A Perfect Storm
Page 39

Seemingly unaware of his fury, she withdrew a catalogue. “Know what I really want?” She thumbed through the catalogue until she reached a dog-eared page. Coming to stand by him, practically leaning into his side, she pointed out a costly, custom knife. “Isn’t it cool?”
Spencer only half heard her as she waxed on about bead blasted, anodized titanium handles, double thumb openers and pivot screws.
Chagrined, he dropped down to sit on the side of the bed. “You know your knives.”
“I know most weapons,” she agreed as she sat down beside him. “But knives are my favorite.”
And the knife she favored most was one he’d already purchased for himself. The irony leveled him; love of a quality blade was one more thing they had in common.
“Soon as I can save up enough coin, I’m going to get it.”
The contrasts left Spencer reeling. She sat beside him, young and, at the moment—while discussing weapons—very sweet. She was so intrinsically female, her face animated and her tone light…but she talked about buying a highly lethal weapon that, if pressed, she would use against a deadly goon.
Her thigh touched his. Her intoxicating scent filled his head.
And she wanted to debate who had the right to vengeance.
Determined to set her straight, he drew her back up to her feet, his hands on her shoulders, his expression stern—and his cell phone rang.
Damn. He waffled—but he knew he couldn’t ignore it.
Shifting away from him, she lifted a brow. “Expecting a call?”
“Not really.” Spencer glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Trace. Frustrated at the interruption, he answered with a succinct, “I’ll call you right back.”
Without a single question, Trace said, “Meet me downstairs instead.” And he disconnected.
Well, hell. Definitely interrupted. “Sorry.”
Arizona’s eyes narrowed.
Spencer ignored her curiosity to say, “We need to get some dinner before we start tonight.”
She transferred her gaze from his face to the phone in his hand and back to his face—but she didn’t press him for info. “Dinner before we head to a bar and grill?”
His blood ran cold. Again. “God Almighty, Arizona. Tell me you don’t eat there.”
Batting her eyes at him, she said, “You think they might poison me?”
How the hell had she survived so long? “Poison you, no. At the moment they don’t want you dead. But drug you? Yes.”
“Yeah, well, for the purposes they’d intend, the two would be about the same.” She sniffed. “But no, I don’t eat there.” And then with added vitriol, “Give me some credit, will you?”
Knowing she’d just tweaked him again, Spencer growled. “Can you ever give me a straight answer?”
“Sure, and yes, we need to eat. I’m up for a burger if you are.”
“How much time do you need to get ready?”
Now that she’d blown his cool, she smiled. “Twenty minutes, give or take a few.” She indicated her face. “Gotta do it up a little to make sure I get attention.”
She’d get attention no matter what. On top of an incredible body and breathtaking face, she had enough attitude and presence to turn heads wherever she went. She breathed, and anyone with a dick would notice. “Will you promise to meet me downstairs when you’re done?”
“Cross my heart.”
He looked into her eyes, believed her, then bent and put a kiss to her forehead. “Kiss number two,” he told her.
“Oh.” She looked dumbfounded for only a moment. “Well…good. Glad to have that out of the way.”
Just to prove a point, he kissed her once more, his mouth lingering against her temple. He breathed in the soft, clean scent of her, letting his nose touch her damp hair as he absorbed her near-electric vitality.
He had Trace waiting downstairs…and maybe that was a good thing. At the very least, it served as a deterrent.
As he ended the kiss and walked away, she remained rooted to the spot. Satisfied with that reaction, Spencer opened the door and said over his shoulder, “Don’t keep me waiting.”
* * *
TAKING HIS TIME, Trace studied the motel that Arizona had chosen, making special note of each egress, including any windows that opened. He prowled the perimeter, scrutinizing the lighting, the nearby establishments, the ambiance, the traffic—and he had to admit, she had good instincts.
He circled back around to the lobby entrance to meet up with Jackson, who’d done his own surveillance. He found him standing just outside the front doors, smiling, lost in thought—no doubt about his impending nuptials.
He’d tried to leave Jackson behind, but given his close association with Arizona, Trace wasn’t surprised that Jackson had insisted on coming along.
Though Trace hadn’t wanted to admit it, he actually liked Jackson, and truthfully, it relieved him that Alani was not only in love, but with a man who could keep her safe.
Smiling, Trace clapped Jackson on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble forward.
“What the hell?” Jackson regained his balance and scowled.
“You came along to work, so clear your head, why don’t you?”
“It’s clear.” Jackson’s scowl lifted, and he grinned. “’Cept for when I’m thinking of my beautiful bride-to-be.”
“Which is apparently all the time.” Trace watched a couple head into the motel, made note of another man departing.