Running With the Devil (3 page)

Kenna gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. Do you have a license for this ‘escort’ business you’ve been running?”

“It’s not an escort service!”

“My point exactly.” His laid-back, sexually playful attitude was a distant memory. Now his eyes were hard and cold. “A federal informant is dead. If you aren’t gonna help me, then I’ll make damn sure you’re out of my way.”

A heavy, ugly silence weighed.

He could fuck up her life with one phone call.

Kenna silently cursed her shortsightedness. When her grant had mysteriously fallen through last year at the last minute, her pal Marissa had come to the rescue. She suggested Kenna act as a highly paid tour guide for Marissa’s old friend, Jerry Travis.

She’d been desperate; take the money or forfeit her place in the doctoral program. No brainer. She’d taken the cash and hadn’t regretted it.

Until now.

If word got around the small academic community she’d been busted for prostitution she’d get kicked out. Wouldn’t matter if it weren’t true. Then it wouldn’t even matter if she had the money to pay tuition.

She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make damn sure no one besides Marissa knew her alternate identity. “Kenna Jones” was completely fictional. Not even Jerry had known her real name.

Evidently Mr. DEA didn’t either or he’d have contacted her at home, not by the decoy email account. At this point she owed him
nada.
She’d answered his questions. If he hadn’t arrested her by now, by all rights she could get up and walk away.

Besides, it’d be interesting to see how he liked being played. The more she thought about it, the more she decided it’d serve him right. A few quick changes and she’d disappear into the throng of bikers like a nitro vapor trail.

Despite his earlier cocky statement, Agent March would be hard pressed to ever find her again.

She smiled sheepishly and said, “All right. I’m in.”

Kenna was so full of shit her lavender eyeballs swam in it. The hellcat who had sworn, sneered and smoldered had gone all sweet, soft and sorry. Helpful, even.

Right. As if he’d buy that.

Yet Drake allowed her to ramble on. He nodded, appearing to swallow her heartfelt lines of apology as if they were gospel.

She’d grudgingly told him the meeting place (fat chance she’d show) and a firm time (another lie) before they said goodbye.

He admired her remarkable ass as she flitted away, an extra spring in her high-heeled step. She even stopped, turned back around, offering him a jaunty wave and a saucy grin.

Oh yeah. She was good.

But he was better.

The minute she escaped from view Drake reached into his pocket for the lip mic and reattached it to the earpiece. “Bobby? You copy?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. See the target?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Follow her.”

She stirred the glass of ginger ale, watching the fizz crawl up the red-and-white-striped straw. Bubble one burst before bubble two.

A sigh escaped. She didn’t know if she had the guts to go through with this. Showing Jerry the sights had been one thing. Having Marissa set her up with a total stranger was something else entirely. It made her feel…well, cheap.

The backroom of Pedal to the Medal Saloon was filled to capacity. Most of the patrons were men—overweight, over the age of fifty. The young, good-looking, cocky ones preferred a more dangerous venue.

Immediately, Agent March popped into her head. He embodied danger. A sexy troublemaker that could short-circuit the logic center of her brain and rev her body into overdrive in six seconds or less.

The neon green Coors Light clock over the horseshoe-shaped bar read 9:15. She smirked and wondered if Mr. DEA was having fun at the fifth annual “Big Johnson” contest at the In-N-Out Lizard Lounge. Kenna wasn’t sorry she’d sent him on a wild dick chase, but she’d loved to have satisfied her curiosity whether his “Johnson” had a chance at the finals.

A fistfight broke out between two big-assed tattooed women while the sleazy object of their affections drunkenly cheered them on. The momentary distraction didn’t alleviate the feeling she shouldn’t be here for any reason. Especially not for money.

Marissa wandered by with a Hispanic guy, blindingly white teeth set against his pockmarked skin. In his mid-thirties, the man proudly wore the colors of a motorcycle gang—and about a million tattoos. Spooky, the way his flat brown eyes raked up and down Kenna’s body like she was a particularly tasty burrito. She shook her head at Marissa, who detoured him toward the tequila bar.

Skynyrd blared. Pool balls clicked. Video lottery machines beeped. Conversations rose and fell. The masses of people were on vacation in world-famous Sturgis during Rally Week and were in the party mood.

Not her. She’d rather be flopped on her king-sized bed engrossed in the latest J.D. Robb novel.

Kenna propped her elbows on the sticky table behind her while she surveyed the room.

A gray-bearded ZZ Top look-alike swaggered by with a skinny dude sporting an orange bandana. She squinted at the table in the back where Marissa had returned and was holding court.

Whoo-yeah. Check out the guy with the killer ass.

A mountainous woman vigorously chalked her pool cue and blocked her view.

Come on baby
, Kenna silently chanted to the man,
let me see if the front matches the back.

As if feeling her intense gaze, the man turned.

Kenna nearly toppled off the barstool. Mr. Killer Ass was none other than Agent Drake March.

Shit.

His midnight hair fell in a sexy tangle around his angular face. He’d streaked the hair by his temples gray, making him appear older and sexier, if possible. A too-small black T-shirt clung to his defined chest and abs. Tight, tight jeans hugged his muscular thighs and yep…if the bulge beneath his button fly was real, then he definitely was a candidate for the “Big Johnson” award.

Grand prize division.

Irritating that he’d pulled off the biker garb. But he’d never be able to hide the cop attitude. Could he? When his gaze swept the crowded room she resisted the urge to duck.

Chances were slim he’d recognize her in a short black wig and brown contacts. She’d better not risk it.

She twisted her creaky stool around, feigning interest in the maraschino cherry sinking to the bottom of her ginger ale.

Less than thirty seconds later, hot breath seared the back of her neck. A sexual shudder ran the length of her body.

“I liked you better as a redhead, Kenna,” he drawled.

Damn if her nipples didn’t tighten. She pasted on a smile and faced him. “Well, if it isn’t A—”

He covered her mouth with his. His big palm cupped her jaw, his thumb pulled her chin down, forcing her mouth open wider to meet his delicious onslaught. Sucking, stroking, licking, the kiss grew wetter, hotter and deeper with every arc of his talented tongue. Insistent kisses continually brushed seductively over her tingling lips and she couldn’t break free.

After several dizzying seconds of destroying her composure, he drew back a little and murmured, “I’m not ‘Agent’ anything right now, so watch your smart mouth or you’ll blow my cover. Call me Drake.”

“Mmm,” she purred, darting the tip of her tongue out for a quick taste of his full bottom lip. “How did you know I wasn’t gonna say
asshole
?”

“Damn, you are a pain.” He dropped his lips over hers hard, and the punishing follow-up kiss damn near scorched her tongue.

With her body a quivering mass, nothing mattered but the way this man made her feel: like an obsession.

Minutes, hours, days later, out of breath and out of her mind from such unrestrained passion, Kenna retreated. She pressed her forehead to his. “Stop kissing me.”

“Stop letting me.”

Drake’s hands slid up the sides of her head, tipping her face back to meet his. “Jesus. One taste of you and I forgot how fucking mad you made me today.”

“How did you find me? Maybe the question should be
why
did you find me?”

Those mesmerizing eyes changed from indigo to steel. “You know why.”

“Uh-huh. You said I was free to leave after I answered all your questions.”

His grip dropped to her shoulders. “I lied. And don’t think I’m letting you out of my sight again. I’m still pissed off at you.”

“Strange. Didn’t seem like you were so mad a minute ago. I certainly wouldn’t have pegged you for the kiss-and-make-up type, March.”

She twisted away from him and saw Marissa headed straight toward them wearing a sour look.

Crap. Had she seen Agent March kissing her? She was supposed to be here checking out potential clients, not sucking face with a cop who wanted to ruin her life.

She was so screwed.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“No. And not a word about who I am. I mean it, Kenna. You’ve pushed me far enough today. My cover name is Drake Mayhaven.” He sidled in behind her, keeping his hands nearly around her neck, hard, hot and possessive.

Kenna gritted her teeth. Marissa had an uncanny ability to read situations and people. She wouldn’t fall for his handsome face and lame attempts at charm.

Or would she?

Marissa, a striking brunette, turned heads as she crossed the room. She and Kenna lived in the same apartment complex. They’d been friendly, but not friends until last summer when Kenna’s loose tongue had spilled the details of her financial woes over a six-pack of Corona at the community swimming pool. Off the cuff, Marissa had suggested Kenna tour her old friend Jerry Travis around Sturgis. Marissa claimed she knew women who made a killing acting as sort of an escort during the Rally.

Kenna had assumed Marissa had been joking.

She hadn’t been.

In a moment of drunken logic, Kenna decided she had nothing to lose. Marissa worked in real estate and had convinced Kenna there wasn’t any difference in renting rooms or renting people. Once Kenna sobered up, she’d tried to back out. But after she’d actually met shy Jerry Travis she’d almost felt sorry for him. Which is probably why she’d agreed to the bizarre situation and the chance to stay in school.

“Kenna. You going to introduce me to your friend?” Marissa asked sweetly.

Drake’s left hand slipped down Kenna’s bare arm. He threaded their fingers together while he reached his right hand toward Marissa. “I’m Drake Mayhaven.”

“Marissa Cruz. See what happens when I’m late? Kenna makes all sorts of new buddies. So how did you two hook up?”

Kenna winced at Marissa’s sly reminder that she was supposed to be hooking up with Marissa’s friends, not making new ones on her own.

“Jerry Travis was a mutual acquaintance.”

“Really? Seems he neglected to mention your name to me,” Marissa half-chided.

“Must’ve slipped his mind. You know Jerry.”

An unreadable emotion flickered in Marissa’s dark brown eyes. “Pity about him. Were you two close?”

He shrugged. “We hung out. Did some business together.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Miami.”

“Don’t like Miami much myself.” She frowned. “Wait a minute. Did we meet at Daytona? Perhaps at the Tiki—”

“Possibly. It’s gotten to be nuts during Bike Week. Way too many people for my taste. That’s why I decided to come to Sturgis this year. Jerry had planned on showing me the sights but Kenna’s graciously agreed to do the honors. In Jerry’s memory.” His hand squeezed hers hard in warning.

“Of course. How thoughtful.”

Kenna’s teeth nearly bloodied her tongue when Marissa’s eyes kept purposely cutting to the women’s bathroom.

“Where you staying?”

Drake’s sexy voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Broken Arrow Campground. Wild place. Didn’t know what I was in for.”

“I’ll say. Here’s a piece of advice: it pays to watch your back.” She cast an imploring glance at Kenna. “You’re okay hanging out with him,
chica
?”

Kenna started to object. Drake’s grip increased and she found herself nodding like a hand puppet.

She’d like to reach back and twist his dick into a square knot but the pervert would probably enjoy it.

“Good.” Marissa held out her hand again, forcing Drake to let go of Kenna’s. “Nice to meet you. Call me if you need anything, Kenna.”

Kenna nodded and subtly moved away from Agent March.

Marissa had made it two steps before she turned back, adding as an afterthought, “Oh, since you’re staying at the Broken Arrow, a friend of mine—and Jerry’s—is throwing a private party there the night of the ZZ Top concert. Kenna’s name was already on the list. I’ll add yours if you like.”

Drake smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Last lot behind the RV hookups. Big black canvas tent. Can’t miss it.”

The instant Marissa departed, Kenna snagged her purse and slid from the stool on the other side of Drake to make her getaway.

She crouched down, weaving in and out of the mob of intoxicated people like a NASCAR driver. Vomit, sweaty leather-clad bodies, beer bellies, flabby, wrinkled bare breasts, she saw the glorious and grotesque firsthand.

A break in the crowd revealed her escape hatch.

She made a beeline for the back door. Sheer luck it stood wide open to clear out the gray clouds of cigarette smoke and body odors.

Once Kenna hit the cool night air she took a deep breath and ran like hell.