by Lori Foster
All this time, he’d resented him—the secrecy, the amount of power...Alice’s gratitude toward him and her loyalty to him.
But it was exactly those things that had enabled Trace to protect her. If it hadn’t been for him...
Reese swallowed hard, unable to let his mind go there. He loved her, damn it. More than he’d even known was possible.
Hell of a time for epiphanies.
He met Trace’s gaze. “It’s inadequate, but thank you.”
Trace nodded. “My pleasure.”
“I’m on it now.” Reese was here, in Alice’s life, and he’d never let anything happen to her. “Just so you know.”
“That’s how I figured it.”
Astute, as well as badass. That didn’t surprise Reese.
“What are you talking about?” Confused, uncertain, Alice chewed her bottom lip, looking from one man to the other. “I don’t understand. You’re on what?”
“You.” Rowdy smiled at her. “They’re talking about you.”
She shook her head, still not getting it.
Reese didn’t want anyone to make a declaration for him, so he said, “We’re figuring out how to keep you out of this mess.”
Skeptical, Alice toyed with the ends of her hair, twisting and curling it around her fingers. “The thing is, you can’t keep me out of it. Cheryl called me. She’ll want to meet with me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Reese said.
Showing a hint of her courage, Alice cut him off. “You know Cheryl is in trouble, that Hickson or some other cretin is forcing her to contact me. Why would they go to all that trouble if they know where I live?”
Trace indicated the apartment. “It’s not as easy as you might think to break into an occupied building and drag out a screaming woman. And, Alice, you would scream. Right?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t go without a fight.”
Oh, God. Reese wanted to rebel against that idea. A fight meant she could die in the process of being taken. But knowing Alice as he did now, she’d likely prefer that to being held captive again.
“Once I was gone,” Reese said, “you’d get a desperate call from Cheryl.” His muscles clenched, his heart punched hard. “If you’d taken one step out of the apartment—”
“I wouldn’t let her do that,” Dash said.
And Alice swatted at him. “I’m not stupid!”
Dash barely managed to dodge her.
Settling back against Reese, she muttered, “You wouldn’t need to stop me, because I wouldn’t do anything foolish.”
Reese gave her the full force of his attention. “Define foolish.” He felt irate all over again at how she’d followed Cheryl in the first place.
As if she knew his every thought, Alice said softly, “That was before I promised you that I wouldn’t keep any more secrets.”
Okay, so maybe that had changed things between them. But could she really resist running to the aid of a woman she thought was being threatened?
Giving up his relaxed posture, Trace leveled a look at Reese. “You can be ruthless.”
A statement, not a question. Reese said only, “Yes.”
Alice started. “You can?”
“Hell, yeah.” Dash laughed. “Logan hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
Not in the mood for nonsense, Reese shook his head. “Knock it off, Dash.”
Alice said, “No, I want to hear this.”
“Reese is a regular champion of the underdog.” Dash did little to hide his smile. “According to Logan, if Reese thinks someone’s being treated unfairly, he jumps in with both feet and to hell with the consequences. Not saying he does stuff illegally, just that he doesn’t slow down to weigh the danger.”
“Jesus,” Reese growled. “I’m a cop, it’s what we do.”
“You saved Cash.” Alice leaned against him. “That had nothing to do with being a cop.”
“That had to do with being a human being.” And not once had Reese regretted that decision, not even when Cash had eaten a shoe or marked the entire apartment as his territory.
In fact, given how Alice had bonded with the dog, he was more grateful than ever that he’d been the one to find Cash that day.
Unable to keep his hands off her, and feeling more possessive than any contemporary man should, Reese brought Alice around to his lap.
Wearing a comical look of surprise, stiff instead of relaxed, she perched on his thigh.
Trace took in the two of them with understanding. “Unfortunately, the situation is that the station still has a few bad cops running loose. Your lieutenant is doing a great job, but she’s one person, and she can’t do it alone.”
“Meaning what?” Reese asked.
“I’m going to lend her a hand with that. I have better resources for exposing the frauds. Soon, I’ll present her with a file of names and evidence.” Trace didn’t wait for any objections. “In the meantime, I’d like to help out with Alice, too.”
Well, Reese thought, he had wanted the National Guard. But maybe one ultra-elite, super secretive wraith would do. “What do you suggest?”
As soon as he gave the implied agreement, Alice turned to him with joy. She smiled as if they weren’t in the middle of a complete and total cluster fuck. “You trust him?” she asked.
Reese cupped her cheek, and gave her a solid truth. “I trust you.”
“And you,” Trace said to Alice, “trust me.” He nodded at Rowdy and Dash. “Apparently them, as well.”
“Oh, and Logan,” she said quickly, while still gifting Reese with that pretty smile. “They’re all wonderful.”
Trace did his own smiling. “I’m glad.”
And damn it, now Reese even felt like smiling.
“It’s more complicated than just dealing drugs, and, like it or not, Alice is in it up to her neck.” All business now, Trace pushed to his feet. “Protest it all you want, but facts are facts. I can handle it—”
His arms going tight around Alice, Reese stood, too. “Hell, no.”
Without missing a beat, Trace said, “Or you can handle it.” His gaze never wavered. “That is, if you think you’re up to it.”
“I’m up.”
Amused by that, Trace glanced at Alice before fixing his golden gaze back on Reese. “Of course, you did get yourself handcuffed to a bed.”
Grinding his molars together, Reese eased Alice to the side and took a more aggressive stance. Trace would not push him aside, not in this.
Not with Alice.
Then Trace added, “Something similar once happened to me. Except my pants were down and a depraved bitch planned to molest me.”
Dash whispered, “No shit?”
Rowdy sat forward. “So, what did you do?”
Lifting a brow in question, Trace said, “Do?”
“About having your pants around your ankles.”
As if that were a fond memory, he smiled. “A woman saved me. Thanks to her, I was able to regain the upper hand.” He looked at Reese. “She’s now my wife.”
Reese had a disturbing idea of where this little dance down memory lane might be going. “Is there a point to this story?”
“You need to let Alice help.”
Doing his best to hide all emotion, Reese said simply but unequivocally, “No.”
Trace ignored the denial. “This needs to be wrapped up. All of it.”
“You think I needed you to tell me that?”
“No, but appa
rently you need me to tell you that Alice has to be there.”
“Not happening.”
“I can ensure her safety.”
“No.”
Undaunted, Trace said more firmly, “Alice has to be available to meet Cheryl. That’s the only way you’ll get everyone.” His voice gentled. “And you already know it.”
Alice cupped Reese’s face, her smile reassuring, her gaze imploring. “I can do this, Reese. I promise.”
Reese knew he had little choice, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He pulled her into his chest, crushed her close and muttered, “Fuck.”
“Believe me,” Trace said, “I understand and I sympathize. If there was any other way...”
“I know.” Reese slowly blew out a breath and reached for distant control. “Okay.”
They were still finalizing plans when Cheryl called and requested to meet Alice...at the same time that Rowdy would be meeting DeeDee.
Distract, divide and overwhelm. But Reese knew how he felt, and he knew Alice’s determination. He saw the resolve on Rowdy’s face, and the confidence in Trace’s stance.
They would do this, but they’d do it Reese’s way. And once it was over, he’d bind Alice to him for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ROWDY SHOWED UP an hour early in an old Falcon he’d bought for less than two hundred dollars. The car looked and sounded like a junker—that’s how Rowdy liked it. Overall, it was reliable transportation and got him where he wanted to go. No one would trace it back to him.
Best of all, the truck was sturdy and locked securely.
He parked toward the back of the bar, out of the reach of a weak security light.
Something else he’d fix once he ran the place.
Cautious, he sat for a minute to make sure no one approached.
All remained quiet.
Pocketing his keys so they wouldn’t make a sound, he slid over the bench seat to the passenger door and quietly opened it. He’d already disabled the lights, and the moon wasn’t bright enough to give him away.
Sticking to the backs of the buildings, he went down a block, then came out to the sidewalk in front. Moving with the shadows of the night, he crossed the street and found concealing darkness under the overhang of a mom-and-pop grocer across the street from the bar. He’d barely gotten settled into the recessed doorway when he saw one of the thugs from the tattoo parlor coming down the street. Despite the heat of the muggy night, he wore a light jacket.
No doubt to hide his gun.
Rowdy saw that he sported some new bruises on his face and had his arm in a sling. Courtesy of Reese? Damn, but Rowdy hoped so.
Tracking the man with his gaze, Rowdy saw him go down the outside alley of the bar—back to the area Rowdy had just vacated.
From the other side of the building, across the open lot that Rowdy would soon lease for parking, another goon strode up. This one spoke quietly into a cell phone, and his skittish gaze continually scanned the area.
Yeah, killing us wasn’t as easy as you’d hoped, was it, you bastard?
So, the men were meeting in the back. Did they plan to jump Rowdy as soon as he showed up? Had they hoped to finish what they’d started earlier?
For only a moment, Rowdy worked his jaw, then decided, fuck it. It wasn’t in his nature to skulk around like a coward. All he’d needed to know was that Alice would be safe.
And between Reese and Trace, he trusted in that. Trace. Man, there was a mystery for the imagination. Pair him with by-the-book Reese, and Alice couldn’t be more protected.
Rowdy didn’t mind the adrenaline rush of danger, but he didn’t want to seek it out. In fact, he looked forward to the routine, calmer life as a bar owner.
But first he needed to take out the trash.
Circling around the buildings via a different route, down an adjacent alley a block away, Rowdy returned to the back entrance of the bar. Right there, in plain sight, the two idiots stood plotting. One lit a cigarette, the red glow sending eerie shadows over his face before fading beneath a curl of smoke.
The jumpy one continued to glance around to the point that his buddy cursed him. “Damn, Phelps, relax, will you?”
“I’ll relax when this is over.”
“Soon.” Inhaling on the cigarette again, he lounged back against the brick wall. “They got away this morning, but they won’t this time.”
“Shit, Lowry, you don’t know that. They were fast and they knew how to fight.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m still in pain.”
“A pain in my ass.” Lowry shifted his injured arm. “They took me by surprise, that’s all. This time, I’ll be ready.”
“You can’t even know that the others will be here.”
“They will. But even if they aren’t, Woody will handle it.”
Interesting. It never failed; the hired muscle was almost always one dimensional, meaning strong and ruthless, but too dumb to stand on their own feet. Like sheep, Lowry and Phelps needed to follow.
Apparently, Woody was the one who led.
Rowdy hunkered down, willing to wait, ready to be enlightened by anything else they might say.
“I don’t trust Dee to do her part.”
So that was a real name? Go figure.
Lowry laughed. “She told me she wants to fuck the guy before we kill him.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Conniving, coldhearted bitch.”
Phelps didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “How the hell does she think she’s going to handle that in a bar?”
“Says she’ll lead him out to her car and do him in her backseat.” Another deep drag on the cigarette. “Ought to be easy enough to shoot him in the head soon as she finishes with him.”
“To hell with that. I’m not waiting.” Phelps grabbed his crotch. “If Dee wants some, I’ll give it to her.”
“Woody says she’s off-limits to us.” Finishing his cigarette, Lowry flicked away the butt. “For now.”
“We should have been sent after the woman. Hickson’s the one who fucked up. He should be here with the hulks, and we could just snuff that little lady who’s causing all the trouble.”
Rowdy thought about pulling his knife. Thought about killing them both, right here, right now.
But more info wouldn’t hurt anything, so he tamped down the burning urge.
“We can’t snuff her,” Lowry said, “because Woody wants her. And what Woody Simpson wants, Woody Simpson gets.”
“Yeah, I know.” Phelps rubbed at his neck again.
Given how Rowdy had cranked on it, choking him until he’d passed out, Phelps’s neck would be sore for a while. Rowdy narrowed his eyes, remembering. Satisfied.
“Woody just wants to play with her for a while, to teach her a lesson.” Lowry stepped away from the wall. “I bet he’ll give you a go at her afterward, as long as we don’t mess this up tonight.”
A fresh surge of fury curled through Rowdy, but he held it at bay with rigid willpower. Going into a rage wouldn’t net him the results he wanted. For that he had to be calculating.
And as the bozos had said, fast and capable.
Dirty fighting was maybe the most valuable thing he’d learned as a street rat. He could take on two men, maybe even three, no problem.
Keeping his gaze on the men, gauging the amount of time it’d take for him to reach them, Rowdy felt around on the ground until his fingers located a jagged rock. Focused, ready to move, he threw it past the men toward a trash ca
n. It made a clatter, and both men jerked around, searching the area, their weapons drawn.
“What the fuck?”
“What was that? Who’s there?”
On the balls of his feet, Rowdy charged, plowing into both of them, taking advantage of their distraction. They all three went down, but he had the benefit of rage and momentum, while they were taken by surprise, floundering both physically and mentally.
Lowry’s head hit the brick wall of the bar, and, dazed, he loosened enough to drop the gun. It skittered across the ground.
Caught under them, Phelps’s face connected with the rough pavement. Cursing, he spit blood—and a tooth. He tried to haul himself free, but the combined weight of Rowdy and Lowry held him down.
Wanting this wrapped before anyone else showed up or people inside the bar were alerted to their scuffle, Rowdy hit Lowry with three rapid punches. He smashed his nose, broke his jaw, and as he cocked his meaty fist for another shot, Lowry slumped, more unconscious than not.
Rowdy shoved him to the side just as Phelps managed to crawl out from under them. The idiot turned, blood all over his face, his neck and the front of his shirt. With a guttural curse and wild eyes, Phelps took aim.
Kicking out against his legs, Rowdy tripped him, and down he went. One near-silent shot exploded, hitting the brick of the bar and ricocheting. Crying out like a girl, Phelps grabbed a mangled knee—from Rowdy’s kick, not from the stray bullet—but Rowdy was quick to silence him with a boot to the face.
Phelps dropped like a stone.
Flipping him over, Rowdy put a knee in his back and bound his hands with double cuff disposable restraints that Trace had given him. Five pairs of them, Rowdy remembered, wondering if Trace expected him to take on an entire goon squad.
Phelps groaned at the uncomfortable clench of his arms behind his back.
“Make a sound,” Rowdy told him, “and I’ll shut you up for good. Do you understand me?”
