A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

“Good. Let’s drink to our new association, then.”

  Another drink would put her over the limit. She already felt the buzz as the alcohol flooded into her system. The place felt warmer, as if the air-conditioning had died. Heat flushed her face, left her skin dewy. “I don’t think I should—”

  “To work here, you gotta be able to hold your liquor.”

  “Sure. And I can.” She could hold it, she just couldn’t control her temper when she imbibed too much. “It’s just that I’ve already had a few—”

  “Decide now.” Intolerance put an edge in his tone. “You want the job or not?”

  So he would make it a stipulation to the deal? Bastard. “I want the job. I need the job.” More important, she needed a tour of the building. Back entrances, windows and escape routes—she had to know the ins and outs of the structure. And she needed to know if a raid would put forced workers at risk, if he stored his victims here, locked up, or if he moved them elsewhere, how many people were in the building.

  There were still too many unanswered questions.

  Lifting the shot in a toast, Arizona stared, unflinching, into the eyes of the devil. “To a new tomorrow.”

  He raised his glass. “To you, Candy—and an exciting night to come.”

  Yeah, a night where she’d dismantle him. “Hear, hear.” Together, they knocked back the shots.

  Whoa. Liquid fire cut through her, numbing her tongue and her brain, pooling like an inferno in her guts. She shook her head to clear it from the rush, wiped her mouth and set her glass next to his.

  “Is that taking the edge off?”

  Yeah, and she needed her edge. “Whoa.” She shook her head again, but it didn’t help. “I think I’m getting drunk.”

  “You’re softening.” He rubbed at his mouth, scrutinizing her. “I like it.”

  Before he could pour her yet another, Arizona pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m ready for my tour.”

  Janes came to his feet also. “You’re ready, all right.” He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. They each wore sleeveless shirts, so they had a lot of skin touching.

  Puke, gross, disgusting.

  Her stomach actually pitched, but she drew a deep breath to settle it again, and, pretending to stumble into him, she shot an elbow into his belly.

  “Shit.” He jerked her around hard, and his hands bit into her upper arms. “Careful, damn it.”

  Giggling, Arizona flattened her hands on his narrow chest. Not much muscle there. Put to the test, she thought she could probably take him.

  She relished a chance to find out.

  She leaned into him and giggled again. Looking up into his eyes, she smiled. “You know, I think maybe I’ve had just a little bit too much to drink.”

  Slowly Janes’s anger faded away beneath blistering intent. “Girl, I think you’ve had just enough.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SPENCER SEETHED IN SILENCE as Arizona smiled, teased and generally sucked up to Janes. She held on to him like a lifeline; he couldn’t tell if she was really that wobbly, or if it was one of her insane ploys.

  Either way, as he’d warned her, seeing another man’s hands all over her was impossible to bear.

  He got especially enraged when Janes stroked her hair with one hand, her backside with the other.

  I’ll kill him.

  If Arizona didn’t beat him to it.

  She’d already landed one elbow and just now managed to get a knee into his groin. Janes looked livid, ready to punish her—until Arizona snuggled into him again.

  She was so devious with her push/pull game.

  Tangling a hand in her hair, Janes yanked back her head and put his face near her neck.

  Spencer knew he had to do something, and fast.

  How to get away from the redhead without causing a scene?

  Several times now, she’d almost consumed him, and keeping her interested while stalling hadn’t been easy. If anything, his delay tactics had fired her up more. At one point she’d tried to get inside his zipper, offering him a hand job right there in the booth.

  Despite all her efforts, he hadn’t felt a single twinge of interest. Not when he wanted only Arizona and not while she played with danger.

  Ignoring the warmth of the woman’s mouth teasing his ear, Spencer quickly took in the setting of the bar.

  He needed some inspiration.

  Misunderstanding, Red whispered to him, “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yeah.” Maybe he could stumble his way up front with her. Maybe he could—

  Expression dark, Terry Janes turned with his hand clamped hard on to the back of Arizona’s neck, keeping her pinned close to his side, half dragging her as he started toward the back of the bar.

  Fuck it.

  Ready to rush him, Spencer stood—and suddenly the artist was there, tripping up Janes as he tried to show Arizona another picture he’d drawn.

  Thanks to the flashing of the lights, the scene played out like a delayed movie reel. Each second of darkness moved the actors, each strobe illuminated them in a new position.

  The music pulsed in Spencer’s temples, heightening his rage.

  Janes tried to go around Joel, but he stuck close, spoiling his plans.

  God bless the man—just the interruption he needed.

  As the redhead stood next to him, Spencer said, “You’re into threesomes, right?”

  “What? No!”

  “Come on.” He reached for her boob. “There’s a hooker down the street that comes cheap.”

  She stepped back, waffling…

  Well, hell. He hadn’t expected her to consider it. “I’ll pay you, too,” he offered as a desperate insult.

  And that worked.

  Indignation had her shoving away from him. “Forget it!” Snatching up her purse, she started to storm off but came back at the last second, grabbed his face in both hands and planted a wet one dead on his mouth.

  When Spencer finally managed to lever her away, she said, “If you ever want the real thing, come and find me here.” Then she turned and stormed away.

  One catastrophe averted.

  Trying for discretion, Spencer wiped off his mouth and began wending his way through the crowd.

  He got within a few feet of Arizona in time to hear Janes tell the artist to fuck off.

  The smaller man persisted. “I just want to give this to Candy.” He held up another drawing.

  Arizona gushed. “Oh, Joel, thank you. It’s wonderful.” She reached for him, intending a hug.

  Cursing again, Janes yanked her back. But she’d already gotten a solid hold on the artist—Joel—and he went off balance with her.

  They both stumbled.

  Terry Janes held Arizona, so she didn’t fall.

  But Joel reeled away and hit a table. Drinks spilled. A chair overturned.

  Like déjà vu from his first meeting with her, a brawl erupted around Arizona. Janes tried to get her out of the crush, but, typical of bar fights, things quickly escalated beyond the initial grievance.

  Joel floundered, and he tripped up the Hispanic waiter who’d talked with Arizona earlier. The kid fell into a waitress, who landed in the lap of a disgruntled drunk, making him drop his drink.

  Doing his part, Spencer tripped a man, shoved another.

  As punches, glasses, even bottles got thrown, Arizona deliberately allowed herself to be jostled—and separated from the bar owner.

  Forgetting about her, Janes made his getaway to protect his own ass.

  Perfect.

  Or at least, it was until he saw Arizona get backhanded by a drunk. She stumbled and would have fallen if Quin hadn’t cau
ght her to him.

  Spencer saw blood at the corner of her mouth, and he saw the glitter of excitement in her eyes.

  She enjoyed this.

  Of all the—

  When her artist buddy nearly went down from a random elbow, Arizona said, “Look out,” and pushed the little man behind her so that he had the wall to his back, her to his front.

  She kicked out at a big brute swinging a bottle, and her heel landed between the guy’s legs. He dropped hard to his knees and then toppled to his back.

  Half cowering behind her, Joel said, “I know a back way out.”

  “Not happening.” Spencer wanted to get her out of the place before someone pulled a gun or knife.

  In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

  It needed only this.

  The thirty minutes Dare had allotted were all but over. He retrieved the phone. The new message was simple: It’s over. Out now.

  He turned to Arizona just as she doubled her fists and decked another guy who’d come charging their way.

  Spencer said, “Enough already.”

  At the same time, Joel enthused, “You’re…magnificent.”

  Accepting that as her due, Arizona swiped the blood from her mouth and grinned. “Yeah, thanks.”

  Before Spencer could figure out how to extricate her from the melee, he got hit in the ear.

  That did it.

  He had Dare calling him, Arizona intoxicated and an artist trying to play hero.

  Red-eyed and feeling mean, Spencer knocked out the man with a single punch. When his buddy rushed forward, Spencer slugged him so hard he fell backward over a chair.

  Arizona rolled her eyes. “That was overkill, you big show-off.”

  Quin stood there, agog.

  Joel asked, “Who are you people?”

  Dead serious, as if she’d totally misunderstood his question, Arizona said, “I’m Candy, remember? You drew my picture. Twice.”

  Damn. Spencer knew he had to get her out of there and fast, before anyone else got curious. “She’s drunk. I’ll see that she gets home.”

  Quin nodded and slipped away. When Arizona started to follow, Spencer caught the back of her shirt and drew her up short.

  She windmilled her arms until Spencer steadied her.

  “I can get her out,” Joel said while clutching his art supplies to his chest. His face was white, his expression panicked.

  “She’ll be safer with me.” Spencer scouted the quickest way out. He’d prefer to just haul Arizona away. He didn’t see the bartender or Carl, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching, so he still had to play the game.

  “Candy…” Joel looked at her with worry.

  “What’s that?” Arizona cocked her head. “Do I hear the cops?”

  Going on the alert, Joel said, “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Sirens,” Spencer said, playing along. He eyed Joel. “Anyone who doesn’t want to be picked up in this scuffle ought to hightail it out of here.”

  “Thank you for the drawings.” Arizona took Joel’s hand. “I really, really love them.”

  With bodies flying around them, Joel asked, “Will I see you again?”

  “Sure you will. I got hired, so I’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Oh, right.” Joel started to relax. “Okay, then…”

  The music suddenly died—and then Spencer really did hear sirens. Arizona’s eyes widened as she turned her face up to his. “Seriously?”

  “Afraid so.” He watched as Joel darted toward the back and through a side door. Spencer hoped the guy would be okay, but Arizona was his first priority.

  Near her ear, he said, “In case anyone is watching, we have to separate. But I’ll be right behind you.”

  Her hand knotted in the shoulder of his shirt, keeping him close. “What about the workers? What about the waiter, Quin?”

  He smelled the whiskey on her breath, felt the warmth of her, her strength and energy. “Forget it.”

  “I can’t just leave without knowing if they’re okay.”

  Was she kidding? “That waiter already split, remember? Joel is probably following him. But we can’t help anyone if we get killed tonight,” Spencer reasoned. “Now make your way to the front door. Don’t engage with anyone else. Talk to no one. You got me?”

  “Yup.” She smiled at him, but the bruise at the corner of her mouth lessened the effect.

  Damn. “You’re drunk,” he accused.

  “Yup.”

  God, give me strength… “Too drunk to make your way to the front door?”

  She shook her head and staggered because of it. “Nope.” After smoothing out the material of his shirt, she gave him a wink and tottered off, clubbing everyone who got in her way.

  Bemused, chagrined and worried, Spencer watched her go. With each flash of the lights, she progressed another foot. Almost to the door.

  Almost to safety.

  She left him frustrated and, damn it…admiring. Arizona let no one and nothing get in the way of her determination. She had more backbone than was healthy.

  Things were coming to a head between them. In such a short time her entire perspective had changed. That had been his goal, but now, met with her innocent interest, his own reaction surprised him.

  Altruism flew the coop. What he did with Arizona and why had little to do with saving her from herself and a lot to do with the incredible chemistry between them.

  He wanted her, and not having her was eating him up.

  Refocusing his thoughts, Spencer saw Arizona clear the front door. Far enough, he decided. He started to follow her—and suddenly the lights went out, leaving everything still, shrouded in ominous darkness.

  * * *

  PANIC HAMMERED against his brain, making his temples throb, his eyes burn. The little bitch wouldn’t get away; he wouldn’t let that happen. But with so much going on, all the noise and confusion, how could he stop her? Surreptitiously, he looked around, seeking a plan.

  He could take her himself. Sure, she had some skill, but she was still just a woman, with a woman’s frailty, a woman’s tender emotions.

  A woman’s vulnerability.

  Once she’d lost her shine and, therefore, some of the profit to be made off her, he’d hoped to have her for himself. She’d be broken then, more easily manageable.

  Wonderfully needy.

  But thanks to the fools surrounding him, that opportunity no longer existed.

  He had to act, now, or forever lose her.

  And then it came to him, exactly what he would do, who he would send after her. He’d stay safe, but she would become his.

  Oh, yes, a perfect plan. He laughed, knowing it would all work out.

  * * *

  INHALING THE MUGGY NIGHT AIR did nothing to help clear Arizona’s head. In case anyone watched them, she made a point of not waiting for Spencer, of not looking back to see if he followed closely.

  Plenty of people milled around out front, and the occasional car drove past. Somewhere out there, Dare kept watch. Spencer would soon follow.

  She hadn’t accomplished her goal, but they’d made headway. For now, that’d have to be enough.

  Moving farther from the entrance, she lifted her hair off her neck and tuned out the escalating noise of rowdy brawling from inside the building and boisterous customers outside as they headed to their cars. She didn’t speak to anyone, and she didn’t move too quickly because Spencer wouldn’t want her out of reach.

  Thinking of him gave her a smile. Spencer.

  The strange turbulence firing her blood had nothing to do with the violence in the bar or the alcohol she’d consumed.

  It had a lot to do with the impossibly hu
nky Spencer Lark.

  Man, he was really something.

  Something…exciting. And amazing.

  And really appealing.

  Looking up at the sky, Arizona tried to see the stars, but angry clouds hung low, rolling over one another. It would storm again, but she didn’t mind. In fact, the thought of a rainy night seemed somehow…sexy.

  How crazy was that? She never thought in those terms, but to think of that now, after tangling with a maniac like Terry Janes or his unscrupulous lapdog Carl, defied reason.

  Sure, she always enjoyed engaging in a little violence. Blowing off steam sometimes mellowed her. But this was different.

  The way Spencer made her feel was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  As she made her way up the sidewalk a few feet more, she sighed. It was past time for her to reclaim her life—in every way.

  With Spencer, all things seemed possible. With him, anticipation replaced dread.

  He’d be out soon, and she had to decide what to say to him, how to convince him to get down and dirty with her.

  Somehow she’d win him over. Tonight.

  She didn’t think she could wait any longer.

  * * *

  EVERYTHING HAPPENED FAST.

  Something whooshed past Spencer’s head, too close for comfort. Settling his chaotic thoughts, he turned to meet the danger. Trusting his gut instincts, listening, feeling the air, he prepared for what would happen. He had no idea who would attack first, but he sensed the trap and was as ready as he could be.

  Suddenly thick arms circled him from behind, and he knew it was the beefy bartender. Pinning one of the bartender’s arms to his side, Spencer used his other arm to bring back an elbow hard enough to crack ribs. When he heard the breath leaving his attacker, he took advantage, and in one deft move, flipped him over his shoulder.

  The big man landed with a resounding crash.

  Emergency lights flickered on, and added to the glow from outside illumination spilling in through the big front window, he could see well enough. The bartender lay unmoving over a broken table. Given the odd angles of one arm and a leg, he wouldn’t be bothering anyone else that night.

  It struck Spencer then—he was attacked, so likely Arizona would be a target, too.