”

Damn it, was she really that easy to read? Arizona put her shoulders back in a cocky stance. “What makes you think I was going to follow anyone?”

“You’ve been watching him.” Distressed, he removed the hat and twisted it in his hands. “I saw you.”

After a more thorough scrutiny, Arizona figured him to be somewhere from his late-twenties to mid-thirties. He wasn’t exactly homely, but, except for a small scar under his right eye, he was pretty nondescript.

At her lack of response, he shrugged. “Since I was drawing you, I noticed you asking about a job.”

Even in the ever-shifting low lights, she could see the sincerity in his kind eyes. “What of it?”

Agonized, he looked around again, and then, rather than continue shouting to her, he pulled her in close. In a barely there breath of sound, he warned, “You don’t want to work here.”

An ally? Well, okay, then.

Sliding into the seat across from him, Arizona put her purse on the tabletop and leaned forward to meet him halfway. Matching his whisper, she asked, “Why not?”

“That guy you were going to talk to? That’s Terry Janes. He owns the place.”

This close to him, Arizona caught his scent, but it wasn’t unpleasant. More like fresh honest sweat and the green outdoors. Maybe like how someone would smell after just walking in from a park or after mowing a lawn.

Her gaze went to the scar under his eye. “You know him well?”

“Sort of. I don’t think he’s…” He chewed on his upper lip. “Well, he’s not very
nice.
”

What an understatement! Arizona debated the wisdom of talking to him. It could be risky. The fewer people she interacted with, the better her chances of making a strong play and getting away unscathed.

But she sort of felt sorry for the guy; he reminded her of an overgrown puppy—too eager, too annoying, but still irresistible.

And if he knew anything helpful about Janes, that could assist her.

Giving him her most engaging smile, Arizona held out her hand. “I’m Candy. What’s your name?”

“Oh, I…um…” Again flustered, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it with too much enthusiasm. “Joel Pitts. You can call me Joel.”

With a name like Pitts, he’d probably been heckled a lot in school. “Okay, Joel.” With an effort, she freed herself from his hold. “I’m all ears. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Undecided, Joel adjusted his glasses, shifted, then leaned forward in anticipation. “I don’t have proof, but I’m pretty sure—”

“At it again, Joel?”

Arizona jumped when a man clasped her shoulder. She saw Joel’s eyes go round in terror, his mouth slack with dread. For a moment, it almost looked as if he’d faint.

Senses sharpening, she peered at that hand on her skin, then up the leanly muscled arm to the intricate tribal tattoo.

Finally.

Forcing herself to feign an air of uncertainty, she waited until none other than Terry Janes himself moved to her side.

Poor Joel nearly slid off his seat. Stammering, he said, “Hey, Mr. Janes. I was just… I was only drawing her, that’s all.”

“Is that so?”

Keenly aware of that warm hand pressing down on her bare shoulder, Arizona said, “He’s really talented.” After withdrawing the sketch and rolling it out on the table, she turned her face up to Janes and met his gaze with a sweet smile.

He went still at her expression, looking her over as if enthralled.

That’s it, sucker. Take the bait.
She made a point of licking her lips, of lowering her lashes and playing coy.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder in reaction.

“The drawing is so complimentary. Don’t you think so?”

At her prompt, a small frown pinched his brows, and he shifted his attention to the artwork.

It gave her the opportunity to study him up close.

“She said she likes it,” Joel babbled. “That’s why she’s sitting with me.”

Janes gazed from the picture to her and back again. “Not bad, Joel, but you’re missing some of the raw sex appeal.” His thumb caressed Arizona’s shoulder joint.

Smaaarmy.
His getup of snug black jeans, a snowy-white wifebeater shirt and pointy-toed boots looked absurd. She supposed the shirt was so he could show off his tat.

Bad decision.

Unlike Spencer, Janes had a scrawny chest, bony shoulders, and his biceps were far from impressive.

Arizona pasted on a smile. “So you’re Mr. Janes?”

“You can call me Terry. Or Cowboy if you like.”

“Cowboy?” Where the hell had that come from?

“It’s what the regulars call me. I saw you in here before, and you plan to become a regular now, right?”

As if she weren’t used to someone of his esteemed ilk sizing her up, she widened her eyes theatrically. “You noticed me?”

“Oh, yeah, honey, I noticed.” Lifting that proprietary hand off her shoulder, he signaled the bartender.

Immediately, two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey were put on the table between them.

She’d never been much of a drinker, but out of necessity, she’d learned to hold her own. Sometimes it got forced on her, and being drunk weakened her defenses. Right now she’d rather keep her wits, not dull them with liquor, but it didn’t look as if Terry would give her a choice.

He filled both glasses.

Playing dumb, Arizona started to push back her chair. “Well, I’ll just get out of the way so you two can—”

Catching her shoulder again, Janes pressed her back into her seat. “Drink up.” He tossed his back and poured another.

Arizona toyed with the glass. “You don’t look like a cowboy to me.” More like a weasel. Or a worm. “Why do they call you that?”

Gaze dark and heavy, he stared into her eyes, and a smile curled his hard mouth. He said softly but with clear command that cut past the noise, “Drink.”

Wanting to groan, Arizona lifted the shot glass, drew a breath and sipped.

“Ah-ah.” He touched the bottom of the glass, keeping it at her mouth, tipping it up. “All of it.”

“But…” Pushy jerk. “I’m not that much of a drinker.”

“So you’ll learn.”

Damn it. The way he pressed the glass to her mouth, she really had no choice. Knowing there’d be no denying him, she gulped down the whiskey and plopped the glass back onto the table.

The wheeze of her breath was only partially faked.

“Good girl.” He immediately poured her another. “I got my nickname because I break in the wild ones.”

“Wild ones?” Was the dumbass actually admitting to human trafficking? Would he really make it that easy for her?

Or did he somehow consider that a boast of his sexual prowess?

“That’s right.” His grin showed very strong, straight white teeth. “Tell me, brown sugar, you been broke in?”

Umbrage stiffened her spine and drew back her shoulders.

Oh, to slug him. Just once.
Maybe in the balls.

No way in hell could she keep from reacting to that jibe. Forgetting her act for the moment, she stared up at him and asked with soft menace, “Was that a racist slur?”

“That was a compliment, honey. You’ve got striking looks—like the perfect mix of features.” He ran the back of a finger up and down her arm. “Where’d you get the suntan? Momma or Daddy?”

Killing him sounded better and better. “My mother was dark.”

“Was she a beauty like you?”

Good grief, how had this gotten so personal? She’d expected him to say crude stuff, to come on to her.

To be disgusting.

She hadn’t expected him to talk about her parents. She hadn’t expected him to expose the personal demons of her past.

“I don’t really know,” she lied. “We lost her a long time ago. I barely remember her.”
If only that were true.
She remembered her mother all too often.

It was her dad she’d like to forget.

“Grew up motherless, huh? So maybe you’re one of the wild ones, then. Is that it? Or has some lucky bastard already gentled you?”

Arizona stared at him, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.
But it sure felt as if he did, as if he looked at her and knew how her father had sold her, as if he could recognize the taint human trafficking had left on her soul.

Almost frozen in apprehension, Joel sat there watching the byplay. Janes stood right beside him, blocking any escape, using his presence to bully and intimidate.