He rolled up beside the Dumpster and reached back to open the door.
A wide-eyed Kenna launched herself into the rear passenger side. She held the camouflage duffle bag like body armor as she dove for the floorboards. Once she’d slammed the door, Drake sped out the back exit of the complex.
Conversation remained pointless as he drove in circles, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Soon as he was certain no one had followed them, he parked in the Save-Mart lot.
Curled up in the fetal position in the back seat, Kenna’s body shook. Her pale eyes held the glassy sheen of shock.
“Hey,” he said, stroking an unsteady hand down her arm. God. She was so cold. When he repeated the gentle caress, she recoiled. He managed not to flinch at her rejection. “You okay?”
Hysterical laughter bubbled out. “Okay? I’m f-f-ucking p-p-eachy. Th-thanks f-f-or asking.”
He touched her again anyway. “Jesus. You’re like a Popsicle.” He twisted, intending to climb into the backseat with her. “Let me warm you up.”
Kenna shrank further into the burgundy leather. “You just stay the hell up there and leave me the hell alone.”
“Kenna—”
“Don’t.” Her mouth trembled but she firmed it. “I didn’t ask for this. This is your fault. You dragged me into this.”
Drake’s gut clenched at her bitter tone. With more harshness than he’d intended, he said, “By involving yourself with Jerry Travis you got into this on your own.”
“He’s dead! I told you I don’t know anything!”
In frustration, he threw up his hands and smacked the headrest on the passenger’s side. “Don’t you understand? It’s my job to investigate every avenue, even if it appears to be a dead end.”
“Then am I a dead end?”
“Not any more.”
Minutes ticked by. She measured him in silence and he was relieved to see she’d stopped shaking.
With a sigh, Kenna swung her sandals to the floor mat. She sat up and pressed her back against the door. “What aren’t you telling me, Agent March?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why was someone shooting at you?”
Drake could act the big, macho man and spout something lame like this was all part of his job; it wouldn’t be a lie. He decided to tell the truth for two reasons. First, Kenna needed to realize the severity of the situation. Second, if he pissed her off, maybe that anger would erase the dejection from her sweet face.
“What makes you think they were shooting at me?”
Everything inside Kenna shriveled in horror. “You think I was the target?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Her stomach roiled, snapping her fragile control. “For godssake, how can you even think they might’ve been shooting at me? You’re a goddamned DEA agent. I’m a doctoral candidate. No one is trying to kill me for my thesis.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she froze. Had that jerk-off Trent somehow played a part in tonight’s gunfire?
Kenna tried to blank the expression from her face, but Agent March caught it.
His shrewd gaze sliced into her like a laser. “Tell me who has a reason to want you dead.”
“Not dead. Scared maybe.” She nervously wound the purse straps through her fingers. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Let me make that determination.”
“Last year my grant application never made it to the appropriate department. When I found out too late to apply for a student loan or an endowment, I thought I’d have to drop out of the program. And I panicked. During a moment of drunken stupidity I told Marissa. She offered to lend me the money, but I…I just couldn’t take it, hence me earning it from Jerry Travis. Once I finally had the cash and paid the tuition—which was past due—I discovered this other guy in the program, Trent Eagle, had applied for and received the grant money. Instead of me.”
Agent March stayed curiously silent. “How well do you know Trent?”
She squirmed. “He dated Shawnee for a couple months.”
“He knew you were a grant recipient?”
Kenna nodded. “Our department is small. At first I didn’t fault him for applying. I mean all’s fair. But as the year wore on I suspected he’d done something to sabotage my application.”
“Why?”
“Little comments he snapped off when he thought I couldn’t hear him. Plus it made him psycho that my grades were better and the professors liked me because I’m not such a know-it-all asshole who plays the race card at every opportunity. Even with the financial help he nearly washed out and he’s ineligible for the grant this year.”
“So, realistically, he has a reason. He could’ve been the shooter.”
“Unlikely. Trent’s a wuss. He’d slash my tires or badmouth me, but he doesn’t have the balls to do anything dangerous. Especially not to my face.”
“You think he was responsible for your grant application getting messed up again this year?”
“Possibly. I told him if I found out he’d sabotaged my application I’d bring it up with the Dean of Students and the Financial Aid Office. Then he’d get kicked out for sure.”
“Anyone else you pissed off lately? Another guy you ‘toured’ around the Rally?”
She bristled. Tell him Jerry Travis was the only one, but the truth stuck in her throat. “Me not riding around on the back of someone’s Harley isn’t a killing offense.”
He’d focused his attention on a young couple quarreling over their screaming toddler as they unloaded diapers and beer into a beat-up beige minivan. “Who’d you meet tonight before I showed up?”
Kenna opened her mouth to tell him about the unsettling Mexican guy Marissa had almost brought over, yet something stopped her.
Drake turned, pinning her with a hard look. “Who?”
The coolness of his tone stung. “Some friend of Marissa’s.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Not personally.”
“What’d he look like?”
Kenna described him the best she could remember. Her voice faltered as Drake’s face remained blank as a statue.
“Did he have a spider tattoo on his left hand?”
The black and red image jumped into her mind’s eye. “Yes, now that you mention it, he did.”
He swore.
“What?”
“That was Tito Cortez. I’m assuming he’s the guy who’s having the party. His cousin Anson runs the Compadres. He’s about third in line of the Compadres command structure. Jerry told me about him and Tito is loosely connected to some people I deal with in Florida.”
She frowned. Where had Marissa dug Tito up? And why had her friend assumed she’d be willing to hang around with a thug?
“The Compadres have chapters across the country, including Florida, and are into everything from drugs to drag racing and strip malls to strippers,” Drake added.
“Terrific.”
He tilted his head from shoulder to shoulder. Crack crack. A grinding pop echoed and he groaned. “Move up front. Facing backward is giving me a serious pain in my neck.”
“This whole thing is a serious pain in my butt,” Kenna retorted.
“Too bad. Like it or not you’re in this up to your ass. Since we don’t know what’s going on, at least if you’re with me you’ll be safe.”
“Safe? Jesus! We just had people fricking shooting at us. How is that safe? Why am I even with you, March?” Dramatically, she smacked her forehead. “That’s right. If I don’t cooperate with you the IRS will come knocking. Or I’ll end up in the Meade County jail for solicitation.”
Drake brooded, forgoing his usual smart comment.
Her fingers clamped on the metal door handle, momentarily grounding her from this surreal scenario. She could leave if she really wanted to. Just jump out of the car and hide behind the potted palms in the Lawn and Garden Center until this all blew over.
/> Hah! And then what? If she’d didn’t cough up the cash for tuition she’d probably end up wearing a blue smock and working at Save-Mart.
Wasn’t like she could go home. Wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go. Her parents had worked themselves to death on the ranch before the bank had foreclosed on it. Shawnee and Marissa were her closest friends. For now, she was stuck with Agent March. Not only was the situation alarming, her immediate primitive sexual reaction to everything about him scared the living hell out of her.
She sighed defeat. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But after being shot at I’d almost rather take my chances with tax men than hit men.”
He grinned. A full out you-rock-my-world kind of grin.
Kenna’s heart did a slow somersault. God she was hopeless.
Dropping the duffle bag to the cargo area, she wormed her way up to the front seat and settled in.
Drake cupped her face in his hand. His thumb arced over her cheekbone in an effort to calm her. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Kenna. You’ll be safe with me, I promise.”
When the man wasn’t annoying her he almost seemed like the type of guy she could count on.
She doubted it would last.
Chapter Six
Drake found a spot in the jam-packed lot across from the old fashioned “motor” motel. Cheap, a little shady, perfect for blending in with the Sturgis Rally crowd. Since most places had been booked nearly a year in advance they were damn lucky they’d even gotten rooms.
Keeping Kenna shielded, he knocked on Geo and Bobby’s room.
Through the chain, Bobby yawned, “Hey, boss, everything all right?”
“No.”
Immediately the red door shut, the safety chains rattled and the door swung back open. Drake pushed Kenna inside first, followed and fastened the lock behind them.
Geo rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
He groaned. “What’s up?”
“Someone shot at us tonight.”
Right away Geo snapped to attention and scrambled out of bed. “When? Where did this happen?”
“Outside Kenna’s apartment complex about an hour ago.”
Geo yanked a T-shirt over his bare chest. “Did you call the cops?”
“No.” Drake placed his hands on Kenna’s smooth shoulders. She immediately tensed.
“Bobby, Geo, this is Kenna. She’s agreed to help us on this case.”
She snorted. “Like I had a choice, Agent March.” She shook hands with each man. “Do all you guys look like Cornhuskers linebackers?” Her gaze raked Geo and Bobby head to toe. “Bet you’ve got no problem going undercover as exotic dancers.”
Geo grinned. Bobby’s brawny chest puffed out beneath his flannel pajama top.
“Which one of you sneaky spy guys stalked me today?”
Bobby and Geo exchanged an amused look which for some reason set Drake’s teeth on edge.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s get everyone up to speed so we can all get some rest. Tomorrow is gonna be one long-ass day.”
Kenna shuddered and wrapped her arms more securely around herself, seeming waiflike and lost.
Sensing her discomfort, Geo gallantly settled her in the only chair in the room. He tucked the gaudy flowered bedspread around her. Bobby asked if she needed a drink. When she declined, Geo asked if she was hungry.
Before either of them could offer her a massage, Drake snapped, “She’s fine. Can we get to it?”
Kenna rolled her eyes. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Bobby and Geo followed suit.
Drake launched into an explanation of the evening’s events and a preliminary plan for the next day. Fifteen minutes later they were done.
“This is probably the only time you’ll hear me say this, but go ahead and sleep in.”
“Thanks for the consideration, boss,” Geo said dryly.
Kenna’s eyes had begun to droop.
“Come on. Let’s get you to our room before you fall asleep.”
Suddenly she was wide-awake. “Our room?” she repeated.
“Yeah, we’re bunking together.”
“I thought you were kidding!” She shot to her feet so fast she nearly fell flat on her face. With angry jerky movements she untangled the bedspread from her legs. “Get me my own room or I’m out of here.”
“No. Deal with it.”
“You deal with the fact I’d rather take my chances at my home in my bed with a sniper than have you breathing down my neck for the rest of the night.”
“She can crash in here,” Bobby offered quickly. “Geo won’t mind switching.”
“Shut up,” Drake said. “You’re not helping.”
“I think we should consider Bobby’s idea.” Kenna sent him a shameless smile.
Big tough field agent Bobby blushed and stared at his size fifteen feet.
Jesus. She’d already wrapped him around her finger. If he left Kenna in Bobby’s care he’d probably call her a taxi and lend her cab fare. Rookies.
“Don’t you have any input in this, Geo?” she cooed.
Drake moved so fast she didn’t have time to retreat. “Get one thing straight. This is my op. Until I say so, you’re stuck with me. Everything changed when someone took shots at you, Kenna. It’s my goddamn job to figure out who and why and what’s at stake. That means you and I will be roomies for the next few days. Get used to it.”
Kenna’s chin came up. “Forgive me if I don’t do the Snoopy dance.”
Geo snickered until Drake glared at him.
“Come on.” He reached for Kenna’s bag, but once again, she slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch my stuff.”
He went absolutely still. That was the second time she’d insisted on keeping him away from her bag. “Did you pack a gun in there?”
“Where’s your gun?”
“In my room. I’m asking you again: Do you have a gun hidden in there?”
“No. But I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own suitcase, Agent March.”
Inside, Drake exploded. Outwardly, he remained calm. God. He wanted to shake her. Grab onto those muscled arms and rock her back and forth until her luscious breasts spilled out of the flimsy camisole. Then he’d show her exactly what he was capable of.
“Well?” She hefted the bag and tapped her sandaled foot. “We going or what?”
Shit. He was acting like an idiot. An extremely horny idiot. “We’re going.”
His room was three doors down. Same setup as Bobby and Geo. Two double beds, a TV, a cheap-ass rickety table and one chair, also decorated in a blast of burnt orange and olive green.
Equipment covered the dresser. Clothes hung neatly in the closet. Luckily he hadn’t left the stuff from his shaving bag scattered all over the tiny counter in front of the bathroom.
Drake braced himself against the wall while he toed off his boots. Wallet, leather pouch and keys landed on the bed.
Kenna dropped her duffle by the door and flopped on the bed closest to the window. She yawned and flipped back the covers. “I’m wiped.”
“Aren’t you changing into pajamas?” Visions of sexy nightgowns teased him; a frilly baby doll barely covering her gorgeous ass. A black silk nightie highlighting her dangerous curves. Or his personal favorite: nothing but fire flashing in her eyes and a “do-me-big-daddy” smile.
“No. I don’t wear paj—”
“Even better. That way I know you won’t be sneaking out.”
She propped herself on her elbow and scowled at him. “Here’s where you threaten to tie me to the bed.”
Drake grinned. “Only if you ask me real nice.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head and pitched it toward the chair.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
The barb didn’t hold any sting when Drake noticed her eyes were glued to his chest. Hmm. No matter what her smart mouth said, her body didn’t lie. Seemed she was the one having a hard time catching her breath.
He stretched, flexing the musc
les in his biceps and contracting his abs. At the stunned, hungry look on her face he decided the hours spent in the gym were well worth it.
“What are you doing?” she croaked.
“Getting ready for bed.”
Drake sighed, dropping his hands to his waistband. His fingers fiddled with the top button.
Then he unbuckled his belt.
Her gaze zoomed to his fly as he oh-so-slowly lowered the zipper. Damn if his cock didn’t appreciate her rapt attention and offer an enthusiastic, hopeful salute.
She swallowed hard as he began to slide the jeans down his hips, inching them over his muscular thighs and past his knees.
“Enjoying the show?”
“God, yes,” she responded eagerly before she caught herself. A faint blush stole across her cheeks, highlighting her freckles. She abruptly turned on her side.
Drake shucked his jeans completely off and stood there, feeling like an idiot with a hard-on pressing out of the top of his black boxers. “What? No goodnight kiss?”
“You can kiss my ass,” she retorted.
“Careful, hot stuff. I might consider that an invitation.”
“Go to sleep, perv. On your own side of the room in your own bed.”
He laughed softly. “Goodnight, Kenna. Sweet dreams.”
Kenna slowed her breathing, pretending to be asleep. Drake would probably start snoring any minute. Wouldn’t that blow her fantasy of him straight to hell?
Oh yeah, he was man enough to fill a hundred fantasies.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was no use. Her brain insisted on reliving his sexy, impromptu strip tease. Over and over again until she’d memorized every damn detail.
His body boggled her mind. Long, lean and hard, muscled in all the right places—he definitely looked long and hard where it counted. Sweat beaded on her brow thinking about touching and tasting that tanned golden skin and corded muscles. Sifting her fingers through his unruly black hair. Taking his big cock in her hands. In her body. In her mouth. She suppressed a moan, but her body launched a rush of moisture south anyway.
Hell. She’d never get to sleep now.
A deep masculine grunt. Followed by a heavy sigh. The bed squeaked and the polyester covers rustled as he rolled over.
Running With the Devil Page 5