Running With the Devil (13 page)

Drake stalked into the room ten minutes later, foul mood darkening the air around him like a shroud.

Kenna knew he’d have no problems passing as a badass biker. Everything about him screamed danger; head to toe black clothing, long hair, angry sneer, gun, knife and handcuffs.

She tried not to think about those damn handcuffs.

Briefing done, he led them to a black van lettered with “Fred’s Repair Service.”

“What’s this? Aren’t we going to the party on the Harley?”

“No. For Geo and Bobby to do surveillance they’ll need this van to get through the gates since the campground is closed to everything but commercial vehicles and motorcycle traffic.”

“So we’re gonna walk in?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see the shoes I’m wearing?”

“Tough it up, hot stuff.” He gave her a “don’t-push-me” look. “I’ve got the bike parked at the campsite in case anyone asks how we got there.”

“But—”

“Get in the van, Kenna,” he growled.

She stayed silent as they made last minute adjustments to the op. With the heavy traffic it took over an hour to reach the campground and entertainment complex. Once inside the gates Drake became more uptight, if possible.

“You ready?” he asked, dropping his gun, knife, and handcuffs on the seat.

“Yep.”

“Tell me again what your objective is.”

“Stay out of your way, sir.”

His jaw tightened. “Wrong. You’re supposed to stick close and let me get the information I need.”

Kenna shrugged. “Same difference.”

The van bumped to a stop.

“Big difference.”

Before the argument escalated, Geo interrupted. “Here’s your exit point. Good luck.”

After the van pulled away, Drake draped an arm over her shoulder and tugged her snugly to his side. Naturally, her body responded to the call of his.

His hand caressed her bare arm. Warm breath tickled her ear. “So we don’t blow this, can you at least pretend to like me?”

Kenna flashed her teeth at him. “I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

The freaks and exhibitionists were out in full force on the sultry night. Naked women wrestling in mud. Naked women wrestling in Jell-O. Naked women wrestling in vanilla pudding. A tough man contest with huge men beating the shit out of other huge men. The announcer’s minions mopped the blood off the floor of the boxing ring and the next bout began.

Next to ringside was an open-air tent where twenty bucks bought a body shot from a beautiful young topless model from a leading men’s skin magazine.

Drake wondered if some of those girls were even of age.

Aromas of barbecued steak, pizza, bratwurst, tacos and buffalo burgers competed with the thick clouds of motorcycle exhaust mixed with dust and anticipation. Beer, whiskey, rum, tequila; name it and a specialty vendor sold it.

Drake kept a firm grip on Kenna even when her back stayed stiff. She didn’t touch him more than was absolutely necessary. He’d like to push her and demand she tell him exactly what’d put the starch in her spine, but he had to stay focused on the job.

Hard to do when several guys standing by the Porta-potties were openly enjoying hand jobs from a couple of enterprising young women.

After skirting the vendor stands, they cut through the RV area until the big black tent loomed. Drake stopped to survey the landscape.

A separate parking area had been corded off with red velvet ropes to house the custom motorcycles. He guessed most of the vividly colored machines with custom paint jobs—gas tanks, wheels and engines—were in the 100K range. Obviously the party attendees had money. His cynical side expected little of that money had been earned though an honest day’s work.

Beefy guards roamed the perimeter, armed to the teeth. He’d left his Glock in the van with Geo and Bobby, hoping to present a less threatening persona. In case something went down, he had a beeper which would signal his partners for backup. Geo was someplace nearby, snapping pictures. They might get lucky and see some familiar faces from the Florida drug world. Especially since Tito Cortez was a known associate of Hector Valero, Jerry Travis’s former boss in Miami.

Kenna sighed. “Are we going in?”

“In a minute.” His arm slipped from her shoulder to the enticing curve of her waist and he spun her into his arms so he could hold her. “You okay?”

It freaked him out to be staring into blue eyes instead of lavender.

“I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Me too.” He pulled her closer yet, lacing his fingers together at the base of her spine. Pelvis to pelvis, with her warm, sweet scent filling his lungs, his cock began to stir.

“Stick close to me, okay? I don’t need to worry about you while I’m trying to do my job.”

“How do you plan to get close to Cortez?”

“I’ve got my ways.” He gave her a hard look. “I want you to steer clear of him, understand?”

“Yes,
boss
.” She wriggled out of his embrace and saluted.

God. He briefly shut his eyes as he shoved a hand through his hair. “Kenna—”

When his eyes reopened all he saw was her very fine backside. Swishing hips and bouncing ass as her long legs ate up the distance toward the entrance.

Stop her,
his male side urged.

Let her go
, the cop side countered.

Shit. He caught up with her as she reached the two bouncers blocking the makeshift doorway.

One guy had to be at least six-foot-eight. Few men made Drake feel small. Defensively, he stood taller. The jerk didn’t even notice him as his rapt gaze was intensely focused on Kenna’s chest.

“Name, sweetheart?”

“Kenna Jones,” she cooed. “I sure hope Marissa remembered to have my name put on the list.”

The gorilla-sized bouncer managed to tear his lewd gaze from her breasts long enough to flip through the papers on his clipboard. He glanced up and smiled lewdly. “Yep. You’re free to go in.” He nodded to the other bouncer, a squat ugly man who resembled Jabba the Hut. “Just as soon as we check you for weapons.”

Kenna laughed nervously. “Are you kidding?”

Gorilla-man shook his head.

She spun around. “Tell me, where exactly do you think I’m hiding a gun in this outfit?”

“Don’t matter. Standard procedure.”

Drake withheld a growl. That bastard was using his security position as an excuse to put his paws on Kenna. He clenched his hands into fists and seethed as the second bouncer patted the outside of her legs up to her hips. Repeated the procedure on the inside. If Drake thought Kenna’s back had been straight before, it was absolutely rigid now.

“Arms out,” Jabba said.

Kenna complied, holding her purse in her left hand for him to check. The squat bouncer smoothed his thick palms across her bare arms. When he reached her chest he grinned, and leisurely dragged those stubby hands down her breasts, over her belly until he reached her hips. “She’s clean.”

If Drake wasn’t worried about blowing his cover he’d have knocked the son-of-a-bitch on his ass, regardless if the guy outweighed him by a hundred pounds.

Kenna shuddered and tidied her clothes.

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?”