A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

“Rum and Coke.”

  “Sit tight, then.” He touched the hand she’d rested on the booth top. “I’ll get it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He was so anxious to send a signal to Arizona, he almost missed the appreciative gaze of a barfly. At the last second, he winked at her.

  After striding to the front of the crowded bar, he leaned past Arizona, being sure to touch all along her back, and spoke to the bartender. “A little service?”

  Arizona looked up and back at him. Thank God she wasn’t really eating her food, was more or less moving it around the plate. She’d nibbled on a corner of the sandwich, eaten a few bites of lettuce from her salad.

  The bartender eyed his stance over her and scowled. “What do you need?”

  “A drink for the lady.” He nodded back at the booth where Red waited for him. “Rum and Coke.”

  “I’ll get it right to you.”

  “Thanks.” Easing away again, he let his body brush against Arizona. “Excuse me.”

  Luckily, the young waiter had used Spencer’s timely interruption to escape Arizona’s inquisition.

  But Arizona didn’t realize that yet. Her gaze went past Spencer to the redhead—and sharpened. She didn’t stare, but she took in the other woman’s attitude and appearance in mere seconds.

  With her mouth tightening, she lifted her glass of tea, saying, “No problem” in an offhand way that didn’t fool him for a second.

  Perfect.

  Let her stew on his possible hook-up, Spencer thought, instead of breaking heads. In the meantime, he’d keep Red company while watching everyone else in the bar, remaining alert and ready to react if it came to that.

  With Arizona around, it could all go to hell in an instant.

  * * *

  AT THE EDGE OF AN OLD GARAGE locked up for the night, Dare stood outside his rented black van and kept watch on the Green Goose. The air felt thick with the threat of another summer storm. Dark clouds swam around the moon.

  The back of his shirt stuck to his skin. Mosquitoes buzzed nearby. He could smell oil, gasoline and old refuse.

  The garage sat atop a rise off to the side of a rarely used bridge. It gave him the perfect vantage point. He could see everything, and if needed, he could be down to the road in under a minute.

  His phone buzzed, so he dug it from his jeans’ pocket and put it to his ear. Always cautious, he said nothing.

  Trace asked, “Busy?”

  “Waiting. Watching.”

  “It should be an uneventful night.”

  But with Arizona involved…anything could happen.

  Dare knew they all shared concern for her. In such a short time, she’d drawn them all in and won them over. It only took one look to see the vulnerability she hid behind outlandish bravado.

  They also recognized Arizona’s genuine courage, caring and determination to make the world a better place. Despite Arizona’s rough edges, Dare liked her a lot. And he respected her.

  Having her back tonight was both a pleasure and an honor. “This call is just for confirmation?”

  “For Jackson. He’s prowling the floor.”

  Dare grinned. Jackson thought of Arizona as a kid sister. Add to that his impending wedding and fatherhood, and Dare figured he had reason to pace. “So why are you the one calling?”

  “Because I was wondering…after you saw her, what did you think?”

  “About how she looked?” He shrugged to himself. “I definitely noticed.”

  “Killer, right?”

  He knew Trace mentioned it as a potential problem, not out of personal interest. “She’s going to make Spencer insane.”

  “Probably.” Trace made a rude sound. “But he can handle it.”

  “I don’t guess there’s much chance that Janes will overlook her tonight.”

  “Doubtful anyone in that place will overlook her.”

  True enough. Few women looked like Arizona, but she also carried herself with a confidence that enhanced her physical appeal. “That’s the point.”

  In the background, he heard Jackson questioning and Trace explaining.

  “Spencer’s got a thing for her,” Dare stated.

  “He’s trying to deny that.”

  Hmm. He couldn’t see denial doing Spencer much good at this point. “She’s got a thing for him, too.”

  “More than a thing,” Trace said, “if I’m reading her right.”

  “Does Spencer realize it?” In Dare’s experience, a lot of men never saw it coming. Spencer seemed sharper than most, but where Arizona was concerned, there existed a lot of emotional muck to wade through. It’d be easy to miss the signals in the middle of bigger issues.

  “He thinks she’s too young, and with her past experience, he’s…wary.”

  “Only an idiot wouldn’t be. But in Arizona’s case, I can’t see her age factoring in. She’s lived through enough for three lifetimes.” Down by the Green Goose, a white van pulled up, drove slowly down the alley between the buildings and around to the back of the bar. Dare narrowed his gaze. Not a delivery van, so what? “I think we have trouble.”

  Picking up on his tone, Trace asked, “Any direct threat to Spencer or Arizona?”

  “Not yet.” He explained about the van. “Going on gut instinct here, but I’d say the point of that nondescript van is either nabbing Arizona, or maybe to move out some of the captives.”

  As much to himself as to Dare, Trace said, “Spencer won’t let Arizona out of his sight. Unless things explode, you can assume she’s still safe.”

  But what about her targets? “With Arizona, chances are good that she’ll be the one to light the fuse.” And sorting victims from aggressors could be tricky.

  “Maybe we should cut things short.”

  Spencer knew the codes, and he understood the situation. “We’ll see. I’m moving closer, but I’ll check in later.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep Jackson here.”

  Dare smiled. “Yeah, do that.” He disconnected the call.

  In no time, he was in front of the bar, and through the big front window he saw the crowd but couldn’t pick out Spencer or Arizona. He parked nearby, and then, moving like a wraith from the shadows, he made his way to the back lot until he could see the van.

  On silent feet he edged closer, unseen but near enough to hear the quiet exchange between two men, one a driver, the other riding shotgun.

  There could have been more men in the back of the van, but Dare didn’t think so. Their conversation didn’t include anyone else.

  Near his feet, a rat scurried past. Overhead, a damp breeze cut through an old sycamore tree, stirring leaves and setting branches to swaying. Through a glass pane in the back door of the bar, light spilled through, sending shadows around overflowing refuse containers and broken brick siding.

  “I heard this bitch was different. Younger.” The driver laughed. “Fresh.”

  “Carl told me she’s a real prime piece.”

  After a swig of beer, the driver tossed the empty toward a garbage can. He missed, and the can bounced off the bricks with a clatter. “You think we’ll get a turn at her first?”

  “Don’t see why not. Once we get her under wraps, don’t know why it’d matter who gets the first taste.”

  “I get dibs before you.” And then, as a complaint, the driver added, “You’re so fucking rough, you always leave them half unconscious.”

  “I make them swoon.”

  They shared a cackling laugh.

  And though they didn’t know, they sealed their fates.

  Dare had no doubt it was Arizona they spoke of, but they wouldn’t get a chance to hurt her.

  They’d never hurt anyone e
ver again.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T EASY for Arizona to keep her attention off Spencer. Damn him, did he have to enjoy his cover so much? Several times now, even over the blaring music, she’d heard him laugh. Though she tried not to, she kept stealing discreet peeks at him. Over the top of the booth, he leaned close to the woman, close enough to kiss. Hands entwined, feet together under the table, gazes intimate…

  “Did you want coffee to drink with the pie?”

  Arizona let her gaze skim the rest of the room as if the bar in general interested her, not Spencer in particular.

  She turned back to the young waiter. “No, thanks.”

  He began gathering her other dishes.

  To keep him close and hopefully engage him, she asked, “Is your name really Quin?”

  He faltered. “It… Yes.”

  She tipped her head. “Doesn’t sound Hispanic.”

  “It’s short for Quinto.”

  Ah, so it was his real name. “Is it always this busy, Quinto?”

  He shrugged warily. “This time of night, yes. Weekends are busier.”

  That he’d strung so many words together surprised and encouraged her. So far, he’d been hustling from one customer to the next without a break and without much conversation. “You work the weekends?”

  “Yes.”

  “What nights are you off?”

  He seemed to miss a beat, his gaze skittish, his mood more so. “It changes.”

  Sitting forward, Arizona folded her forearms over the bar. “You like working here?”

  His attention skipped toward Carl. Both he and Terry Janes had moved around the bar, talking quietly with patrons, watching their workers from different angles, occasionally going into the back toward the offices. All in all, they’d made it tough for Arizona to keep track of them.

  But Quin knew right where to find the most immediate threat, and that was Carl. He licked his lips. “I need to get back to the kitchen.”

  Thirsty customers kept the bartender busy filling glasses, and a discreet exchange of funds for drugs occupied Carl’s attention. Arizona didn’t see Terry Janes, but she did only a cursory scan of the area.

  She didn’t want to chance losing this opportunity. “So, Quin.”

  He gave her a cautious look of inquiry. “Yes?”

  Leaning toward him, her voice low, Arizona asked, “How’d you break your finger?”

  Uneasy, Quin opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  Pretending to smooth the front of his shirt, she slipped the note into his breast pocket.

  The alarm in his gaze said he knew what she’d done—but had no idea why.

  “If you ever want to talk, call me. I can help.”

  Trembling, he licked his lips again, afraid, maybe hopeful. “What are you talking about?”

  She tried a sympathetic smile. “Your finger?”

  He held his breath but finally said, “That was…an accident.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I have to go.” He tried to gather up the rest of her dishes in a rush and nearly knocked over the remaining shot of whiskey. “You must drink that.”

  Poor guy. Pity welled up; she could see his fear, even smell it, and it made her livid, made her want to raze the place.

  It also nearly crippled her with the need to help.

  “You live around here?” Though already his reactions were telling enough, she pressed him. “Or do you live…here?”

  After darting his fearful gaze around, he pushed the whiskey toward her. “Drink it. Please.”

  To appease him, she tipped up the glass and swallowed it back, then handed him the empty. “Okay?”

  Instead of answering, Quin stared past her shoulder—and there stood Terry Janes, not more than a yard behind her. A woman hung on his left arm, and a man counted money to his right. And still he stared straight at Arizona.

  Well, hell. She’d been so absorbed in the young waiter she hadn’t even sensed Terry Janes getting near.

  With the loud music blaring and the drone of multiple conversations, he couldn’t possibly have overheard anything they’d said. But maybe Quin’s guilty expression had given them away, because the bar owner’s ominous intensity engulfed them both.

  Oh, God, if she got Quin in trouble… “Look,” Arizona said in a rush. “Let me help—”

  “If you don’t want anything else,” Quin interrupted, “I will get back to work.” He started away.

  Arizona caught his sleeve. “Wait.”

  First miserable and then defiant, he paused. “What?”

  Arizona pressed the pie toward him. “Please. I’m watching my weight, but it’d be a shame for the dessert to go to waste. Would you eat it for me?”

  His jaw worked. “It is for you.”

  “But I don’t want it. Not tonight.”

  Cynicism flattened his expression. “You should eat it anyway.” And with that he walked off—but he left the pie behind.

  So had someone tampered with it? Did it contain something that would drug her, make her malleable, or worse?

  Unwilling to take the chance, Arizona pushed the pie away. But now, without Quin to talk to and with her targets all busy, she felt at loose ends.

  She’d always had a problem with impatience.

  At least Quin now had the number for her day-to-day cell. Hopefully he’d call. Hopefully he’d let her help. And soon.

  She wanted to act, to “fix” things however she could, preferably by stomping on some bad guys. She had new respect for how Trace, Dare and Jackson handled the involved, multileveled stings that had brought about so much justice.

  She tapped her fingertips on the bar, swung one foot in time to the music, glared at one leering drunk and wished Carl would hurry up and return to her so they could get the show on the road.

  * * *

  “HANG ON A SECOND, HONEY.” Dodging graspy hands and a wet mouth, Spencer pulled the buzzing phone from his pocket. He flipped it open to see the message: Lights out in thirty.

  Not a code, but from Dare. What did it mean? Unsure if he should anticipate a knockout, a blackout or both, he checked the time on his watch.

  Unwilling to let the redhead kiss his mouth, Spencer dodged her again—and she bit his chin.

  With a hand on her shoulder, he pressed her back. “Hold on, sugar.” Quickly, before things got out of hand, he beeped back a confirmation of receipt and returned the phone to his pocket.

  “Business?” she asked while settling back into her seat across from him.

  “Nothing important.” Should he round up Arizona and say to hell with it for the night? At the very least, he had to keep her close. Right now she looked bored, and that didn’t bode well for anyone.

  Then suddenly Terry Janes moved on past her again, heading down a hallway toward the back of the bar, past the bathrooms and kitchen.

  And Spencer knew—he knew—exactly what Arizona was thinking.

  It was uncanny how he could read her, but when she pushed off the bar stool without looking back at him, giving him no opportunity to dissuade her with a subtle signal, he knew it was to follow Janes.

  When he got her alone again…

  Thoughts scrambling, Spencer prepared to go after her, and to hell with their cover.

  At the last second, it proved unnecessary.

  With relief, he watched as she got sidelined by a new distraction.

  * * *

  GODDAMNED INTERRUPTIONS… He curled his hands into fists, locked his knees and accepted the inevitable.

  Stalled, yet again.

  For so many nights now, he’d waited for her to return to his bar. Now she was here, but nothing was ye
t settled.

  Frustration clawed at the surface of his calm façade, a façade of control, of normalcy. He had to have her. Sooner would be better…but if forced to it, he could be patient.

  Waiting often led to the best rewards.

  For now, she was too nice, giving attention to those who didn’t deserve it. Stupid bitch.

  When the time was right, he’d teach her better.

  But it wasn’t that time yet. Not yet.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “WAIT.”

  Thrown off by the interruption, Arizona peered down at the small, pale hand now latched onto her arm.

  “Please.” It was quickly retracted by a goofy little dweeb in thick glasses with an unruly head of brown hair half-hidden beneath a worn sports cap. “Wait.”

  Un-freaking-believable. Her brows rose with indignation. “Excuse me?”

  “Look.” Trembling, he thrust a large, stiff piece of paper toward her. “It’s you.”

  She suspected the little guy had turned bright red, but low lighting made it impossible to tell. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t have time for this. “What is it?”

  Eyes darting everywhere, manner demure, he turned the pencil drawing around so that the light shone on it.

  Oh, wow. It was her.

  She eased closer to the small round two-seater table where he sat. He’d captured her likeness in profile. Amazed, Arizona studied the drawing he held.

  Though she hadn’t exactly posed—or sat still—he’d managed an accurate rendering that looked like her…except way better. He’d even given her a smile that seemed genuine instead of forced. And the drawing didn’t emphasize her boobs or her legs.

  Anyone looking at it would see no more than a young, carefree woman. He’d drawn her as innocent, even sweet.

  She’d never admit it to anyone, but occasionally she wished she was that woman.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  A bright smile lifted his homely features. “So you like it?”

  “Well…yeah. It’s terrific. Really flattering.”

  He ducked his face. “It’s not as pretty as you are.”

  “Pffft.” She had mirrors, but she knew she had never been that…soft. Or gentle.