A Perfect Storm

by Lori Foster

“Me?” He had to be kidding. “You’re the lunatic, bud.”

  She struggled upright a little more, relieved to realize that while her hands were tied behind her, the idiots hadn’t taken her knife. She felt the familiar pressure of the sheath against her spine and the shape of the handle against her wrists.

  Real observant, bozos. “Oh, God.” Her head felt like it might topple right off her shoulders. Through narrow, pain-filled eyes, she looked around at her surroundings. They’d planned for her. They’d planned the whole thing. “What did you do?”

  “I brought you home. Well, not really home. Just where I can see you more—and see more of you.” He reached out to touch the top of her shirt.

  Arizona used her feet to kick him backward. “Paws off!”

  Her venom surprised him. He stumbled, barely catching himself, then rubbed his midsection where her heels had struck him. “You’re angry?”

  “Angry?” Yanking at her bindings only made her head hurt more, but it’d be expected—and then, when she wiggled her knife free, they wouldn’t suspect anything. “Cut me loose and we’ll see how angry I am.”

  “But…” Bewildered, he shook his head. “You’re not afraid?”

  “Of a dead man?” She snorted. “Get real.”

  That surprised a short laugh out of him. He held out his hands. “But I’m not dead.”

  “Yeah, you are. You’re just too stupid to know it yet.” To be on the safe side, she again looked toward the window and gave another abrupt shake of her head. She’d seen the glint of sunlight—probably off binoculars, or a rifle barrel, or a scope—the second she’d come to.

  Spencer had found her. Earlier than expected. So did that mean Marla had tattled early?

  And if she had…well then, Marla must not want her gone for good. Friend was a word she didn’t quite trust, but she could maybe count Marla as an ally.

  “You should stop struggling, because you can’t get your hands free. And now that you’re awake, I’m going to fasten them to the grommet in the floor.”

  “Yeah—not happening.” She’d kick in his face before she let him do that—or die trying. “Come near me, and you’ll be sorry.”

  One brow lifted with interest. “How?”

  “Try touching me and you’ll damn well find out.” Best bet was that Spencer had Jackson with him. And maybe even the other two…

  Her stomach roiled again, and she had to breathe fast to settle it. Barfing was not an option. Off to her side, Quin cowered, silent and sad, his face a mess.

  Arizona spared him one look of apology, then dismissed him. He wasn’t a threat. “Look, Joel—” She paused. “Not your real name, I don’t suppose?”

  “Actually, it is.”

  “Great.” How had she so badly misjudged him? “You’re not only a psychopath, you’re an idiot, too.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You will stop insulting me.”

  “Or what? You’ll kidnap me? Hit me in the head?” She looked around. “Tie me up in a dirty room on a lumpy mattress—”

  “Shut up!”

  She huffed out a long breath while wiggling again as if trying to get her hands free.

  She almost had her knife. “So where’d the other goons go?”

  “They’re keeping watch.”

  “Outside?” Wow, that’d be…too perfect.

  “Yes.”

  Satisfaction tipped up her mouth, but she quickly wiped it away. “Listen up, Joel. If you let me loose now, I can maybe keep you alive, otherwise—”

  In a startling, unexpected move, he jerked to his feet and viciously backhanded her.

  Given the earlier bonk to her brain, well, yeah, she reacted sluggishly—so he got her good. Her head snapped to the side.

  Blood dripped from her lip, and she licked it away, then worked her jaw. Hopefully that was the best he had.

  “Know what, Joel?” Through narrowed eyes and a distinct lack of generosity, she met his gaze again. “Now I hope they do kill you.”

  Quinto took a shivering breath. “He is not Joel anymore.”

  Whoa… “Come again?”

  “Joel is an idiot,” said…Joel.

  Arizona lowered her chin, stared at him anew and wanted to howl in frustration. In an aside to Quinto, she asked, “What’s this? Who’s this?”

  “I’m one and the same,” Joel drawled, “but I’m stronger. I’m not a fool. I’m not a weak, mewling artist.”

  Oh, for the love of… It needed only this. Arizona couldn’t help but laugh. When his face tightened, she laughed some more. “Here I was, doubting my instincts, thinking I’d really blown it. But of course I didn’t know you were a bad guy. I mean, the dude I met wasn’t, right? So how could I have known?”

  “You couldn’t.”

  Amazingly, she felt better about things. At least now she knew her judgment wasn’t completely screwed. “So you’re…what?” She snickered. “Like Jekyll and Hyde?”

  “You dare to laugh at me?” He bunched up in outrage, his hands fisting, his face flushing. “You’re insane.”

  “Yeah—says the kettle to the pot.” She spat blood and got her fingers around the hilt of her blade. “Jesus. My head is throbbing like a marching band.”

  “You’re not natural.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She looked at the window again and gave another shake of her head. Neither Quinto nor Joel paid any attention. They assumed she was clearing her thoughts. “So, Joel-number-two, did you know they ran a trafficking ring?”

  He went still.

  “Yeah, stow the surprise. I know all about their dirty little business.” In tiny increments, she slid her knife free of the sheath. “Those morons? Terry and Carl and everyone else associated with selling humans, well, they’ll be rotting in hell right about now. But you, you walked free.”

  “Yes.”

  “So tell me, did you know what they did? Did you know they bought and sold people?”

  “Since I own the place, of course I knew.”

  Her thoughts reeled. “You own it?”

  Joel shrugged. “That’s why Joel hung around. To comfort the ones that got away.”

  Oh. My. God. He really was totally cuckoo. “That’d be Joel-one, right?”

  “We are one and the same!”

  “But Joel-two,” she said, ignoring the bite of his insanity, “you didn’t comfort them?”

  His lip curled in disdain, making him look very, very different from the needy artist. “They were used up, destroyed. Dirty. I took care of them when no one else wanted them any longer.”

  “You mean you preyed on them, right?”

  “After being in service, they’re weak. They need me.” He stepped closer and looked her over with sick intent. “Easy pickings.”

  Oh, to nut him real good. But he was so unstable, she didn’t know what he might do. He could kill Quinto before the others could get to him.

  No way did she want that death on her conscience; Quinto had been through enough. So instead of striking out, she engaged him in conversation. “What do you want with them? You rape them? Prostitute them out? What?” If she could keep him talking, the chances of survival were a whole lot improved.

  “Of course not. That’d be unseemly.” He looked beyond her. “I make them…pets—just as I’ve done with Quin.”

  Imagining Quinto’s shame at hearing that taunt, she rushed her movements. In the process of slicing through the bindings, her sharp blade did a little damage to her hands, too, but nothing all that serious.

  Nothing that would slow her down once she was free.

  “You’ve got something else on Quin, though, don’t you?”

  Joel shrugged as if it didn’t matter, as if telling her would
have no consequences at all. “He has a sister. Or rather, I have his sister.” He laughed.

  “Huh? No kidding?” No way would she tell him that Quin had already shared that info.

  She felt the binding loosen. Almost free. “Where is it you have her?”

  “I keep most of the girls at my home, in the cool, comfy cellar.”

  “Where is that exactly?”

  He tipped his head. “Still plotting? Still thinking that you might get away?” His laugh had a demonic ring to it. “Foolish girl.”

  “I know where he lives,” Quinto whispered, his gaze going a little wild. “I know.”

  “Yes, but your sister isn’t there, is she Quin?” Smiling, he checked a nail.

  “Why not?” Arizona asked as if it didn’t really matter. “You have her somewhere else?” Where?

  “Actually, she was on a delivery truck due to come in, but with Terry Janes shut down…” He shrugged. “I’ll be able to find out, though, and then I’ll get her.”

  Quinto deflated.

  Arizona did not. She took great pleasure in saying, “Yeah…guess again.” She stared him in the eyes—just a minute more, and she’d have her hands loose. “That truck has already been recovered.”

  “No.”

  “Yup.” She turned to Quin. “Everyone on it is safe.”

  “Safe?” For several seconds Quin stood there, then he collapsed to his knees beside her. “You are sure?”

  “She’s lying!” Joel yelled. “She can’t know that.”

  “Actually, I can and do know all sorts of things.” Through the window, in the distance, Arizona saw Spencer come over a crumbling concrete wall, Trace right behind him. That meant Dare was watching the back, and Jackson, no doubt, remained hidden with a sniper rifle.

  Her priority now was getting Quin out of this cluster-fuck without him getting hurt. “Everyone who was on that truck is safe—and you’re as good as dead.”

  Joel’s hands bunched into fists. “No one is going to kill me.” He took a purposeful, threatening stride toward her.

  She was ready—but then Quin lurched forward, putting himself in the way. “No, don’t.”

  God save her from heroes. “Uh, Quin…how about you move?”

  Joel heaved with anger. He withdrew a small gun from his pocket. “Get out of my way.”

  Quin braced himself, saying, “I cannot. You’ve done enough.”

  Joel aimed the gun, and Arizona rushed to say, “Quin, seriously, dude, stand back, okay?”

  He kept his back to her so he could continue to watch Joel. “I am so sorry.”

  “I know. Don’t sweat it.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot. Just do me a favor and don’t stand too close to me.”

  Before he could oblige, Joel slugged him in the temple with the gun, and Quin staggered, falling to one knee. Joel used his foot to shove him aside.

  She felt for Quin, but she wouldn’t let him distract her. Her gaze bored into Joel. “You never stood much of a chance. But now you’ve sealed your fate.”

  “Big talk—for a woman bound.”

  Her head didn’t hurt anymore. Nothing hurt. Fury obliterated every other feeling. She held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. “Even with my hands tied, I will annihilate you.”

  Quin groaned.

  Joel said to him, “Shut up.” But then, showing his concern, he started to the front to look out the window, asking, “You were followed? You brought friends to help you?” He saw his two guards still standing there.

  Reassured, even cocky, he returned to Arizona. The gun held loosely in his hand, he crossed his arms and grinned at her. “You almost had me. I was almost convinced that you’d brought along an army.”

  “Not an army, no.” But given their skill, they might as well have been. “So, come on, then. I can see you’re feeling feisty. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Though she kept her posture relaxed, her hands behind her, she was ready, more than ready.

  Haltingly, a little unsure despite his boastful words, Joel took a step toward her, raising his fist to strike her—and she kicked him hard in the balls. As he grabbed for himself, she kicked up again, and this time got him in the solar plexus. He wheezed and fell backward.

  She was off the mattress in a heartbeat, her knife held in her now bloody hands.

  Hysterical at seeing her free, Joel scuttled backward, screaming, “Guards! Get in here!”

  One big bruiser burst in from the back, a gun in his hand—but before Joel could get too excited about that, the glass in the back window shattered. As if in slow motion, the man lurched forward from the force of a bullet. Blood bloomed on his chest—and he collapsed face-first to the floor.

  Smug, Arizona said, “Told you so.”

  Shaking, Joel took aim, but she moved fast, slicing his wrist with her knife. The blade cut through tendons and muscles with ease.

  He screamed as the gun dropped from his hand, blood streaming along his arm, his face going white in shock and pain.

  “Oh, my God,” he wailed. “What have you done?” Holding his wrist, big tears in his eyes, he whimpered as he fell back against the wall and then slowly slipped down to the floor. He looked at her, his expression wounded. “Oh, my God.”

  Annnnndddd…Joel the artist was back.

  “Geeze Louise.” Arizona collected the gun from the downed guard—who was moaning, so apparently alive—and then kicked Joel’s gun well out of his reach.

  A glance back at Quinto showed him staring at her in awe. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, I am okay.”

  She hunkered down in front of Joel. “What about you, buddy? You okay?”

  Suddenly Spencer was there, bolting through the door. He made quite the entrance, all decked out in weaponry, a bulletproof vest, his gun aimed, his face set, ready for…anything.

  Joel screamed again, but she understood that.

  Spencer was a large, dark force, heaving in rage. He looked really, really awesome.

  “Wow,” Arizona said to Joel. “Will you look at that?”

  Spencer stopped short at seeing her position in front of Joel. He began to breathe hard.

  Slowly, Arizona stood. She felt…well, awkward. She nodded at his loaded ammo belt. “Got your party dress on, I see. Expecting trouble?”

  He pulled his attention from her to survey the room, taking in Quinto, then the fallen body on the floor, with a glance. His gaze came back to her face, searching her expression before going all over her body. His eyes narrowed, and he started toward her with a heavy stride.

  Arizona blurted, “There are other women. At his house. Quinto knows where it is.”

  Spencer halted again.

  Quin nodded fast.

  She gestured at Joel with the bloody knife. “He’s…well, he’s nuts. Totally whacko.” She winced. “You can’t kill him, okay?”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Oh.” And here she’d been all set to be noble and defend the jerk. Sort of took the wind out of her sails. “Well…good.”

  “I figured if you needed him dead, you’d have taken care of that.”

  “Um, yeah, I would have.” Was he serious? Did he truly trust her to make that call? Thinking about that, she said, “Can you maybe tell the others not to kill anyone, either? I mean, it’d be so messy and everything—”

  In one long stride, Spencer reached her and gathered her into his arms.

  “I’m a mess!” she protested, already knowing she’d get blood on his shirt and on him.

  “You’re mine,” he said in return.

  Okay, hold the phone. She drew i
n air to ask him what the hell that meant, but he hugged her tight, so tight she could barely breathe, much less talk.

  Her head protested, but really, her heart liked it just fine.

  “You disarmed the wounded goon?” Spencer quietly asked.

  She squeaked, “Yup.”

  “The crazy guy is unarmed?” He kissed her temple, her ear.

  “I took his gun, so, yeah.”

  His big hands opened on her back, stroking, cuddling, then squeezing again. “And the other one, he’s not a threat?”

  She shook her head.

  Jackson came in then. He was dressed much the same as Spencer—kick-ass and prepared.

  His presence in the small building meant that they’d already “secured” the guards.

  He saw them and rolled his eyes. “So what are we doing here?”

  Spencer eased her back, cupped her face in his hands and smoothed her hair. “Do you have a concussion?”

  “Eh…probably,” she admitted. “I’m a hair away from chucking, seeing two of you, and I’ve got a wingding of a headache.”

  He groaned and kissed her forehead. “What do you want them to do? Tell me quick, so I can get you to the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” But she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She needed to get to Joel’s house, she needed to see about the women he held captive. She needed—

  “Shh. Give your orders, honey. It’s your call. I understand that.”

  “You do?”

  “I’m not a slow learner.” He gave her a look of reprimand. “The purpose of your note was crystal clear.”

  Ho boy. Yeahhhh…she’d meant it to be a statement: she was available if he wanted her, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, completely alter her psyche. She was who she was, formed by life experiences and a strong personality, and an even stronger will to make a difference. She’d try to buffer her take-charge attitude, but she could never become a mere observer.

  “I, uh…” She cleared her throat, certain that she wanted to go on seeing him and not too proud to say so. “If you were interested, I could maybe meet you halfway.”

  “One thing at a time, honey.” Spencer gave her a gentle smile. “The task force agent is on his way with a team, and so is the ambulance. I’m holding on by a thread, so you will go to the hospital. Okay?”