by Avery Flynn
He squeezed her hand. "She will be."
Emotion clogged her throat, which was ridiculous—a realization that only made the situation worse.
Damn it, Tamara, don't you dare break down in public. You smile. You march forward. You don't ever let them see the cracks.
"Enough of that, my sad story is no way to end such a beautiful meal." She lifted her chin and held up her sake cup. "To no more sad stories."
Instead of raising his glass, he took hers and put it down in the center of the table, his intense gaze burning right through her. "You don't always have to pretend."
She slid her hand from his grasp, missing his heat the moment her fingers cleared his. "And what exactly am I pretending?"
"That you are as cold as you want people to think you are."
"But I am." She'd worked too damned hard to let that safety net of an image go now.
"If that was the case, then you wouldn't be willing to walk away from everything to save the life of a girl you hardly know, even if she is your niece."
"You're not going to change my mind." She balled up her napkin and laid it on her plate, using more care than was necessary to give her an extra few seconds to get rid of the tightness in her throat. "If there's even a single, small percent of a chance that Jarrod knows where I am, it's too much of a risk."
"The B-Squad can protect you," he said, never once looking away from her. "I can protect you."
"Forever? Because that's what it would be. Essie's safe once she turns eighteen and he can't force her to return to Idaho and marry to consolidate his power. But me? I'm on the run for the long haul. Despite the Bible he holds up, Jarrod doesn't forget, forgive, or turn the other cheek. He'll never stop hunting me."
The reality of it slapped her in the face. It was true, even if she'd never said the words out loud before. This was her future. Every bit of resentment, frustration and anger on Jarrod's part would point like a laser beam right at her. He might try to sell his daughter off, if at all possible, but he'd never hurt Essie. He wouldn't give Tamara the same accommodation.
Isaac gave her a considering look. He had more to say, but something over her shoulder caught his attention and his jaw hardened. Glancing over her shoulder, unease creeping up her spine, the only thing she could spot was their waiter, serving a plate of sushi to a couple seated in front of the restaurant's big bay window. In that hyper-aware way waiters had, he looked up and gave Isaac a discrete nod. No doubt their check was on the way. She turned back to the table to find Isaac's attention square on her as he tucked a stack of cash under the corner of his plate.
"You're safe with me." It was a promise tempered with steel—everything she wanted to hear and something she couldn't listen to.
"Oh no, you're trouble of a whole other sort. The kind I like a little too much. And on that note." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "I think it's time to take me back to the garage so I can go home and pack what I need."
He walked beside her toward the door, that large hand of his soft on her lower back, sending little shockwaves of electricity across her skin that teased her with the impossible promise this man offered.
"You're heading out tomorrow morning?" he asked as they walked out into the night, his big body between hers and the street.
"What? No trying to talk me out of it again?" Against her better judgement, she kind of wished he'd try.
"Would it help?" His tone was teasing and he had his trademark grin curling one side of his lips, but he wasn't looking at her. His focus was on the Devil's Dip Gym on the corner, half a block away.
"No. As long as I’m at least one step in front of Jarrod, I'm keeping that lead intact. I really appreciate that yo—"
Before she could finish the thought, Isaac whipped her around and into an alcove in front of a bakery that was closed for the night. The glass door pressed against her back as he eliminated the space between them, dipping his mouth close to hers but not touching. Heart hammering against her ribs, she meant to push against his hard chest but ended up fisting his shirt instead.
"What the hell?" she managed to get out.
"Three guys," he whispered against her overheated skin, his gaze trained on something he could see behind her in the reflection of the bakery's glass window. "They're outside the garage. Don't look. They aren't the usual suspects who hang around outside the gym. I've never seen them before."
Adrenaline raced through her body, putting every nerve ending on high alert. "Jarrod's men."
"Maybe." He pulled her hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck tight enough to tug her head back so her neck was exposed while her face was turned toward the shadows.
Blood rushed in her ears but couldn't silence the recriminations screaming in her head. She shouldn't have stayed this long. As soon as the bounty hunter had come for her at the engagement party, she should have hit the road. Now it was too late—and she wouldn't be the only one to pay the price, Isaac would too.
"They're coming this way." He stepped closer so that he covered nearly every inch of her. "Take my lead."
"Isaac I—"
His mouth crashed down on hers, blasting away any coherent thought of what she was going to say next. She tightened her grip on his shirt as he gripped her hips, molding her to him even as he kept his heavy-lidded gaze zeroed in on the men reflected in the glass.
Chapter 9
Isaac
Okay, silencing Tamara with a kiss that sent a lightning bolt of lust straight to his balls hadn't been his smartest plan, but circumstance hadn't exactly given him a lot of options.
After spotting the same guy walk past Satchiko's front window three times in the past hour, he couldn't silence the warning buzz making his fingers tingle. As soon as they'd walked out of the restaurant, he'd spotted the same guy in the blue T-shirt lurking across the street, his attention focused on the Devil's Dip Gym. A quick scan of the area revealed a second unknown with a scraggly-ass beard on the opposite corner. The third was slouched down behind the wheel of a sedan parked at the end of the block.
They weren't professionals—too obvious for that—but they weren't lightweights either. Big as fucking tree trunks in some California Redwoods forest, the men watched the gym's entrance and garage door with fanatical attention. He'd seen the type before. Roughly trained, hyped up on one substance or another, and hungry to be the guy to throw the first punch or fire the first bullet. They weren't soldiers. They weren't strategists. They were muscle with specific orders. No doubt, in this case, those orders were to grab, interrogate and dispose of Tamara.
He'd wish them luck but his mama had given him enough home training to know that lying was wrong.
As soon as Red Shirt started strolling their way, Isaac had practically thrown her into the bakery's doorway. He'd moved in and plastered her body to his to block her from view as much as possible. He'd fisted her bright blonde hair so the white-blonde highlights wouldn't glimmer in the streetlight. He'd yanked her head back to keep her face in the shadows. And then he'd kissed her because...well, that was a two-part win that was biting him on the ass, or more correctly, another part of his anatomy. Now was not the time to get a hard-on, but the power shot of adrenaline mixed with lust careening through him had other ideas. Tearing his lips away from hers, but keeping their mouths close enough to make it look like they were kissing from a distance, he took in a deep breath of sanity.
Tamara opened her mouth, but he gave her a gentle squeeze on the curve of her hip and she closed it. The look in her blue eyes told him she didn't like handing her safety over to someone else.
Well, too damn bad darlin', because you're stuck with me.
Primed and ready for action, he continued to block Tamara from view as much as possible while using the bakery's widows to watch the men. Bored Driver and Beard Man maintained their positions. Red Shirt, on the other hand, was strolling his 'roided-up self straight toward them.
Isaac pivoted to completely block the man's view of Tamara. "Don't move
," he whispered.
With every step the man took in their direction, the air stilled a little more and the sounds of the city at night came in clearer. A police siren a few blocks away. The laughter of a couple leaving Satchiko. The hum of the traffic on one of the main roads that would eventually spill out onto Interstate 35 West.
Isaac smoothed the visible tension from his body. Even if the guy wasn't a pro, that didn't mean he didn’t have good instincts. Fane's outfit was based in Idaho—home to lots of bear, elk and pronghorn hunting. Add to that the fact that The Crest Society took the militia aspect of their twisted little cult seriously, and you had muscle that was just knowledgeable enough to be dangerous.
The man's steps grew nearer. Using the closeness of their bodies to disguise his intent, he glided the back of his palm over the front of Tamara's shirt, noting despite the circumstances the hard pebble of her nipple, and stopped when his fingertips brushed the butt of his Glock. He didn't pull it—not yet, and never unless he had to.
A breeze pulled some of Tamara's hair loose at the same moment Red Shirt passed by them. One long strand whipped her in the face, slicing across her open eyes. Her quick inhale of pain was instinctual and almost silent, but not quite. Red Shirt hesitated. He turned. The man's satisfied exhale was the only warning. It was more than enough.
Keeping his body loose, Isaac looked over his shoulder at Red Shirt, a bored look on his face. "I'm not into being watched man. Take your pervert ass somewhere else."
Red Shirt puffed up his chest. "Let me see the girl first."
"Fuck off." He nudged Tamara another few inches farther back into the alcove's shadows. "I don't share my women."
"I want to see the girl."
"What you want doesn't concern me. Go pound pavement."
He turned back toward Tamara. Her eyes were huge blue dinner plates, but he couldn't do more than give her a reassuring mini-nod before snapping his attention back to Red Shirt's reflection. The big lug stood there for a few seconds, the gears in his walnut-sized brain working hard enough practically make smoke appear.
Definitely not a pro. You didn’t hesitate and you didn’t telegraph your next move the way Red Shirt was by fisting his meat hook hands.
If he'd been on his own, Isaac would have enjoyed pounding the numbskull into oblivion, but that would leave Tamara exposed, so he went for the move he hated making.
In one fluid move, Isaac withdrew his Glock from the shoulder holster, spun around, extending his gun arm and using his other hand to keep Tamara as far back behind him as possible.
"Here's how this is going to work. Me and my girl are going to make our way to the garage on the corner. You and your buddies are going to stand down."
"Not if that's who I think it is with you." Looked like this broken clock was right at least once a day.
The conversation had ended the moment Isaac pulled the gun. Red Shirt just didn't realize it. As simple as pulling the trigger would be, shooting Red Shirt wasn't the best option. Bored Driver and Beard Man were still at the other end of the block, focused on the Devil's Dip Gym. One loud bang in the night would change that. Fast.
"Hey dipshit," Isaac said, his voice forceful but low.
Red Shirt's gaze flicked from the gun to Isaac's face, exactly as planned.
Isaac adjust his grip on the Glock, brought his arm up and slammed the metal against the man's temple. He went down like a fighter with a glass jaw. There wasn't time to appreciate the victory. He hooked his hands under Red Shirt's armpits and hauled him into the alcove, dropping him at Tamara's feet. He stripped the other man of his Beretta, wallet, and phone, pocketing the last two and handing the gun to Tamara. No one made it a week with B-Squad without at least knowing the basics of gun safety. Like she'd been trained, she kept her finger off the trigger and the muzzle pointed to the ground.
"Follow my lead and we'll get out of here," he promised her.
Her eyes were still wide, but she nodded.
A quick visual sweep showed Bored Driver and Beard Man still at their posts, all of their attention on the gym doors. What he and Tamara needed was a diversion. Lucky for them, the light in the third window from the left on the Devil's Dip Gym's second floor was on.
Keeping his gun pointed at the unconscious thug and the other two goons in his periphery vision, he grabbed his phone and hit the first number on his contact list.
"No after-dinner fun, huh?" Lash asked in greeting.
"Still got a handful of Black Cat fireworks in your desk?"
Marko may be the B-Squad's explosives expert, but he wasn't the only one who loved to see things go boom.
"That counts as one of your weirder questions," Lash said. "Yes."
"I need you to light a couple and toss them out of Tamara's office window on my count." Her window faced the side street. A loud noise coming from that direction would send Bored Driver and Beard Man away from where he and Tamara would be running.
To Lash's credit, the surprised silence only lasted a few seconds. "Do I get to ask why?"
"Later."
The sound of a drawer banging open, some rustling, and then the drawer slamming shut filtered through the phone. "Okay, got ’em." Thirty seconds of dead air. "I'm in position."
"On three, Lash." Isaac scoped out the scene between the bakery alcove and the garage door. "One." The other men didn't even glance this way. Red Shirt must have been a floater. "Two." He gave Tamara one last reassuring look. "Three."
They burst out of the shadows at the same time the night went alive with the snap, crackle, pop of a bazillion fireworks. Beard Man took off at a sprint toward the noise. Bored Driver took his focus off the gym. It was exactly the break they needed. They closed the half a block distance by the time the last firecracker went boom. At the garage's keypad, Isaac punched in his code and pressed his thumb against the scanner. The garage door began rolling up. Bored Driver turned his head, his gaze zeroing in on them. Isaac raised his gun. The other man's lips curled into a cold smile, obviously not so bored any more.
"Tamara, get down and roll under as fast as you can, then hit the red emergency button to close it back down."
She spread her legs shoulder width apart and raised Red Shirt's Beretta. "I'm not leaving you out here alone."
"Darlin', I love your spirit but now is not the time." The garage door inched up.
"I'm not your darling."
It wasn't the time for banter. Shit was about to go down. But before he could open his mouth again, the driver got out.
The guy was easily six-three with a buzz cut and a military-grade automatic rifle in his grip. "Tell me where Essie is and we'll let you go. Jarrod's orders."
Beard Man came tearing around the corner and began approaching from the west. "Tamara, you can't keep a dad away from his baby girl. We'll tell the judge we never laid eyes on you and that we found her on our own."
"Clive, that's only because I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere," she said, the words heavy with disgust. "Now go back and tell Jarrod that he'll never get his hands on Essie again."
Beard Man, a.k.a. Clive, took a step forward, his eyes only on Tamara. "I make it a rule not to lie to Jarrod."
"Yeah, I hear that's an easy way to end up permanently missing," Isaac said, drawing both men's attention off of Tamara as the garage door rolled up. Another few inches and it would be up high enough for her to step back inside without having to dip down and lower her Beretta, then she could hit the emergency release and the door would drop like a lead weight, cutting her off from Fane's men.With her safe behind the secure behind the blast-resistant garage door, Isaac would be free to take them down.
"We're not going anywhere until you talk,"
Sirens sounded a block away and an unmarked black SUV with windows tinted darker than Satan's soul turned the corner. "Oh yes you are."
Even an idiot knew that kind of vehicle meant law enforcement, and not of the local variety.
No doubt figuring adding more guns minus badges to the situa
tion would only escalate things, the team upstairs must have called in Blackfish. Bianca wasn't afraid to throw some B-Squad weight around, but she did it strategically. A bloodbath in front of their headquarters would bring a shitload of bad PR, legal investigations, and even possibly have their Texas state investigations license yanked—none of which was good. So why throw Napalm on the situation when your friendly neighborhood Feds owed you a favor or twelve?
Beard Man hustled toward his car and Fane’s other lackey hid his automatic rifle behind his back,scooting toward to the vehicle as Isaac and Tamara holstered their handguns. By the time DEA Agent Clay Blackfish pulled to a stop in the middle of the street between them, Beard Man had his hand on the passenger door and the driver was behind the steering wheel.
"Y'all holding a party in the street without a permit?" the agent asked through the open car window, not bothering to get out of the vehicle.
A second agent sat in the passenger seat, his attention focused on Fane's men. It was impossible to see if the agent had a weapon pointed at the other men but the odds were good.
"Nah, you know me. I'm a homebody," Isaac said.
Blackfish glanced at the other men. "Then y'all better head home."
The driver didn't say anything. He just turned the key in the ignition and started the car's motor purring.
"Don't forget your man down the block," Isaac called out. "We wouldn't want you boys littering up the great state of Texas."
"Littering is definitely a crime," Blackfish agreed. "I'd hate to have a reason to take a look-see at the inside of your vehicle."
Fane's man slowly rolled the car forward, stopped halfway down the block, and pulled over. Beard Man retrieved a groggy but now-conscious Red Shirt and poured him into the car. Then he got in behind him. There wasn't any burning rubber after that, but they weren't taking their time either.
