“Never happens though.”
“The thing is, some weird things started happening within Vasquez’s organization and it spooked him. So we’re wondering if there was any truth behind Jerry’s warning.”
Tito paused, snagging another cerveza. “Tell me something. Did Vasquez ever get evidence trying to link one of his higher ups to Diablo?”
Bingo. “Why?” Drake waited through Tito’s indecision on whether or not to share information.
Finally Tito said, “Fuck it. The whole fucking thing was just weird. Because my cousin Anson did. Guess who was the supposed defector?” A ghost of a smile played around Tito’s mouth. “Me.”
Drake didn’t have to fake his surprise. “You? How the hell did you know it was Diablo?”
“A guess. In the last year they sent three different packages. One to me, one to Anson at his liquor store, another one to Anson at his repair shop. First was a picture of me with Hector Valero’s right-hand man, Duey Barnes, on his yacht off the Florida Keys. The date on the photo matched the weekend I’d been in Miami, so whoever sent the pictures had done their homework. The second package, delivered two months later, contained a taped phone conversation I’d supposedly had with Duey about moving some money we’d ‘liberated’ to an account in the Caymans. Again, the dates matched. The voice on the tape sounded like mine and coordinated with the dates I’d been in Denver.”
“And the third?”
“About six months ago Anson received a copy of a rental contract for a warehouse in goat-fuck Kansas. Paid a year in advance with my signature on the lease.”
Drake whistled. “Your cousin didn’t get suspicious?”
“At first I thought he was playing a joke, especially when I showed him the cheesy-ass picture of me and that fucking weasel, Duey. But Anson didn’t know nothin’ about it. Laughed our asses off, figurin’ if someone had gone to all the trouble to superimpose me in a picture with Duey, they’d probably contact me for some cash to keep quiet about my secret ‘connection’. Anson and I waited, wondering who the hell would be that stupid.”
No shit. Who had big enough balls to tangle with the Compadres?
“Who delivered the packages?”
“The second time, Anson got the package. No threats, just the tape and a letter inside suggesting he pay more attention to my activities.”
“The last time, with the rental agreement, we hired an investigator to find the start of the paper trail, but she didn’t have any luck. And we never could find the courier who delivered the packages, either. Although we’re assuming it was a local.”
The three packages were news to Drake. “What’s happened since?”
“Nada.” Tito sucked down his beer. “Business as usual in our territory. What’s going on the Vasquez end? Still have weird shit going on?”
“Just Jerry’s execution. We’re wondering who ordered it.”
“Not us.”
“Then who?”
“Easy. Hector Valero.”
“Jerry’s boss? You sure on that?” They were getting into conjecture here, but Drake couldn’t resist taking a peek into the criminal mind. Tito Cortez was a lot shrewder than he’d first imagined and a lot more dangerous.
Fury briefly distorted his vision when he thought about this lowlife putting his dirty hands on Kenna. If Cortez ever touched Kenna again, he’d break every one of his fingers, job or no job.
“No. But my theory is Jerry Travis made up Diablo to cause problems. He’d never been the most reliable source anyway. I’d bet part of what he’d been telling us was true. Maybe he was looking to start his own operation by causing dissention among the big players. When Valero caught wind of it, he took care of him before Jerry became a bigger problem for everyone.”
“That does make sense. I’ll pass it on.”
“Good.” Tito glanced at his Rolex and stood. “Tell Vasquez I’ll be in touch.”
“Will do. Thanks for the info. Now I can really enjoy my vacation.”
Tito departed without a backward glance.
Drake took a minute to collect his thoughts. So far, it sounded like Diablo had a personal vendetta against the Compadres, and Tito Cortez in particular. He felt like he was running in circles. Maybe Tito was right. Had this whole thing begun (and ended) with Jerry? Had Jerry been purposely feeding the DEA bogus information? Who had delivered the three mysterious packages? And why?
Hell. He was no closer to finding answers than he’d been for the last two weeks. As soon as he reported the lack of information to his supervisor, she’d advise him to drop it and return home.
Like he didn’t have fifteen cases waiting for him in Miami. He wouldn’t get a moment’s peace. He probably wouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep for the next six months. When he’d slept last night, he’d slept well.
His thoughts drifted to Kenna. She’d taken off the minute Cortez had released her, not that Drake blamed her, but where had she gone?
He looked around. Marissa had caught Cortez on the way out. His eyes narrowed as Cortez peeled off some bills from a wad of cash in his pocket and handed them over.
Their eyes met. Drake stalked toward her. “Where’s Kenna?”
“What do you care? You got what you wanted from her.”
He doubted Kenna had told Marissa about last night, so he played dumb. “What do you mean?”
“Your meeting with Cortez, which is all you were really after from her anyway. Happy now?”
His temper flared. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “She’s my friend, Mayhaven. I know her a lot better than you do.”
“Some friend,” he sneered back, “selling her tour guide expertise to the highest bidder. What’s your cut?”
Marissa fumed.
“Just tell me where she is.”
“You know, I don’t think I will. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. Besides, since you seem to think you’re so damn clever, figure it out yourself.”
Marissa disappeared into the masses like smoke.
Kenna had probably hightailed it to the rendezvous point. He scanned the immediate vicinity just in case and his gaze landed on the curtained off area.
What the hell was the demo room about, anyway? Despite his wariness, he’d better take a quick spin inside so he could detail it in his report.
At his hard look, the bouncer moved aside without arguing.
Just inside the door, he went utterly still.
Surely Kenna hadn’t gone in there alone?
*
Kenna wanted to punch any man who assumed because she’d dressed provocatively they had every right to touch her. No wonder she normally hid her body under baggy clothes. Invisibility was much safer.
She managed a tight smile for the bouncer guarding the door to the demo room. Surely he wouldn’t frisk her too? He merely nodded as she ducked under the heavy swag and stepped inside.
The sweet scent of pot smoke lingered in the humid air. For a second Kenna worried the secretive demo room was a place to try different types of drugs—until she caught sight of a skinny woman on her knees, noisily sucking a big burly biker’s cock.
The man groaned, grabbed the woman’s head and began plunging in and out of her mouth with unrestrained gusto. With his pants around his knees, the chains holding his wallet and knife jingled with every hard thrust.
Kenna froze, unable to tear her gaze away as the man groaned and raced to the finish as the woman sucked and swallowed and made happy sounding moans.
Much as she hated to admit it, a tiny kernel of heat settled in her core. She forced herself to move forward.
Five feet away from the blowjob couple, a man sat on a hard-backed chair with a naked woman straddled across his thighs. Her long brown hair teased the crack of her tiny butt as she threw her head back in ecstasy. She lifted and lowered, using her silver stiletto heels on the chair rungs beneath the seat for leverage as she impaled hers
elf on his cock.
The man grinned and squirted a gel-like substance—from a penis-shaped bottle no less—on her nipples. Taking her enormous breasts in his hands, he squeezed the globes together, dragged his tongue across the tops. When she moaned, he sucked, licked and bit her nipples as she began to ride him harder.
Fascinated, Kenna wasn’t able to scurry away so quickly this time. As the couple climaxed—together naturally—the crowd applauded. Surprised her they didn’t get up and take a bow.
Still, what would it be like to be that uninhibited? Her thoughts zoomed back to last night with Drake. She hadn’t exactly been Miss Prim and Proper.
A young guy wearing a pinstriped, double-breasted suit stepped in front of the couple. “For those of you who’ve just joined us, Dante and Cheyenne have generously demonstrated our product Cold Heat.” He held up the bottle. “Icy cold when first placed on the skin. As friction is applied, it warms, creating a delicious contrast. It’s available in cinnamon and mint flavors at the sales counter at the back of the tent.”
People began milling to the next demonstration. She hung back, her eyes frantically searching for the exit.
God. She felt like Alice in Wonderland meets John Holmes in Wonderland: She’d walked into the world’s largest porn movie.
“First time here?” an amused male asked.
Kenna spun around and backed up, tripping in the heels. The professionally dressed guy hawking the Cold Heat grabbed her elbow, keeping her from falling on her ass.
He smiled. “Relax. I’m JJ Jameson, head of PR for Joysticks.”
“What exactly is this place?”
“A place for consenting adults to see a demonstration of Joysticks’ latest toys and newest products. Any other questions?”
After a slight hesitation she blurted, “Are the couples doing the presentations…umm…” Real mature, stuttering and stammering.
JJ lifted a dark brow. “Professionals? No. Just enthusiastic customers with a streak of exhibitionism. Why, are you interested in doing a demonstration?”
Kenna blushed.
“I’m kidding. When you make your way to the back, check out the selection of vibrators. And in the bondage garden we’ve got a helluva sale on paddles.”
She frowned. “For boating?”
“No. For spanking.”
Wow. People really did that? She knew Drake would never hit her and it’d be a cold day in hell before he let her have control. A snort escaped before she stopped it.
“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” JJ warned.
“No judgment from me. It’s just the guy I’m with, well, he’s pretty dominant. Not in a bad way.” Shoving aside her embarrassment, she asked, “So if I wanted to show him my dominant side what product would you suggest?”
JJ grinned. “This.” He jiggled a small, sealed bottle of Cold Heat. “Guaranteed to drive even the most controlling man out of his mind.”
“Where can I buy it?”
He took her hand, placed the bottle in her palm and gently curled her fingers around it. “On the house. Enjoy.” With a mock bow, he departed to hock more wares.
Kenna scoped the place out and decided since she was here, she might as well enjoy herself. Maybe enjoy was the wrong word. Not shrink like a prude and run for the nearest exit.
With determination, she marched up to the next presentation and learned way more than she’d ever wanted to know about vibrators. Big thick ones. Long skinny ones. Glass ones. Smooth ones shaped like animals. Some tiny enough to wear on a single finger. Remote control models. The enormous one with ridges and bumps looked too much like studded snow tires and quite frankly, scared the crap out of her. But the ones with the clit vibration attachment had intriguing possibilities. And the woman demonstrating seemed to prefer that model, if her moans of satisfaction were any indication of quality.
As she wandered, she noticed she wasn’t the only spectator unbelievably turned on. Several couples had taken matters into their own hands and were going at it right on the canvas floor. Missionary style. Doggy style. Sixty-nine. Threesomes in every combination. Moans, groans, grunts, sighs of completion. Aromas of heat and sex filled the sweltering air. She breathed deeply, letting it wash through her like a sultry breeze.
Kenna clenched her thighs together. Her sex throbbed in time to the bass thumping from the loudspeakers. Beneath her top, her nipples contracted. Her skin tingled. She wished for relief from the hot sexual ache invading her body. Staying in here another moment surrounded by people wallowing in hedonistic pleasure when she couldn’t wasn’t fair.
Dammit, she wanted, she deserved that same mindless, passionate connection. But she didn’t want to join in and trust her body to a stranger. She wanted Drake.
Now that he’d gotten his meeting with Tito Cortez and had the information he needed, would he let her go?
Yes.
Kenna still wanted him, just one more time. She wanted more of the delicious heat that exploded when they were within five feet of each other.
Yet, her pride didn’t want to want Drake. And realistically she knew he didn’t want her. The real her. Kaye Anne. It’d be best to make a clean break. Grab her stuff from the motel and forget the last two days had ever happened.
Tossing the bottle in her purse, she ducked out the side exit and practically ran to their prearranged rendezvous point.
Chapter Fourteen
The night air didn’t cool the warmth in her body or her rising temper.
As she picked her way back to the campsite where she and Drake were meeting, she heard the roar of the crowd and the deafening thunder of thousands of motorcycles as ZZ Top took the stage. Guitar riffs wailed and people hustled past her to catch the show.
The campground was mostly deserted now, as it was the prime time for partying. She fought her nerves, as it wasn’t the smartest move wandering through the area alone. Should she have waited for Drake outside the party tent?
No. He’d shown he didn’t give a crap about whether or not men pawed at her. She didn’t need his brand of protection anyway.
Still, it paid to be alert. She focused her attention on the uneven terrain and piles of paper, cans and bottles littering the landscape. It’d be her luck to break her damn ankle traipsing through this cow pasture, especially since there weren’t lights out this far.
Kenna had just spied the tent with a white flag and motorcycle when a big hand clamped on her shoulder. Furious that anyone else dared to touch her, she spun and let her fist connect with something solid. Blindly, she swung again, lower. Another direct hit. She’d fight; no other man would put his hands on her without her permission tonight.
She aimed higher, hoping for a headshot, but this time the blow was blocked and her attacker latched onto her wrist.
“Jesus, you little hellcat. Would you knock it off?”
She froze. “Drake?”
“Who the hell else were you expecting?”
She wrenched her wrist from his grasp. “After the night I’ve had you think I’m gonna take any chances?”
He stepped closer, rubbing his jaw. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”
Anger rose and she punched him in the arm hard enough he felt it and hard enough her knuckles smarted.
Anger sparked in his eyes. “Don’t hit me again.”
“Or you’ll what?” she taunted. “Hit me back?”
“For christsake no. What kind of man do you think I am?”
Kenna retreated, willing her heart to drop back into a normal rhythm. “You aren’t the man I thought you were, that’s for damn sure.”
Drake loomed over her. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Sick of being pushed around, she pushed back. Didn’t even faze him. Which kicked her resentment up another notch.
“Yeah, you’re some great guy, some great protector, Agent March, letting those asshole bouncers feel me up, while you watched and did nothing.”
> A muscle ticked in his jaw but he stayed dangerously silent.
“And then, when you’d repeatedly warned me about staying away from Tito Cortez, when that bastard pulled me onto his lap, you stood back there like a statue and did nothing again.” Her lungs strained under the effort of her rapid, angry breaths, but she forced the cruel words out anyway. “You probably got off on it, you perv, since highhanded is your style.”
“That’s enough.”
“I’ll say. Call Bobby and Geo. I want to go home.” Truer words had never been spoken. All she wanted was to crawl into her cool sheets in her tiny little apartment, jerk her grandmother’s wedding ring quilt over her head and pretend the last two days were a bad dream. She clenched her jaw and blinked back the tears of humiliation and frustration burning her eyes.
“No.”
Kenna’s head whipped up. She swallowed hard at the raw fury darkening his face.
“You finished?” he asked coolly. “Because I’ve got something to say.”
She managed a slight nod before she looked away. God. She really didn’t want to hear his excuses.
“As an agent I’ve been doing this long enough that I know how to react when situations get out of control. I have to be adaptable, Kenna. I have to stay levelheaded at all times, especially when the unexpected happens. About ninety percent of the time ops don’t play out the way we’ve planned. My job is to assess the situation and salvage whatever part of it I can without compromising my position.”
Wasn’t your position that was compromised, she thought mulishly.
“But when that greasy bouncer put his hands on you…”
Her gaze snapped back to his.
“As a man, I wanted to rip his fucking arms from the sockets. But instead I had to stand there and pretend I didn’t give a shit. I had to stand there and watch him enjoy humiliating you.” His bitter laugh cut through the night air. “Oh, and to make my night complete, I had to pretend it didn’t bother me that a slimeball like Tito Cortez touched you like he had every right to.”
Running With the Devil Page 13