“He’s getting out of the car,” Alexis whispered to Callie through clenched teeth. Of course, she wasn’t sure if it was to pick her up for their date or kick her ass … or both.
Dekker wore a snug, dark gray T-shirt that molded his pecs. The fabric over his arms stretched tight over his biceps. His military-style boots stomped against the sidewalk as he approached.
One hand jammed in his jeans pocket, he asked none too nicely, “You ready?”
Well, that wasn’t the reaction she had hoped for.
Alexis gave Dekker a weak smile. “Since you gave me an extra half hour, yeah.”
Now unsure of her appearance, she looked down at her feet. Maybe it was over the top. Maybe he saw through the illusion and thought of her as a little girl playing dress-up.
Dekker took Alexis’ purse and tossed it through the open door before pulling it closed. “You won’t be needing that.”
“Why?” Alexis asked as he filled her now-empty hand with his warm one. He led her toward his jet-black Mustang. The windows darkened with a limo-grade tint.
“I don’t want any identification left on the body …” Alexis stopped short and let her hand slip from his. Dekker chuckled as he opened his door, smirking at her over the hood. “You’re such a sucker. When are you going to lighten up enough to get my humor, anyway?”
Alexis reached for the passenger door handle and stopped. She could hear Callie’s stern voice in her head. Make him come to you.
“You getting in?” he asked.
“Once you open it …” Alexis said, trying to imitate Callie.
Dekker lifted an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?
Alexis crossed her arms. “Then I guess I won’t be going.”
“Your choice,” he said with a casual shrug.
Shocked, Alexis watched Dekker hop in his car, slam the door, and shift into gear, flooring it. The smell of burnt rubber filled the street. Great. She just blew her biggest case because she thought she was some kind of dominatrix. Alexis got ready to turn around and go back inside when Dekker slammed on his brakes. The front end took a nosedive toward the pavement. The Mustang roared in reverse toward her.
Dekker’s door opened, and his muscular frame exited the car. Rounding the front, he pulled open Alexis’ door and bowed, extending his arm for her to enter.
“Princess, your coach has arrived.”
Even when acquiescing, Dekker still managed to keep control of the situation.
Brushing up against him, the smell of his cologne caused her body to tingle. She gazed at him through her heavily mascaraed lashes. “Glad you’ve finally caught on.”
Alexis lowered herself into the car, knowing that she just flashed him a sneak peek at her red and black panties. She glanced up to see if he noticed. His pupils dilated. Oh, yeah. He definitely noticed.
As she glanced at the interior of the car, Alexis smiled. It was decked out in red and black leather. How very ironic, given her choice of undergarments. Callie really did know her bad boys.
As Dekker climbed into the car, Alexis sniffed. He really needed an air freshener.
“What’s that smell?” she asked as Dekker tore off down the street. The momentum of the car pushed her back into her seat.
“Oh, I’ve got a dead body in the trunk.”
Not wanting to be played for a fool again, Alexis laughed. “Just joking, right?”
Dekker turned to her, his mouth curled up in a sexy grin. “Glad to see you’re finally catching on.”
Run-down buildings, hookers, and drug dealers flashed by Alexis’ window. Her blood pounded in her ears. This was the part of town that even the cops didn’t like to patrol. How easily he could kill her. She could end up in one of these alleys—just like his model girlfriend. But why did that knowledge quicken her breath rather than frighten her?
“The match is out here?”
“Nah. Remember Grant from last night?”
“Yeah.”
“I beat a tip out of a guy earlier. Said the solution to Grant’s problem was down this way.”
She tried to nod casually, but glanced at Dekker’s knuckles. Sure enough, they were scraped up. But he had been teaching all afternoon. Hell, after only a half-hour lesson, and all taped up, her knuckles were torn up.
Dekker brought the Mustang to a stop outside a pawnshop. Steel bars covered the windows. The lighted sign flickered against the brick wall.
“Figured we’d knock a few heads together before the big fight. Get warmed up.”
Alexis tensed. What if he was serious? What if he actually did some enforcing for Grant? She would have to blow her cover. But a cop in this part of town, with no backup? She would be dead in minutes.
Here she was, though. Against Nick’s wishes. Hell, Beck would probably have said no if she’d asked.
She hated it when her decisions had such steep consequences.
* * *
Dekker yanked open the pawnshop door. Sal, an overweight man wearing a sweat-stained shirt sat on a stool reading the handicapping section of the paper. A TV rested on the counter behind him, tuned to a black and white western. Sal looked up at the tinkle of the bell overhead.
Spotting Dekker, the color drained from his face. He jumped off the stool so fast that it tipped over. Probably the most action his body had seen in a long time. Sal pressed his meaty flesh into the counter behind him.
“Dekker. Hi … what are you doing here?”
Dekker strode to the glass counter. Jewelry, cameras, and crystal bowls lined the case. The door chimed again. Dekker didn’t need to turn to know that Lexie had followed him in. He knew the draw that danger had.
Focusing his steely gaze on Sal, he snarled, “Paulie said you bought Grant’s ring?”
Sal walked to the far end of the counter and tapped the glass over a two-carat diamond ring in a platinum setting. “Right here. As pretty as the day I bought it.”
Dekker reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Peeling off five one-hundred- dollar bills, he slammed them down on the glass. Both Sal and Lexie jumped.
Sal eyed the money and shook his head. “This is a fine piece of jewelry, man. That’s less than I gave Paulie for it.”
This fat guy had some big hairy balls to challenge Dekker like that. “That is your problem. That’s how much we’re paying to get it out of hock.”
Sal’s eyes darted before he reached under the counter and hauled out a shotgun. Dekker heard Lexie gasp behind him.
Sweat dripped down Sal’s temple. Dekker could smell his fear just as easily as he could smell the meatball sub that Sal had for dinner. “I don’t want no trouble, Dekker, but I ain’t letting you steal me blind.”
Dekker flexed his fingers. This was only going to end one way, and that was with him leaving with the ring.
“That’s a fair price, Sal. I’d take it if I were you.”
Sal kept the barrel of the shotgun aimed at Dekker—his hand unsteady.
“Last chance, Sal.”
In one quick motion, Dekker grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, ramming the butt of it into Sal’s nose. Dekker heard the crunch of bone, followed by a gush of blood. Sal screamed. Clutching his nose, blood poured through his fingers as he slumped to the floor.
Dekker spun the shotgun, pressing the barrel to Sal’s forehead. Tears streamed down the rolls of fat. “The ring.”
Fumbling, Sal took three tries to get the key in the lock. Hands shaking, Sal slid the glass door open and pulled out a two-carat platinum ring. It pinged as he dropped it on the glass.
“In a box, please,” Dekker instructed, the shotgun still aimed at Sal’s head. “One of those nice black velvet ones.”
Sal grabbed a box off the counter behind him. He picked up the ring and placed it inside.
“Now, a nice bow. Red.”
The ribbon rustled as Sal slipped the premade bow onto the box.
Dekker picked up the box and handed it to Lexie. Without uttering a word, she accepted it. Her face was ash
en, and her fingers were shaking nearly as bad as Sal’s.
The shotgun clicked three times as Dekker pumped it, ejecting three shells onto the counter. He pocketed the rounds and placed the gun down.
“As always, nice dealing with you, Sal.”
Dekker turned and placed an arm around Lexie’s shoulder, guiding her rigid body out of the pawnshop.
“What in the hell was that about?” Lexie hissed, ducking out of Dekker’s hold.
Dekker opened the door for her. After all she seemed to want him to act the gentleman tonight. “Grant’s wife had to pawn her engagement ring while he was in the joint. It’s their anniversary tomorrow, and he wanted to get it back for her.”
“Oh … how romantic,” Lexie mumbled, climbing in the passenger seat.
Once she was tucked safely inside, Dekker trotted around the car and got into the driver’s seat. As he revved the motor, Lexie frowned. “Why didn’t Grant just go get it himself?”
“And violate his parole? No way.” A horn blared as Dekker swerved into the street.
“Where are we going now?”
Dekker’s eyes sought Lexie. She sat sideways in her seat. The soft glow of the console illuminated her features. She was attractive before, but now she was smokin’. Her lips stained red. They begged to be kissed. If the altercation in the pawnshop didn’t scare her off, then she just might be the right girl for him.
Giving her a warm smile, Dekker teased, “You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 9
Portable lights flooded the interior of the abandoned warehouse. Hundreds of people, a mixture of suits and leather, crowded around a fight ring. Center stage, two men dragged themselves across the mat. The room vibrated with noise.
“Bull … Bull … Bull …” they chanted, over and over.
Alexis wanted to avert her gaze. Dekker’s star pupil was barely recognizable. The last time she had seen that much blood was during a thirteen-car pileup on the interstate.
But this scene was just like that pileup. You couldn’t look away—even if you wanted to.
The crowd surged forward when the official raised Bull’s arm, declaring him the winner. Alexis reached out, clutching Dekker’s solid arm to keep from falling. The four-inch heels were not such a good idea when you had to fight for balance. A man reeking of malt liquor and drenched in sweat bumped against her. His right eye was a mass of yellow and green bruises. His two front teeth were missing. This guy must have been last week’s main event. Dekker must have sensed her distress as he pulled her in front of him, sheltering her in his arms.
Alexis stiffened within his intimate embrace. Shouts carried from the ring as the loser’s manager spit in the official’s face. The crowd rolled forward like a giant wave, but Dekker stood unmoving.
Dekker had been right. This definitely wasn’t the kind of fight you’d see on ESPN, or for that matter, Pay-Per-View. The crowd seemed as eager to throw as many punches as the fighters in the ring. Yet, she felt no sense of danger. Not leaning up against a solid wall of muscle.
The drunk who had rubbed up against Alexis elbowed the guy next to him. He shouted something, but Alexis couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd.
The scene was a detective’s dream. Drugs, weapons, and prostitution. It was all here. A criminal’s 7-Eleven. If the circumstances had been different, Alexis would have relished the chance to bust this place wide open. The number of collars she could get? Just the drunk and disorderlies alone would have her doing paperwork for a week.
The drunk bumped into them again.
“Watch it!” Dekker growled.
“Or what?” the drunk slurred, and then realized who he was talking to. “Oh man, Dekker. Sorry. Sorry, man.”
“Dekker?” another man next to them said. Soon, everyone around them was whispering her date’s name. Then the whispers became a chant.
“Dekker … Dekker …” Then the entire crowd picked up on it. “Dekker … Dekker … Dekker.”
His arms tightened around her, as all eyes swung toward them. Alexis’ rib cage strained under the pressure.
The announcer caught sight of them and gestured for Dekker to join him on the stage. Keeping Alexis close, Dekker guided them ringside as people patted him on the back. Shouts of approval and shrill whistles circulated around the room.
Alexis felt both relieved and disappointed as his arms dropped from her waist. Dekker then vaulted over the ropes in one swift motion and joined the announcer at the center of the ring. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment of the crowd’s adulation.
“This crowd wants you back, Dekker!” the announcer shouted, sweeping his arm wide.
A roar of approval filled the room. Apparently the fans loved Dekker. Especially the women. They frantically waved their hands in Dekker’s direction as they screamed his name.
Dekker shook his head as he jammed his hands in his front pockets. “Only as an official, I’m afraid. Too many war wounds for the ring.” He gestured toward his face.
Not pleased with his announcement, the crowd booed and hissed at Dekker. How quickly their affections could change. Apparently, they were rabid for a real fight.
Raising his voice, Dekker shouted, “But what if I offered you a catfight to end all catfights?”
The crowd split on both sides of the ring as two women—at least Alexis thought they were women—walked toward the ring. With bunched muscles and thick necks, if it weren’t for their sports bras, it would be hard to tell that they were female.
After the fanfare, Dekker gave the signal to start the fight. Clawing, kicking, biting, and punching. There was nothing off-limits, and these women took full advantage of it. Through it all, Dekker danced around the fighting, shouting encouragement. Alexis’ stomach turned as one of the women pulled a fingernail out of her arm, tossing it on the mat. The other woman spat a mouthful of blood that landed inches from where Alexis stood.
One woman pinned the other to the rope, and then proceeded to pull a chunk of hair out by the roots. Enraged, the woman picked up her opponent, lifted her over her head, and flung her down on the mat. With a fistful of hair, she repeatedly slammed her opponent’s face on the mat. Dekker wrapped his arms around the woman and pulled her off, kicking. She looked like a crazed animal.
The crowd went wild, praising her ferocity. Dekker lifted her arm, announcing her the winner. The other woman was quietly dragged out of the ring. The scene was like Darwin’s theory playing out in real time. Survival of the fittest.
Alexis jumped when a firm arm slid around her waist. Without thinking, she rammed her elbow back, causing the offender to grunt.
She lifted her stiletto, poised to jam it into the offender’s foot, when Dekker spun her around in his arms.
“Hey. It’s just me,” he said, smiling as if a woman’s face hadn’t been ruined tonight. “Ready to get out of here?”
Alexis nodded as her head swam. She wasn’t sure if it was from the adrenaline rush of the fight or the stifling heat of the warehouse. As they wove their way through the crowd several bystanders tried to stop Dekker, but he plowed on.
When they exited the building, Dekker turned to her. “Now, just think. If you get good enough, that could be you up there.”
Over Dekker’s shoulder, she watched as the woman who lost the fight was carried out and loaded into the back of a van. That’s what he wanted for her?
Dekker squeezed her arm playfully. “Jeez, woman. Joking.” But his smile faded, and his expression turned serious. “I’d kill before I let someone hurt you like that.”
Alexis met his gaze. The shouting from inside faded away. Dekker raised his hand, cupping her cheek. The pad of his thumb brushed across her bottom lip.
This time, he wasn’t joking.
* * *
Dekker reluctantly tore his gaze from Lexie. Shouts and muffled grunts came from the end of the alley. He caught a glimpse of Bull’s hulking form on the ground, curled into the fetal position. Five men surrounded him, kicking and punching. Dekker
recognized them as Bull’s opponent and the opponent’s training crew.
Sore losers. He charged over, grasping two of them by the neck. Dekker yanked them off his student, slamming them into an overflowing Dumpster. An uppercut and a right hook left them both unconscious.
“Behind you!” he heard Lexie scream.
Dekker jumped into a spinning side kick, nailing the guy approaching. The pipe he was holding clattered to the ground. He was knocked off his feet, and the air left his lungs in a whoosh.
Another guy approached from the side—his teeth bared. Dekker rushed him, wrapping his hands around the back of the guy’s head. Dekker smashed the guy’s face into his knee. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
Three down. Two to go.
Bull moaned, trying to push himself up. Eyebrow split, eye swollen shut, and a tooth dangling by a thin piece of tissue. Tomorrow, Bull would probably brag in class how he took on five thugs single-handedly. Since Bull held his own in the ring, Dekker just might let him own it.
Dekker backed up a step, keeping the last two guys in his sights. The one who had the pipe pulled a serrated blade from his waistband, waving it in front of him. Coward. The guy didn’t have a problem with beating a man with his bare fists when the odds were five to one. But now that he was matched up—well, not even close to matched—he was going to hide behind his knife.
Dekker held his fists up, motioning for the guy to come closer. “You wanna try?”
He hoped the guy did.
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