Running With the Devil

by Lorelei James

  She had every right to hate him for the humiliation she’d suffered. Especially in light of the fact he had no real hold over her. Turning her in to the IRS had been a bluff, as had the crack about having her busted for solicitation. He’d been damn surprised she’d fallen for it.

  Man. He was such an asshole. When his damn job meant more than protecting the rights of an innocent civilian, he was no different than the criminals he was trying to catch.

  Kenna sauntered toward the tent flap serving as the door.

  Drake followed, only to hit a brick wall. He looked up.

  “This is a private party,” stated the bouncer with the wandering hands.

  “I’m with her.”

  Jabba guy didn’t budge. “Name?”

  “Drake Mayhaven.”

  The gorilla-like bouncer with the clipboard flipped through the papers. “Nope. You ain’t on here.”

  “Look again,” Kenna said sweetly. “Marissa Cruz added him last night.”

  “If she did, she forgot to tell us. And if his name ain’t on the list, he ain’t getting in.”

  Drake concentrated on breathing in and out slowly, trying to cool his temper. To get this close, to put Kenna in a situation she hadn’t wanted to be in, only to be denied…

  Kenna scooted closer, bending over to try to read the clipboard, giving the men a clear view down her top. “Sorry, Drake. You aren’t on here. You’ll have to reschedule your appointment with Tito, though he won’t be happy about it.”

  “You’re here to see Mr. Cortez?” Jabba asked skeptically.

  “Got in from Miami last night. First chance I’ve had to hook up with him.”

  The bouncers exchanged a look that said neither of them wanted to piss off Tito Cortez. Gorilla, keeper of the clipboard, nodded to the bruiser. “Search him.”

  Didn’t take Bouncer Friendly nearly as long to pat down Drake as it had for him to pat down Kenna.

  “He’s clean,” the guy proclaimed.

  “Mr. Cortez is in a private area in the back by the bar. Next to the demo room.”

  Drake’s confused look wasn’t faked.

  “Demo room virgin, eh?” Jabba laughed. “Don’t get whiplash lookin’ at everything that’s goin’ on.” His beady eyes raked over Kenna’s body. “You’ll fit right in, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks for the tip, man.” Drake tossed his arm over Kenna’s shoulder and led her inside.

  Kenna’s skin crawled. She needed a shower in a bad way and the night had just started.

  Her stomach pitched and swayed with the knowledge that while that greasy, fat jerk had been copping a feel, Drake had done nothing. Nothing.

  What kind of man would stand back while some strange guy got his jollies?

  She shrugged from his embrace. “I need to track down Marissa.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  When Drake reached for her elbow, it tempted her to slap his hand. Instead, she retreated further. “Don’t you touch me.”

  Something—guilt?—flashed in his eyes. “All right. But we’re not splitting up.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” She sauntered toward the swelling crowd at the back of the tent. Probably where they’d set up the bar. It was as good as place as any to start searching for Marissa.

  Drake didn’t touch her, but he didn’t give her much space either. He stayed close enough she felt his body heat. She breathed in his unique scent, leather and soap with an underlying male musk, hating the way her heart raced. Hating how her body betrayed her by going all soft and moist. The man’s pheromones were a menace.

  There was no sign of Marissa at the bar. “What now?”

  “We wait.”

  “Like I haven’t done enough of that today.” Kenna sighed. “What do you think goes on in the demo room?”

  “I don’t want to know,” he said absentmindedly. His gaze continually swept the crowd. “You want something to drink?”

  “Ginger ale.”

  He refocused on her. “That’s it? Nothing in it?”

  “No. I don’t drink.”

  “But that first day…”

  “I was drinking cream soda. Looks remarkably like beer, don’t you think?”

  “You fooled me, hot stuff.”

  She blushed.

  “God, I love it when you do that.”

  “What? Fool you?”

  “No. When your cheeks get flushed.” Despite her warning, Drake touched her. Lightly. His knuckle skimmed the soft skin under her jawbone. “You look like that right before you come. It’s sexy as hell.”

  Desire sucked the air from her lungs.

  He saw it and smiled before he swaggered to the bar.

  She watched people as she waited. How did Agent March know what constituted suspicious behavior? Did he recognize anybody?

  A tap on her shoulder made her jump. She turned. Marissa had snuck up on her. “Hey. I was just looking for you.”

  “What a coincidence.” Marissa smoothed a hank of hair from Kenna’s cheek. “I like you as the blonde bombshell. I know someone else who will too.”

  Without Drake interfering, Kenna seized the opportunity to talk to Marissa about her options. “That’s good, because I don’t want to pass up other opportunities. You know I need the money.”

  Marissa frowned and fiddled with the Black Hills Gold cross hanging from a heavy chain around her neck. “I understand. But you’ve got to understand your options are limited.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember the Mexican guy you wouldn’t even consider the first night?”

  She withheld a shudder. How could she forget? Especially after Drake warned her about him.

  “Well, he’s got a serious thing for blondes and a serious pile of money. You’re exactly his type.”

  “But he’ll remember me from that night.”

  “No, he won’t. Trust me. You were a brunette, remember?” Marissa beckoned Kenna forward and whispered, “I can get us double. Think about it. Half as much work for the same amount of money.”

  “Does he know I’m strictly an escort in the purest sense of the word?”

  Marissa nodded.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Tito Cortez. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Introduce you to who?” Drake asked.

  Marissa jumped and whirled toward him. “Don’t ever sneak up on me, Mr. Mayhaven.”

  He just grinned and passed Kenna her drink.

  She glanced at Kenna. “I thought you came alone.”

  “She almost did.” Drake paused, sipped his beer. “Seems someone forgot to put my name on the guest list.”

  Marissa smacked her head and groaned. “I knew I’d forgotten something. God. I’m so sorry.”

  “No harm, no foul,” he said. “So who are you meeting, Kenna?”

  “A friend of Marissa’s. Tino somebody.”

  “Tito,” she corrected. “Tito Cortez. He was also a friend of Jerry’s.”

  “Jerry mentioned him a couple of times. Guess Cortez is a friend of my boss, although we’ve never met.”

  “Really?” Marissa placed her hands on her hips. “Who’d you say you worked for in Miami, Mr. Mayhaven?”

  Kenna held her breath. She suspected this wasn’t going the way Drake had planned.

  “I didn’t say. I’m flattered you’re so interested in my life, Ms. Cruz. I work for Jesse Vasquez. Do you know him?”

  “No. Tito might, though, since he’s from Miami.”

  “Great idea. Think you can introduce us?”

  “I-I’m not sure.”

  Kenna started to get nervous. Tito Cortez scared Marissa?

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you can convince him to talk to me.” Drake stared thoughtfully at Marissa’s empty hands. “Could I buy you a drink before we meet him?”

  The “we” part wasn’t lost on Kenna. Nor on Marissa.

  “Not necessary,” Marissa said abruptly with a half-smile. “
Better hurry if we want to catch him before the concert starts.”

  As they walked past the mysterious demo room, Kenna tried to peek inside. Heavy black drapes fell from the tent ceiling to the ground, concealing it completely. Thumping bass and the pungent scent of incense drifted out when a couple exited. What had put those enormous grins on their faces?

  She focused on Tito’s cordoned off area. With a dove gray leather couch, two leopard print easy chairs and a plush white Sherpa area rug, it was easily nicer than her living room.

  Marissa motioned her over to where Tito Cortez held court.

  Although Drake hung back, Kenna felt his compelling gaze laser into the back of her neck. And with Tito’s eyes undressing her, she felt like a slab of meat dangled between two hungry tigers.

  Didn’t male tigers fight to the death for a female? But if the way Drake had been acting today was any indication, she was on her own.

  She shivered.

  “Tito,” Marissa said, “this is Kenna.”

  Kenna took his outstretched hand and yelped when he yanked her directly onto his lap.

  “A screamer,” he said. “I like that.” One slender brown finger traced the exposed tops of her breasts. “And I definitely like these.”

  She wanted to snap that rude finger in half, but she played along, knowing he was the type of guy who’d enjoy it more if she fought him. Thankfully, he quickly tired of groping her and moved on.

  His hand smoothed her wig. “You a natural blonde?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ooh. Ick. What had prompted her to say that? Taunting the tiger wasn’t in her best interest.

  “Not so easily swayed by my charm, eh?”

  “No. Bet you don’t have to work for anything. Bet you always get what you want, huh?”

  “Yeah. So you wanna bounce around on my machine? It’s a great big one. You’ll be impressed with all the tricks I can do with it.”

  “I can’t wait.” Kenna tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. Marissa had her back to Drake while he was deep in conversation with another bodyguard. Didn’t seem to be paying the slightest attention to her at all. Jerk.

  She smiled—pure sugar. “Tomorrow night?”

  “What about tonight?” he demanded.

  She leaned forward and whispered, “A girl has to get her beauty sleep.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  “What a sweet talker. I thought you were going to the concert?”

  “You could come along. It’d be a kick.”

  “ZZ Top isn’t my bag.” She ran her fingertips up the front of his silky blue shirt. “Think of me tomorrow. I know I’ll be thinking about you and your big bad machine.”

  Tito squeezed her thigh. “You’d better make it worth the wait.” He frowned. “Who’s that asshole talking to Marissa? He’s sending you dirty looks.”

  “I expect he’s mad I’m taking up all your time. He’s waiting to talk to you.”

  While Tito was distracted, she slid from his lap and stood on shaky legs. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” He licked his lips as his eyes devoured her breasts. “Why don’t you pick out something from the demo room?”

  “Maybe I will. What do you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  As Kenna walked past Drake she refused to meet his hard gaze.

  “He’s all yours,” she said and made a dash for the demo room before she lost her nerve.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Drake forced the rage from his face and the jealousy from his soul. Cortez had no right to paw Kenna. She hadn’t been happy about it either, though to casual observers it might appear she’d enjoyed sitting on his lap.

  He was beyond a casual observer when it came to Kenna. The woman had gotten under his skin and was worming her way toward his heart. If this had been a normal situation, he wouldn’t have let her leave the house in that sexy getup, or allowed her within a hundred feet of Tito Cortez.

  Marissa tapped his arm. “I’ll introduce you now, then you’re on your own.”

  He followed her into the living room setup. Although his expression and posture remained neutral, he was strung as tight as a piano wire. He’d counted four bodyguards—all armed. Didn’t sit well that he’d had to leave his Glock. Also didn’t sit well that he had no idea where Kenna had run off.

  “Tito, this is Drake Mayhaven. He wanted to meet you.”

  As they shook hands, Tito’s cold black eyes never left his face. “Should I know you?”

  Drake was used to paranoid drug dealers. He knew how to play the game. He sprawled in the corner of the couch and glanced around with appreciation. “Nah. I’m nobody. Great party. You throw one like this every year?”

  “My cousin does. It’s a business thing.”

  “Ahh. Business must be good.”

  “Can’t complain. There a reason you’re so interested in our business?”

  “Maybe. We’ve got some mutual friends.”

  Nothing changed in Tito’s hard expression. “Yeah? Who?”

  “Jerry Travis for one.”

  “How’d you know Jerry?”

  “Here and there. During Daytona he said I ought to check out Sturgis. Evidently he had a wild time last year.”

  “Pity he won’t make a return trip.”

  “Got that right.” Drake frowned. “Freaked out a lot of people in Miami, his untimely death.”

  “And some, not so much.”

  Drake lifted his brows. “Funny. That’s exactly what Jesse Vasquez said.”

  From a metal tub filled with ice, Tito unearthed two Coronas. Set one on the table in front of Drake. Opened the other. Sipped. “So you know Jesse Vasquez.”

  Drake nodded.

  “You work for him?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” In actuality Jesse Vasquez worked for Drake after he’d turned DEA informant five years ago.

  “His wife had her baby yet?” Tito frowned. “What’s his wife’s name again? Caroline?”

  “Carmella. And no, she’s got a coupla weeks left.”

  Outside, an engine revved, men shouted and rocks plinked against the canvas wall. One of Cortez’s bodyguards went to check it out, gun drawn.

  “What’s this, their fourth kid?”

  “Seventh. Graciella was number four.” Drake grinned. “Of course Jesse’s hoping for a boy this time. After six girls the poor man is entitled.”

  Tito nodded. “Good thing he’s got a big enough house for all those kids. I tried to buy a place like his in South Beach myself. Beautiful area.”

  Drake permitted a tiny frown. “Jesse’s never lived in South Beach.”

  “I know. Didn’t know if you did.”

  After an uncomfortable pause, Tito nudged the extra beer Drake’s direction. He’d passed Tito’s first little test. Adrenaline crashed through his system. This was it. Tito would either talk or dismiss him.

  “Did Vasquez send you here?”

  Be nice to have a bottle opener, Drake thought. He’d been lucky Cortez hadn’t removed the top with his teeth, as protocol demanded he’d do the same as his host.

  Drake twisted the non-twist off top until the metal ridges cut into his palm and the bottle hissed. Holding his beer in a mock toast, he drank deeply before answering. “In a roundabout way. While I’m on vacation, I’m checking sources to confirm or refute a rumor that’s been floating around for the past six months.”

  “Half a year is a long time to wait to track down information. We both know how quickly things change in this business.”

  “Yeah, well, we hadn’t put any stock into this particular rumor until Jerry Travis showed up dead.”

  Tito stretched his arm along the back of the leather couch. “What’s the rumor?”

  Took every bit of discipline to hide his pleasure that Tito had taken the bait. “It’s about a group calling themselves Diablo.” He paused, chugged. “Ever heard of them?”

  “If I had, what’s it to you?”

  Drake held
up a hand. “Hey man, I’m just doing my job.”

  “So you said.” Tito studied Drake, his expression somewhere between belligerent and dismissive. “Why should I tell you anything, amigo?”

  “Tell me. Don’t tell me. It’s your call. Actually, I don’t give a shit either way.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, then turned back and smirked at Tito. “The sooner I get this conversation over with, the sooner I can check out the demo room.” Sweat trickled down his spine. The blasé attitude was a gamble.

  “Maybe I should call Vasquez and see if you’re really who you say you are, Mayhaven.”

  “Knock yourself out. He’s probably home.” Drake let his attention wander. A voluptuous brunette collected strands of beads as men flocked to take pictures of her surgically enhanced tits. A lanky Native American man quickly moved away through the crowd. His eyes narrowed. That guy had looked a lot like Trent. Shit. Was he chasing after Kenna?

  Tito said, “You got his number?”

  Drake returned to the business at hand. “Don’t you?”

  “Aren’t you going to offer to call him for me on your cell phone?”

  Drake snorted. “I left my damn cell phone at the campsite just so I wouldn’t have to talk to him again. I’m supposed to be on vacation, remember?”

  “No rest for the wicked, huh?” And just like that, Tito Cortez relaxed. “To answer your earlier question, I have heard of Diablo. From Jerry Travis. Last year.”

  “Anything since?”

  Something flashed in his eyes but he asked casually, “No. Why?”

  “Just curious. Like I said, Jerry came to Vasquez with this wild rumor that Diablo planned to muscle in on Vasquez’s territory. Some crazy story about Diablo flooding areas with bad meth and then blaming it on Vasquez’s unreliable distributors. Then Diablo would guarantee a cheaper, safer product to the customers and take over all venues.”

  Tito drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. Leaning forward, he said, “We heard the same rumor. Except in that version, our distributors were to blame. Know the strange thing?”

  Drake shook his head.

  “Meth is for amateurs and we ain’t stupid enough to deal with it. Neither is Vasquez.”

  “Which is why we initially discounted the rumor,” Drake said. “Same old bullshit story. You know how it goes, so-and-so is gonna break off and start his own network. He’s sick of taking orders, he’s got the start-up money, got the contacts up the ass and he’s gonna be stinking rich, blah blah blah.”