A Perfect Storm (7 page)

“Yes.” Bastards.

“I sort of grew into my looks. Pretty soon, they weren’t joking anymore.”

Jesus. He knew how it worked; human trafficking wouldn’t be profitable without buyers. But still, with it so personal, fury left him sick at heart. “Your father knew them?”
Knew what they’d do with her?
It couldn’t get more personal than that.

“Yeah, he knew. I think he admired them for forcing girls into prostitution.” Her lip curled. “The sick pricks.”

“What about your mother?”

Arizona shrugged. “She let him get away with a lot, including using some of the other girls, even though she knew their situation. But I guess selling me off was too much for her.” She looked down at her fork. “Unfortunately, when she tried to stop them, they killed her.”

Jesus. And that meant her father would have been a loose end. Already knowing the answer, Spencer asked, “They killed your father, too?” Had she seen it all?

“They did, and I was glad.”

So she’d had no one—not that her folks had been much to count on anyway. He had to focus on the fact that she’d eventually escaped. “How’d you get away?”

“After more than a month, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew if I ran they’d try to kill me, but…” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I was pretty much dead anyway, you know?”

He had nothing to say to that.

“We were at a truck stop, about to make a transaction, but when I saw a female trucker in an idling semi, I figured that might be my only chance.”

“You asked her for help?”

“Get real. I didn’t have time for pleasantries.” Her lips tilted in a half smile. “That poor woman. I ran over and jumped in her cab. My heart was pumping so fast and I was nearly hysterical. I locked the passenger door, and then I screamed right into her face—drive, drive,
drive.
Luckily for me…she did.”

CHAPTER FOUR

N
O
MATTER
HOW
SHE
MADE
LIGHT
of it, the horror of the situation appalled Spencer. “I can imagine what she thought.”

“Yeah.” Arizona gave a soft laugh. “At first, she figured I was robbing her or something, and she looked ready to jump out of her skin. But then Jerry—”

“Jerry?”

“One of the goons hired as muscle to make sure no one got out of line.” She waved that off as unimportant. “Anyway, he came toward us, all fuming with blood in his eyes. When he pulled out his gun, she put that big rig in gear and rolled right out of there. Of course she wanted an explanation, so as soon as we’d covered a little ground, I told her a guy was trying to rape me. Not really a lie, but not the whole truth, either. I just…I couldn’t see going into all of it, you know?”

“I understand.” And he did. Too many women felt shame at what had been forced on them. Relaying details to a stranger would be painful.

“She wanted to take me to the cops, but I just wanted to be free.”

A small word—that meant so much.

“When she hit a quiet stretch of highway, I thanked her, and bailed.”

On her own? The idea of a seventeen-year-old abused girl finding shelter and safety boggled his mind. It was a wonder she’d survived—but she had, with attitude galore.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She shook her head at him. “But it was okay. Luckily it wasn’t a cold or rainy season. I boosted a car, but I still needed some paper, so I mugged a drug dealer.”

Paper, meaning money. But…she’d tangled with a dealer? “I hope that’s an exaggeration.”

“Nah. He was a little creep, and I let him think I was interested.” She snorted. “He rushed me to his room, and when he got all grabby, I snatched his gun from him.”

Hiding his horror, Spencer asked, “You shot him?”

She looked at him like he was nuts. “A gunshot would’ve drawn attention.”

And that had been her only reason for not murdering the guy? “I see.”

“I went old-school and pistol-whipped the punk.” She made a “clunk” motion with her hand. “Clubbed him right on his melon. I had to hit him twice to really put him out. The first one only dazed him. But when I left he was breathing.”

“And then you took his cash?”

“Yeah. I was hoping for enough to get food, but the dude had five C-notes!”

“Five hundred dollars?” Spencer whistled. Losing that much would put any crook into a foul mood. Thank God she’d gotten away. “You left the area?”

“Scooted right out of there, with his money and his gun.” Proud of herself, she grinned. “Within two days of running, I had a car, plenty of cash and a weapon. I headed to another town, found a place to stay. I figured what worked once would work again, so most of my spending money came from traveling to other areas and robbing drug dealers. Occasionally I cashed up by gambling.”

The idea of her besting an armed thug should have been ludicrous, but he’d seen her in action. Given her size and how she looked, she probably took plenty of guys by surprise. “You learned to fight by fighting?”

“Survival is a good teacher.” She smirked. “Back then, I preferred the gambling.”

“And now you prefer fighting?”

She didn’t answer that. “I win a lot because I’m a good cheat. I’m also a good thief, and I’m really good at picking locks.”

Because she’d spent so much time locked in.

With an effort, Spencer kept his tone neutral. “If those skills are what helped you get by, then I’m glad you had them.”

“Even though I broke into your house?”

Keeping his gaze on his tea glass, he offered, “You could have a key if you want.”

“Seriously? You trust me?”

He didn’t, not really. Not with everything. Definitely not with too much intimacy.

But with his belongings?

He met her mocking gaze. “Would you rob me?”

“No!”

“That’s what I thought. So why not give you a key?”

Skepticism kept her quiet for a long study. Finally she smiled. “That’s real big of you, Spence.”

“Spencer,” he corrected with strained patience. He knew she shortened his name whenever she got annoyed—or felt vulnerable.

“But I don’t need a key.” She turned away with feigned disinterest. “Not like I plan to come here that often.”

Probably not, but he wouldn’t mind if she did. Whether arguing with her, wrestling with her, or having dinner, he enjoyed her company. “Then feel free to break in whenever the mood strikes you.”

“Pffft.” She half laughed. “You just took all the fun out of it.”

Spencer smiled in return, but he in no way felt amused. He couldn’t imagine what kind of guts it took, or how it would shape a person, to live through what she’d described. He knew the basics from Jackson, but while she was in a talkative mood, he wanted to hear it—all of it—from her perspective.

“So how does Jackson factor in?”

“Yeah, that’s the interesting part, huh?” A little livelier now, she leaned forward and smiled at him. “See, the bastards didn’t take kindly to me getting away, but when they finally caught up to me, they didn’t want me for the usual.”

To sell, barter and abuse. Gently, he asked, “Why did they want you?”

“To teach the others a lesson—by killing me.”

Under the circumstances, Spencer let the curse pass. They were bastards—and so much more. In contrast to the awful words, Arizona’s cavalier mood made it all too clear how much it still hurt her.

“They…” She faltered, then rallied again. “They roughed me up. I tried to fight, but they tied my hands behind me, and then…” She hesitated, her brows pulling down in a small frown.

It gave him warning of the awfulness of the details she’d share. He braced himself, but not enough.

Voice quieter now, she whispered, “They tossed me over a bridge into a river.”

Air left his lungs; his muscles bunched. He’d known, but hearing it from her made it more—more vivid. “They wanted to drown you.”

She shook off the melancholy. “It was such a miserable night, storming like crazy with lightning cracking everywhere and thunder so loud, you could feel it. I was so scared that when they threw me over, I barely had the sense to stop flailing and try to land feetfirst, to suck in air before that icy water closed in around me.” Using both hands, she pushed her hair back from her face. “I pretty much figured I was dead.”

“Jesus.” His stomach bottomed out. He desperately wanted to hold her, to draw her into his lap and hug her tight and tell her…what? That nothing bad would ever happen to her again?

He knew she’d never allow that, so he settled on reaching for her hand. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“Yeah, pretty sucky, right?” After one brief squeeze, she pulled away. “I managed to get my head above water, but it wasn’t easy, and I knew I couldn’t do that for long. And even if I found a way to make it to shore, they’d just throw me back in again. Or shoot me.”

Imagining the panic she had to have suffered left Spencer hurting for her.

“For certain they weren’t going anywhere until they knew I was gone for good. See, they’d already told me that they needed the police to find my body. That way, they could tell the other women about it and use it as discouragement—”

“I get the picture.” And he wanted to kill them, all of them. But that satisfaction would be denied him; they were already dead.

“They weren’t counting on Jackson, though.” She propped her chin on a fist and smiled. “Poor guy just sort of stumbled onto the whole mess. I’ll never understand why, but he jumped into the thick of things, annihilated the goons, and then…”

Spencer waited.

She sighed and met his gaze. “Jackson dove in after me.”

Off a bridge during a storm into dark waters. Thank God Jackson had been there. “How many men were there?”

“Three.” She grinned with delight at Jackson’s ability. “But when I think of how he looked that night, I don’t think it would’ve mattered if there was a dozen.”

Spencer couldn’t muster even the most meager smile. “Dead?”

“Eventually.” She flapped a hand. “I don’t know if he killed them or…”

“I know about the group, hon.”

She went still, then tipped her head to study him. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m not your hon, but okay, if you know about them, then you already know none of those cretins survived that night.”

Not
touching her wasn’t an option. He reached for her slender hand again and moved his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Appearing disconcerted, she glanced down at their clasped hands, cleared her throat and eased away. “So that’s it. You already know that Chandra, the head of the ring, got away that night. Because she hadn’t been in the car or standing there on the bridge, the guys never knew she was there in the first place. I didn’t know that they’d missed her presence, so I assumed she was part of the carnage.”

“She can’t ever again hurt you.”

Arizona directed a frown at him. “Because
you
killed her, when it should have been my privilege.”

He said, “I’m sorry,” and he meant it.

“Well…now all of them are gone, and I’m left at loose ends.”

Her mercurial mood swings kept him guessing. Yes, he’d shot Chandra, but he’d been tracking her for his own reasons, and it was debatable who had more right to vengeance.

That she felt robbed was a sad consequence of his actions. “Ready for dessert?”

Accepting the switch from morbid history to here and now, she said, “Dessert? Seriously? You do know how to treat a gal, don’t you?”

* * *

A
RIZONA
WAS
THINKING
how nice it felt to share with Spencer. He didn’t get all mushy on her, didn’t try to console her or make a move. He listened.

And she knew he understood.

Sure, he’d done that odd hand-holding thing, but then, people did that. They touched. She’d seen it plenty of times with Jackson, Trace, Dare and their wives. She didn’t hate it, but she wasn’t crazy about it, either.

When it was Spencer doing the touching, for some reason, it affected her even more. It wasn’t intolerable, really, but…she didn’t know if she’d get used to it or not.

Then Spencer turned from the fridge—and she saw he held a small but fancy birthday cake.

Stunned, she slowly pushed back her chair and stood on suddenly wobbly legs. “What is
that?
”

Very matter-of-factly, he replied, “Vanilla cream cake with whipped frosting. I think it has raspberry filling between the layers.” His gaze met hers. “But there are no hidden threats, Arizona. It’s not poisoned, and I promise, it isn’t something you need to freak over.”

“I wasn’t freaking!” But she was. The urge to escape left her heart hammering.

“Bull. You look ready to run away.”

She tucked in her chin. How could he know that? And how dare he say it out loud? “I don’t run from anyone.”

He set the cake on the table in front of her and, with a smile, said, “Sometimes you should. But not now.” Standing too close, all but towering over her, he whispered, “Not ever from me.”

No way would she look at him, not while he sounded like that, all dominant, protective male. Instead she eyed the dessert. It had fancy sugared rosettes and the words “Happy Birthday!” written in pale blue frosting across the top.

A lump formed in her throat. “I told you not to do anything dumb.”

In a touch so gentle it scared her half to death, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know. That’s why I refrained from putting candles on it.”

She snorted. “I’d have…”

“What? Socked me? Thrown the cake at my face?”

“Maybe.” His close physical proximity made her jumpy. “Well, get back in your seat then if we’re going to eat this thing.”

Even though she didn’t look at him, she
felt
his smile. “All right.” He stepped away. “More milk? Or coffee?”

“Milk.” Now that she had some breathing room, she filled her lungs. Grudgingly, she said, “It’s a pretty cake. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He refilled her glass. “And for the record, in case you want to reciprocate, my birthday is right before Thanksgiving.”

Even knowing he teased, Arizona imagined how it’d be. Buying a cake for someone, sharing that special day…like she was doing right now.

Such a normal thing to do. “Yeah, okay.”

His smile widened. “I’ll hold you to that.” Using a cake server with a cow-shaped handle, he cut into the cake and put a big piece on a plate for her.

Maybe it was the “not knowing” that made her so anxious, but she couldn’t refrain from trying to dissect his objective. “I told you how I made Jackson that offer.”

Spencer looked up from cutting his own piece of the fancy cake. “The offer of…?”

“Sex.” Giving Spencer a furtive glance, she added, “And he turned me down flat. You know why?”