Hot As Sin: A Bad Habit Novella (Bad Habit Book 4)
Page 8
In a quiet voice, she says, “Yes to the first part. No to the second. I don’t like violence.”
Something odd in her tone makes me curious. My impression from her dossier was that she’s rich, pampered, and spoiled, and has been since birth. How much violence can a woman like her have seen?
“Interesting philosophy for someone who carries a gun.”
“In order to survive, the oppressed must learn the language of their oppressors. And guns are the only language certain men speak.”
Startled by the eloquence of that unexpected statement, I slow my pace and look at her. “Who said that?”
“I did,” she replies, with a look like I’ve insulted her intelligence.
Interesting. Beauty and brains. Hope she doesn’t have a sense of humor too or I’ll have to hate her husband’s guts. Which would be unfortunate, considering what he’s paying me for this gig.
The sound of car tires squealing makes me glance behind us. An older model black Caddy with oversized tires and gleaming rims kicks up a plume of dust on the street as it accelerates around the corner. On the passenger side, a guy in sunglasses leans out the window.
I recognize one of Diego’s buddies. He’s got a Kalashnikov semi-automatic rifle in his grip.
It’s pointed at us.
“Shit.”
As the first bullets whiz by our heads, I grab Evalina’s arm and drag her off the sidewalk toward a small white adobe church. The old wooden back doors are locked, so I have to kick them in. They crash open. We run inside cool gloom, pounding down the aisle toward the altar as the sound of a car screeching to a stop outside echoes through the nave.
In front of the plain altar, Evalina jerks to a stop. She bends a knee, bows her head, and makes the sign of the cross over her chest.
“Say your prayers later, sweetheart.” I grab her elbow as a spray of bullets pulverizes Jesus hanging from his wooden cross on the wall.
With a yelp of surprise, Evalina leaps to her feet and follows me as I barrel through another door, then another, then finally we’re out on the street again, running through a residential neighborhood. Shouts follow us. We don’t look back.
“Here!” she says, turning down a side street.
She must know where she’s going because she’s running at full speed, not looking back, her skirt billowing around her legs and her long brown hair flying. I spend a brief second admiring the picture she makes before darting after her.
She makes a series of sharp turns through a maze of yards, follows a thick hedge of scarlet bougainvillea cascading over a wall, then flies through the open back door of a taqueria. We burst into a small kitchen filled with steam.
She shouts an apology to the startled cooks, adding just before she passes through the door to the main dining room that the police are right behind us.
Instantly, two of the cooks slam the door shut, throw the lock, and drag a steel baker’s rack in front of it.
Guess the cops here are as corrupt as their reputation.
The dining room is crowded with tourists and locals, chattering and drinking beer. We slow from a run to a walk as we pass through, garnering hardly a glance. Once out on the street again, I recognize where we are. The town square teems with people, and we’re quickly lost in the crowd.
“Nice work,” I tell her as we head in the direction of the outdoor market where I first spotted her. “Remind me to call you the next time I need to make a quick escape.”
“Stop hanging out with drug dealers and you won’t have to.”
She glances at me, brown eyes flashing, and I can’t help but smile. “I don’t hang out with ’em. I just occasionally make use of their services.”
A lie. I hate drugs. But the truth isn’t possible.
Her sharp gaze turns assessing. She glances down at my legs, at the slight hitch in my stride. “Pain management?”
It’s a convenient excuse, but she’s dinged my pride by noticing the limp, so I simply nod and say nothing.
“Have you tried acupuncture?”
I scoff. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d willingly let some quack stick a bunch of needles in him?”
Her lips turn up. Her gaze meets mine, and her eyes are smiling. “You never know. Appearances can be deceiving. Maybe you’re a pot smoking ex cop with a needle fetish who also breeds wiener dogs and enjoys the timeless musical stylings of Justin Bieber.”
“Oh yeah,” I deadpan. “I’m a huge fan of the Biebs.”
“Besides, you have tattoos. Isn’t that letting someone stick a bunch of needles in you?”
“It’s one needle. And my tattoo artist would be insulted to hear you compare him to an acupuncturist.”
“Oh excuse me. Your guy is an artiste, is that it?”
She’s teasing me. We just outran a pack of rabid, gun-toting drug dealers, and she’s making jokes.
Who is this woman?
Oh yeah—some rich Russian’s wife who I’m not supposed to be crushing on.
“Thanks for an interesting morning,” I say, slowing next to a fountain surrounded by tourists getting their picture taken. “But I gotta get going. Be safe, you hear?”
The surprise on her expression is genuine. With that face, she’s probably never had a man walk away from her before in her life.
“I will. You too. And thanks again.” She hesitates for a split second. “What’s your name?”
Sunlight glints off her hair, burnishing it to a rich, golden brown. The tips of her long lashes are blonde. Deeply tanned by the sun, her gleaming skin is the color of nutmeg.
“Nasir,” I say, my voice rough. “My friends call me Naz.”
“Then I’ll call you Naz, seeing as how you saved my life. I’m Eva.” She holds out her hand.
We shake, solemnly, as if we’ve made an unspoken pact.
“You take care, Naz. Stay out of trouble.” Her eyes hold mine for a moment past politeness, then she turns and disappears into the crowd.
I stand there until the sun starts to burn the back of my neck, thinking this job is gonna be anything but easy.
I have a terrible feeling that keeping a safe distance from Evalina Ivanov might turn out to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
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Also by J.T. Geissinger
Slow Burn Series
Burn For You
Melt For You
Ache For You
Bad Habit Series
Sweet as Sin
Make Me Sin
Sin with Me
Wicked Games Series
Wicked Beautiful
Wicked Sexy
Wicked Intentions
Night Prowler Series
Shadow’s Edge
Edge of Oblivion
Rapture’s Edge
Edge of Darkness
Darkness Bound
Into Darkness
Standalones
Midnight Valentine
The Last Vampire
Acknowledgments
I love Naz.
Or Barney, or Nasir, or Bad Habit’s bodyguard, or whatever we call him. I’ve always loved him and been drawn to his character, but I never knew exactly why. I never knew, that is, until I completed the first book in Naz’s spin-off series, Dangerous Beauty. It was after that book that I wrote this novella that tied the Bad Habit series and the Dangerous Beauty series together.
I can’t wait for you to read what happens next.
(As a side note, if you’re interested in Connor Hughes and what Metrix Security is all about, check out the Wicked Games series. That’s where Connor and friends make their debut.)
Thank you to my husband, Jay, without whom nothing I do is possible. Thanks to all the fans of the Bad Habit series, and all my readers, who are such a joy
in my life. I love hearing from you and encourage you to join my Facebook reader group, Geissinger’s Gang, to get more personal interaction with me and other fans.
Big thanks to Najla Qamber, my cover artist, and my developmental editor for the Bad Habit series, Melody Guy. Thanks as always to Eleni Caminis, who gave me my start in my publishing career.
And thanks to you for reading.
About the Author
J.T. Geissinger is a bestselling author of emotionally charged romance and women’s fiction. Ranging from funny, feisty romcoms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold more than one million copies and been translated into several languages.
She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America. She has also been a finalist in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.
Her first novel was published in 2012. Since then she’s written eighteen more. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking wine, surfing the internet, and daydreaming about all the things she’s going to be when she grows up. She lives near the beach in Los Angeles with her husband and deaf/demented rescue kitty, Ginger.
To join her reader list for notification of new releases, sign up at www.jtgeissinger.com, or text LOVESTORY to 66866