by Dawn Ryder
It was going to be a night to remember.
* * *
“What the fuck?” Saxon mumbled. Bram looked up and made a sound under his breath.
“Just another—” It took Bram a moment to see what Saxon had. “Uh … yeah, that’s bad. Except, the doorman just let her in.”
Saxon’s eyebrows lowered. He actually blinked and looked at his drink, but there was only a small amount missing from the bottle. Nope, he wasn’t impaired, but his brain felt like it had gone numb.
She didn’t belong there.
That much, he was certain of. It was clearer than anything else he knew in that moment. Hell, it was speeding through his veins, triggering some sort of alarm. He set the beer bottle down without realizing it. He was acting on impulse, a fact that stunned him, on his feet, ready to go after her. Whoever she was, she had a mop of dark brown hair with copper highlights that she’d twisted into a messy knot on the back of her neck. It gave him a great look at the expanse of her nape, and damned if he didn’t want to taste it. He actually took a step toward her because the attraction was so strong. He caught himself in the last second, forcing himself to stop and assess her critically.
That messy knot of hair on her head, it wasn’t the sort of thing most women wore into a bar. There was a touch of function in it, like she’d escaped from someplace she needed to be, while the messy part declared her to be made of something just a little less tamed.
That just made her hotter.
There was a little curve to her lips that matched the excitement shimmering in her eyes. Hell, the look on her face darn near took five years off his life because one good long look and he almost believed in happiness again.
And then he felt like he was kicked in the balls as he watched her walk past the doorman, into what Saxon knew damned well was a nest of underworld thugs. “Oops, excuse me” wasn’t going to keep her from getting a bullet between her eyes. The image of finding her body, seeing those eyes lifeless, made him want to pull his gun free and make sure it didn’t happen. The impulse was so strong, he felt it squeezing everything else out of his brain.
“Whoa.” Bram had reached out to stop him. “What are you doing?”
Saxon brushed Bram’s hand aside with a motion that gained him a grunt from his partner because it was damned sharp and more than a little uncalled for when Saxon factored in that he’d failed to communicate his intentions. They were partners, and jumping into something without clueing your sidekick in was a great, textbook-perfect way to get a flag sent home to his mother. He was practically begging for a case of “DDS.”
Death due to stupidity.
He was an experienced, decorated field agent, but at the moment, he felt a lot like an over-protective brother.
Okay, maybe not a sibling.
That was another red-hot flash that ripped across his brain. There was nothing, and he meant nothing, brotherly about his feelings for her.
Shit.
That was another fatal mistake—getting personally involved. He had a case to solve and a major underworld player to take down. There was absolutely no room for anything but professionalism.
So why was his brain trying to switch modes on him?
“What got your attention?” Bram prodded him.
“She doesn’t belong here, much less back there.” Saxon was sizing up the doorman. He pulled out his cell and started typing in a text to Dare Servant, but Dare was sending him a text.
Got eyes on Kitten. Saxon turned the phone toward Bram.
The little bit of technology vibrated as a new text came in.
Coming down the alley with a male.
Bram’s eyes narrowed as he made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Looks like it’s time to work.”
Saxon discovered himself torn for the first time. Kitten was an experienced operator. They wouldn’t be getting a second shot at following her, but the sight of the woman going past the doorman was burned into his memory. He couldn’t dismiss her as collateral damage.
He punched in a code.
“Seriously?” Bram asked. “She might be Kitten’s replacement.”
“She’s not.” Saxon answered with more confidence than he’d felt in a long time. “She’s in the wrong place.”
Saxon felt the minutes ticking by. His team was moving, shifting positions for their strike. He was about to blow their cover out of the water.
For what?
He ignored the question because the ball was already in play. Good or bad, he’d made his choice, and there was only one thing to do now.
Take a swing …
There was a hoot as one of their female agents climbed up onto a table and started dancing.
“Hope you know what you’re doing.” Bram said before he moved over and blocked the bouncer while looking like he was applauding the agent’s actions.
Saxon kept his attention on the man at the back door. He shook his head but people were holding up their phones now, taping the incident. He abandoned his post against the tide of repercussions that would come down from the city. There had been a time when the French Quarter operated above the law but modern-day politicians minded their reputations these days and the connected generation made that harder than ever with their Tweeting, Facebooking, and Youtubing.
People were spilling in from the street, drawn by the commotion. The doormen were crushed between bodies as two more women jerked their tops off and began scrambling up onto table tops.
Saxon used the opportunity to slip through the back door, hoping he wasn’t already too late.
* * *
There was a whole different feeling in the back of the building. Ginger felt it prickle across the surface of her skin. It was more sultry, definitely on the darker side but not in a bad way. It was an instinctual vibe, one that felt like it was settling into all of her pulse points and triggering a passion for satisfaction of every appetite she had.
A couple of the men in the kitchen looked over as she crossed the doorways. Ginger kept her chin level, feeling the flop of the paperback book against her right hip where her cross-body bag was resting. There was a new feeling prickling across her nerve endings now, one of unexpected victory. Being allowed beyond the tourist areas was like scoring some sort of bonus point in the adventure category. She smiled brighter as she made it to the back door of the restaurant.
The alleyway was an eerie place. She was surrounded by noise, from the bar behind her, Bourbon Street, and the private party in front of her, but it was all muffled and mixed together while she was between the buildings. A stray gust of wind blew down, lifting her skirt and raising goosebumps on her legs. Under the partial moonlight, it was like she could feel the spirits that were rumored to inhabit the French Quarter. Whether or not she believed in ghosts was irrelevant, there was a sensation of life, one that gave her a buzz. It was as if the bricks of the buildings were imprinted with the memories of the eras they’d seen.
Another doorman stepped into her path. She had to tip her head back to make eye contact, and she felt a shiver run down her spine when she did. This man didn’t mess around. He considered her with a hard expression that made the scar running through his lower lip look majorly intimidating.
“Kitten is”—Her voice sounded less confident than she liked. She swallowed as the guy frowned at her—“expecting me.”
There, that was better. Ginger dug deep, connecting with her memory of the way Kitten had looked while dancing, full of confidence and the will to take life by the short hairs. Ginger smiled at the guy. He looked a little doubtful but raked her from head to toe, lingering for just a moment on where the skirt gave him a teasing glimpse of thigh.
“Right … inside.” He waved her past but pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to her. “You know the rules.”
She was already inside before she got a look at what he’d thrown at her. It was a beauty mask, or maybe nap mask was a better way to describe it, one of those black satin things that completely covered
a person’s eyes.
“You lying bitch!”
There was a hard sound, one of flesh hitting flesh.
Ginger looked up, her enjoyment of the moment evaporating instantly.
A man was sprawled on the floor, clearly the recipient of the punch she’d heard connecting with his jaw.
“Kitten knows who she works for. I told her to bring you to me.”
A man came out of the shadows of the room, emerging like some sort of judge. The man on the floor had sat up but he remained on his butt as he raised his open hands wide.
“Look man, I know you’re the boss.” He was clearly pleading, the tone of his voice making Ginger want to gag.
“Do you?”
“Hell yeah, everyone does what the Raven wants.”
“Except you,” the Raven said as he leveled a pistol at the man. “You took it upon yourself to order a hit under my authority.”
“Well now … that was for your protection, had to deal with the matter immediately.”
“You mean, before I had a chance to hear Cortman’s side of the story. Now there is only yours.”
The guy had turned ghastly white; Ginger was pretty sure she matched his pallor.
“And you somehow think I am stupid enough to not know what you are about.”
“It won’t happen again,” the guy declared.
There was a single discharge from the gun, one that made Ginger jump. Her attention was on the falling body, the sound of his head hitting the floor, making her want to vomit. The scent of fresh blood filled the air, twisting her insides.
“I know it won’t.”
The guy’s tone was so icy, Ginger sucked in her breath because it chilled her to the bone. Evil had never been a tangible thing in her world until that moment. Now, she was pretty sure she could smell it in the air.
A couple of heads turned as the Raven and his men caught her in their sights. A strange sort of shock went through the room about the same time as Ginger recognized both of them from online photos. Which was really interesting because Marc Grog was supposed to be dead. Very, very, dead. And he so wasn’t.
“Shit!”
“What the fuck?”
As the Raven shifted the gun toward her, she turned and ran. It felt like time had slowed down, allowing her to notice how long it took to complete her turn, the way she was lurching away from the men behind her, fighting to push her feet against the floor and launch her body away from the scent of fresh blood.
“Someone get her now!” An order came out of the darkness. “She fucking saw the whole thing!”
Her insides twisted, a warning bell ringing inside her head. She turned the second she got into the alleyway, but the street seemed a million miles away. Still, she had to make a try for it.
She ran straight into another man. Whoever he was, he was far more intimidating with his square cut jaw and hard expression. There was determination glittering in his eyes, and she felt like it might just melt the flesh right off her face because he was downright deadly looking, but in his eyes she saw a difference. One that was as stark as day versus night. There was a flicker of determination in those blue orbs, one that made her want to cling to him.
He yanked a gun out from beneath his suit jacket and reached out to grab her bicep. He yanked her toward him, turning slightly so that she stumbled right past him while he placed himself between her and the men crying out for her blood.
In that instant, he surpassed every other male on the face of the earth.
Fuck.
Her timing was epically off, but that didn’t stop the burst of realization from flashing through her brain.
“Run.” It was a hard command. One edged with authority. She caught a half look behind her as he took up a position of defense, firing off a couple of bullets while backing up toward her.
“Now.”
Ginger took off toward the street, the light and blur of music a promise of life. Once again, she was straining against the pull of evil behind her, ripping every last shred of strength from her flesh in an attempt to reach safety.
To touch life.
Ginger suddenly realized why the bricks of the buildings felt like they held the echoes of spirits. When life was snuffed out violently, the soul didn’t want to move on. She was trying so hard, but every second was a mini eternity that tormented her with her lack of distance from the murder scene. She was going to wake up as a ghost haunting that alley, wondering what the hell had happened.
Her damned heart nearly burst as she heard more popping sounds of gun fire.
“Do exactly as I say if you want to live.”
Ginger was treated to a hard shove right in the middle of her shoulder blades. The strappy sandals twisted when she pitched forward and she tried to get her feet under her. She ended up wobbling like a newborn giraffe, but she’d made it to the edge of the street and out into the crowd of people.
If she wanted to live?
Hell yes …
She surged forward, feeling her unlikely savior joining her.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The man came in close, looping his arm across her back so that her temple ended up hitting his shoulder.
She liked him right there.
Hell, she wanted to curl into his embrace and take shelter there against his broad chest.
Epic bad timing …
“This way,” he said but he didn’t wait for her to comply. He locked his hand on her hip and pulled her against his side. A jolt of satisfaction went through her, making her blush. Somehow, her damned sex drive had suddenly kicked into high gear. Shit, the guy even smelled amazingly strong.
“Who … are you?” Ginger wasn’t sure why she was asking. At the moment, it didn’t matter a rat’s ass.
He sent her a glare that let her see that his eyes were blue, a beautiful shade like ocean water in some exotic location like Jamaica. “We’re going to hide in plain sight. It’s our only chance.”
He sounded so dammed confident. She was a hairs’ breath from acting like a startled chicken and darting away from the scene behind her without thinking about where she was going. He, on the other hand, was controlled. She looked into his eyes again and soaked up his steady gaze before he returned to scanning the people around them.
He made her believe she could survive.
It was the solace she needed, filling her with a confidence she hadn’t known she possessed. She was just nursing off of his confidence because it was the only port in a storm.
Ginger turned her head and saw the first doorman. He was poised at the edge of the alleyway talking into his cell phone as he looked at the crowd.
“Get your face out of sight.” Her companion reached right up and captured her neck, pushing her head down without a morsel of concern for how much he was invading her personal space.
Well at the moment, that was small potatoes anyway. She relaxed and looked like she was nuzzling against him.
Damn, he smelled good.
“That won’t do much good if you don’t get her out of those clothes.”
Ginger jumped, losing her balance again when she tried to land on the two-inch-heeled sandals. Her companion snorted as he slid his arm around her and carried her through the next few steps. She looked over at the second man who had slid up beside them. He was flashing a smile and moving with the beat of the band but one look at his eyes and she realized he was as deadly serious as the man she was leaning against.
“Here,” he said as he tugged her elbow.
They were all suddenly slipping into another bar and through the mass of people who were dancing to a different song. It was a little odd to just change beats, like flipping through the shuffled songs on an iPod, but with the songs starting in the middle. It was a stupid thing to notice, too, when there were more important things to deal with.
Her damned brain was still in panicked chicken mode.
Whoever her companions were, they pulled her along, reducing her to feeling like a football being car
ried through the opposing team. She was insanely grateful because they seemed far more in their element than she was. She ended up in a back room, which smelled of hair spray and coffee. The second man shoved the door shut and flipped the lock. Ginger stared at the deadbolt, realizing just how little comfort it gave her when she coupled it with her memory of how burly the backroom doorman had been.
“Get out of that dress.”
Ginger hugged herself as she turned on the first man because her brain had suddenly decided to stop understanding the most basic English.
He was digging through a rack of clothing, yanking hangers out as he looked at the dresses on them. She realized it was a dressing room of some sort, with a makeup station against the opposite wall. What captured her attention was how in control he was. The gun wasn’t in sight, but she knew he had it. Nothing about being shot at had rattled him.
“Dress off … now.” He turned and spoke in a lower voice. She realized she was staring at him with wide eyes, likely looking about two seconds from fainting.
Get a grip …
She drew in a deep breath but got distracted by her hands and forearms. There was crimson blood splattered on her skin. The metallic scent of it was filling her senses as she tried to process this newest bit of horror.
“Ah…” She mumbled.
“I know. We’ve got to get you out of the Quarter,” he said with a little too much kindness for her pride.
Get a fucking grip!
“Someone will notice that fresh blood on you, and I need the dress for evidence.”
“Right,” she succeeded in answering him.
Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the expression on his face. She didn’t know, and it didn’t much matter. Her insides knotted as she felt like a rope was tightening around her neck and the need to run was darn near overwhelming, but conversing with him brought her out of chicken mode and back into being a human with reasoning powers.
“Evidence?” she questioned as she reached up to work on the collar of the dress.
“Yes. You’re a witness.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Three words had never been so hard to produce.