by Diana Layne
“You’re going to—” She gasped. Her breath caressed his skin. He cursed himself from noticing. “But how will you—?”
He looked away from her gaze, he couldn’t allow that turbulent mix of fear and hope mess with his head. “Leave that to me. There’s a place on Grand Avenue. A real dive. You can’t miss the flashing pink lights. It’s called The Cheshire. I’ll meet you there. Midnight.”
Against his better judgment, he reached out and touched the back of her hand. It trembled under his fingers, her skin warm and soft.
He jerked, curling his burning fingers into a fist.
Focus. Keep your distance. Find the kid, find Stevens, and get the bastard responsible for the death of your men.
Keith stood. With a scowl, he pocketed the deck of cards. “Remember. The Cheshire. Midnight. Don’t be late.”
***
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