Running With the Devil (18 page)

She’d been lolling in another rosy afterglow, but his words snapped her wide awake. “Um, sure,” she mumbled, hoping he couldn’t feel the sudden tension tightening her body.

What did he want to talk about? Although he hadn’t given her any details on his meeting with Tito Cortez, she’d gotten the impression he had the information he’d needed. Which meant he had no reason to stick around.

She choked back a sudden rush of tears. Although she’d known the outcome of this affair from the beginning, nothing had prepared her for this feeling of absolute devastation.

God. What an idiot. She’d fallen in love with him.

Don’t cry.
Kenna focused on the sunlight creeping through the crack in the drapes, wondering if she’d ever have a peaceful night’s sleep again. But exhaustion eventually won out and she dozed off.

The phone rang. Drake cursed and rolled over. Snatching the receiver, he barked into it, “What?” He paused. “Ah hell. No. That’s all right. Tell them we’ll be right there.”

He sighed and replaced the receiver.

She gathered the sheet around her nakedness. “What’s up?”

“Drug deal gone bad. Guess they had the same thing happen last year so the local DEA has requested our help.”

“They know you’re here?”

“Yeah. Standard procedure. Jurisdictional issues and all that political crap.” He dry washed his face. “I gotta go. You go back to sleep. Bobby’ll still be here tying up loose ends if you need anything.” His mouth connected with hers briefly. He stretched and looked at her with regret. “I like waking up with you in my arms.”

Her grip on the sheet increased. “I sense a ‘but’.”

“But I’d hoped we’d have more time together this morning. Not just to make love again”—he grinned—“not that I wouldn’t be up for it. We’ll talk when I get back.”

Five minutes later he was gone.

Kenna glanced at the clock. She couldn’t fall back asleep. By noon she’d showered, packed and suffered through enough daytime TV. Grabbing her purse, she headed toward Bobby’s room.

He opened the door right after she knocked. “Kenna! Come on in. The boss said you’d be by.”

Papers were strewn across the unmade bed. “Am I bugging you?”

“Nah.” He ushered her to the chair. “Just finishing up my reports. Actually, they’re Geo’s reports, but he pawns them off on me.”

“Why?”

“Because he can. He’s the senior field officer and I’m just a lowly rookie.” Bobby gave her a crooked smile. “I don’t mind. I’m damn lucky I got assigned to this team.”

He’d provided her with the perfect opportunity to fish for information on Drake. “Have you worked with Agent March for long?”

“Long enough to see why he’s considered the best agent around. The man is relentless.”

He didn’t have to tell her about Drake’s stamina. “Do you get a break once this case is wrapped up?”

“Are you kidding me? I’m sure the boss has already lined up twelve more ops just like this one.”

An uneasy feeling began to stir. Was she just another case number in the busy life of a DEA agent? “Sounds like the cases are all the same.”

“Pretty much. After a while they all blend together. Of course, every case has its own challenges. Doesn’t matter to Agent March since he thrives on challenge.” His blue eyes lit with admiration. “He’s an absolute master at getting people to do what he wants, even if they don’t want to do it. Before they know what hit them, they fall in line, exactly like he’d planned.”

Just like me.

The hard truth punched a hole in her hope. She’d been nothing more than a challenge to uber spy Agent March. Certainly she’d proven herself to be a total pushover, not only where the case with Jerry Travis and Diablo was concerned, but personally. The minute he’d touched her, she’d melted in his arms like an ice cream cone in the August sun.

Another thought popped up. If he was a master manipulator, he probably could bluff with the best of them too. He probably had no authority to turn her over to the IRS. Or the Meade County sheriff.

God, how had she been so stupid to fall for that line of bullshit?

She had to get out of here now, before Drake returned and gave her his (probably) well-practiced good-bye-it’s-been-fun-speech.

Smiling at Bobby, even though she was seething inside, she eased from the chair and stretched. “Well. I’ll let you get back to the grindstone.”

He frowned. “You okay?”

“Just tired. I might sneak in another catnap before Agent March gets back.”

“Wish I could,” he grumbled.

Her sweaty fingers fumbled with the doorknob. “See ya.”

She managed to casually stroll back to her room when she wanted to run. Inside the dark space, the scent of sex and Drake lingered. She had to get out of here. She debated on using the motel phone or the pay phone. No time to waste. Dropping her duffle bag on the floor, she picked up the receiver and dialed.

Kenna cursed and hung up. She still hadn’t heard from Shawnee and obviously Shawnee hadn’t replaced her cell phone. She dialed another number.

Relief swept through her when Marissa answered on the second ring. “Thank God I caught you. Can you come and pick me up? Right now. I’m at the Sunset Motel on Highway 385. Okay. No, I haven’t contacted Tito Cortez yet.” She listened to Marissa’s line of logic. “Because I honestly don’t think I can go through with it tonight. Fine. We’ll talk about it when you get here. But please, hurry.”

Kenna skulked around the edges of the parking lot, worried Drake would return before she made her escape. Marissa warned her to be on the lookout for a different vehicle since her car was in the repair shop.

A white Ford Taurus pulled up to the curb.

“Let me help you load your stuff,” Marissa said brusquely. She skirted the trunk, opened the passenger door and then threw the duffle bag and Kenna’s purse in the backseat.

Once seated, Kenna automatically reached for her seatbelt. That’s when she realized Marissa hadn’t budged. She looked up and liquid fear raced through her blood.

Marissa pointed a gun at her.

“Is this a joke?”

“No. Move over. You’re driving.”

Despite the shock, she swallowed several times before she managed to ask, “Marissa what’s going on? What are you doing?”

“Finishing what I started. Now drive.”

“Where?”

“I’m taking you to meet Tito Cortez.”

Drake went into a rage when he returned to the motel and found Kenna gone.

No note. No message at the front desk. Nothing. She’d just skipped out without a word.

He grilled Bobby for details on Kenna’s mood. When Bobby relayed their conversation, Drake had a better idea on why she’d bolted. Question was: Where had she run?

After calling her home phone half a dozen times, he drove the van over to check her apartment. Although her car was still there, she wouldn’t answer the door. That wasn’t like Kenna. If she wanted to tell him to go to hell, she’d have done it right to his face. Hiding out wasn’t her style.

Maybe she was staying at Marissa’s place.

He stopped in the manager’s office.

A shaggy-haired college student with blood-shot eyes emerged from the back room. “Can I help ya, man?”

“Possibly. I’m supposed to meet Marissa Cruz, but she forgot to give me her apartment number.” Drake leaned on the counter, the picture of sincerity. “I know you’re not supposed to give out that information, but I was wondering if you’d seen Marissa hanging around today?”

“Nope. I ain’t seen her since she gave her notice two weeks ago.”

Had Kenna known Marissa planned on moving? “Guess I could check with her friend Kenna.”

The boy blinked. “Who?”

Error. No one knew her as Kenna except him. “Kaye Anne Ennis. She lives in 17C?”

“Oh her.” He yawned.

“She been around this afternoon?”

“Nah.” Scratching the red stubble on his chin, he said, “Well, maybe. I dunno. She ain’t exactly the type of woman that sticks out, know what I mean?”

Drake refrained from grabbing the clueless bastard by his baggy hemp shirt and shaking him until his roach clip fell out of his cargo pants. “So you haven’t seen her today?”

“Nope.”

“What about her roommate, Shawnee?”

“No. I’da remembered seeing that hot-looking Indian babe.”

When the phone rang Drake left.

He paused inside the courtyard, at a loss to where Kenna could have gone. After a few minutes of pacing, he sat on the concrete bench and considered his options.

Two pig-tailed girls in polka-dotted swimsuits raced past. Then a young couple holding hands, dragging a double-sized water float. A whistling Native American man walked by, long hair flowing loosely down his back, swinging his towel, also headed for the pool.

Drake’s head snapped. Wait a second. It was that son of a bitch Trent.

He stood and followed him for a few feet, resisting the urge to tackle him. Instead he shouted, “Mr. Eagle? Can I talk to you?”

Without looking his way, Trent tossed his towel and started to run.

Shit. He might have to tackle him anyway.

But Trent’s flip-flops tripped him and he fell ass over teakettle in the grass.

Before Drake could help him up, Trent crab-crawled backward. “You can keep chasing me, but I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I don’t have the money!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Trent cocked his head. “Aren’t you one of those goons with the credit collection agency?”

“No. I’m with the DEA and I’m looking for Kenna—I mean Kaye Ennis. Have you seen her?”

“Not if I can help it.” He scooted back further, fear on his face. “She sicced the DEA on me? Even after I swore to that bitch Shawnee I’d never do it again?”

“Do what?”

“Shawnee almost broke my goddamn arm when she found out what I’d done.”

Was this guy on drugs? “What exactly did you do?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? The grant application last year.”

Drake nodded. “Start talking.”

“When I dated Shawnee I ended up with a key to Shawnee and Kaye’s mailbox. After Shawnee told me Kaye and I had applied for the same grant, I kept an eye on her mail and destroyed the follow-up letter from the DEA requesting more financial information. The deadline passed. And I got the grant.”

“Why was Drug Enforcement contacting you?”

Trent blinked. “Drug Enforcement? What are you talking about?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about DEA. Douglas Endowment Alliance. They’re the grant foundation.”

“Shit.”

“Who
are
you?”

Drake shoved a hand through his hair. What a complete fuck-up. “Someone who has got to find her. Like now.”

“Why? Is Kaye in trouble with Drug Enforcement?”

Drake didn’t care for the sudden glint in Trent’s eye. “No, Kaye isn’t in trouble with Drug Enforcement, but you still haven’t answered my first question. Have you seen her?”

“No.”

“Second question: Where were you at ten-thirty, night before last?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

Smugly he retorted, “Then I don’t have to tell you.”

Drake hunkered down. Got his mean on. “Yes, you do. And if you don’t start talking I’ll do way more than break your goddamn arm.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” His Dudley Do-Right chin came up. “No shame in being an honest working man. I worked the graveyard shift at Perkins in Spearfish.”

“Your supervisor can verify it?”

“Yes. I clocked in at nine-forty-five and out at six-thirty a.m. No break. We’re slammed during the Rally.”

There went his number one shooting suspect. “Question three: Did you sabotage Kenna – I mean Kaye’s application this year?”

“Hell no. Shawnee would gut me like a trout. You might think you’re scary, but I guarantee I’d rather tangle with you than her.” He shuddered.

“Don’t bet on it.” Drake turned and walked off.

Frustrated, Drake headed back to the motel. He prowled the room, building and discarding Kenna’s motives for taking off.

How could Kenna think, even for a second, that she was just another case in a long line of cases? Didn’t she know she was special?

Finally the part of his brain that wasn’t controlled by his cock spoke up. No, she didn’t know how he felt, because he hadn’t bothered to tell her.

Christ. He was such a moron.

Two hours passed. He paced, his gut instinct told him something was seriously wrong. With his apprehension growing, he tasked Geo to help him while Bobby retrieved the motorcycle and camping gear from the Broken Arrow.

When Geo tracked down the number Kenna had called from the motel phone, Drake wasn’t surprised to learn it was Marissa’s cell phone. Marissa didn’t answer. He didn’t like, nor did he trust that woman. Anyone who would encourage a friend to act as a “tour guide”—

His stomach plummeted like a rock. Surely, after everything he’d told her, everything she’d seen last night, Kenna hadn’t agreed to squire around Tito Cortez. He recalled cash passed between Tito and Marissa. What had that been about? Had Tito given her a deposit on Kenna’s services?

But that meant Kenna had planned on taking off all along.

He didn’t believe it. They’d connected on a whole different level last night. Even the most jaded woman would have a hard time walking away and Kenna didn’t have a callous bone in her body. Stubborn, yes. Determined, yes, but never spiteful.

How had he forgotten her determination to earn the cash to pay her tuition? She’d told him she’d do whatever it took.

Including sacrificing her dignity and willingly placing herself in the hands of a suspected drug dealer?

Not if he could help it. But how the hell was he supposed to find her when she’d proven she could hide in plain sight? He hadn’t a clue how many different disguises she had crammed in her duffle bag.

Bag. Purse. An idea clicked like a missing puzzle piece.

Drake ran down the sidewalk and pounded on Geo and Bobby’s door. When Bobby answered, he grabbed Bobby by the polo shirt and demanded, “Did you remove the tracker from Kenna’s purse last night in the van after the op like I told you?”

Bobby’s face burned beet red at Drake’s apparent fury. “No, sir. I meant to, but since we didn’t need to use it, I-I forgot.”

“Thank God.” In his jubilation, he gave Bobby a loud smacking kiss on the forehead. “I owe you, buddy. Turn it on. Let’s find Kenna so I can wring her neck.”