A Perfect Storm
Page 40

“Lucky for you,” Jackson said, “I can multitask.”
Together, they stepped into the lobby. “So what do you think?”
Jackson shrugged. “It’s a place I’d have chosen for myself.”
“Same here.”
“I told you, Arizona’s not a slouch in the mental works. But physically, she’s still a bitty female with more brass than strength.”
“Spencer is keeping a close eye on her.”
Jackson snorted with ill humor. “Yeah, I just bet he is.”
Hmm. Trace studied him. “It bothers you that he’s interested?” Not that Jackson should be surprised. Most single men would be sniffing around Arizona, and probably a lot of unfaithful married men.
“Not at all—unless he hurts her.”
“And if he does?”
“I’ll take him apart.” On that foul note, Jackson stalked away to peruse the interior hallways, the restrooms, the vending machine alcoves.
Trace watched him go. Since Jackson and Arizona didn’t share a blood tie, it wasn’t quite the same as what he’d felt when Jackson began chasing after his sister, Alani. But close enough to fill him with satisfaction.
The satisfaction was short-lived.
Would Spencer inadvertently hurt Arizona? What she’d gone through had left her emotionally brittle, but even the most thorough digging hadn’t uncovered anything in Spencer’s background to show him as less than a principled man. Knowing him now, Trace recognized the protectiveness Spencer felt for Arizona, and for anyone else in need.
He was a decent man, a capable defender, and sadly, since his wife’s murder over three years ago, he remained free of commitments. If he did choose to pursue Arizona, Trace had to believe he planned to go slowly and carefully.
But Arizona…well, she could tempt a saint, and no one in Spencer’s profession, with his lethal background, would ever be mistaken for such.
Luckily, Arizona’s trauma hadn’t stifled her independence or her ability to speak her mind. If she didn’t return Spencer’s interest, she’d let him know.
And Spencer would respect that.
Trace trusted that they were both adults and could decide their own relationship. But to be on the safe side, he planned to have a little talk with Spencer anyway.
* * *
WHEN HE GOT DOWN to the motel entrance, Spencer found Jackson standing there, frightening the locals. They walked a wide birth around him, and Jackson, pretending to be inebriated, gave them plenty of reason for caution.
So that was his cover? Figured he’d come up with something that allowed him to act goofy. Jackson was one hell of a fighter, with razor-sharp reflexes and an amazing intuition. But he was also low-key, laid-back, and irreverent—which made him the polar opposite of Dare and Trace.
Trace had the vibe of a keen businessman with a deadly edge. He was a driving force that couldn’t be reined in—and no smart person would even try. He wasn’t cocky like Jackson, but he carried himself with subdued self-assurance, and an acute awareness of his own capability.
Dare, who he’d met a few times now, was quieter, very matter-of-fact and relaxed about his ability. He didn’t say a lot, and he didn’t need to.
Spencer liked them all. The more he learned of their operations, the better he got to know them, the more he approved of their methods and respected their influence.
Obviously Jackson didn’t want anyone to notice him sizing up escape routes. Shaking his head, Spencer looked around for Trace. He stood with his back to the stairs, gazing out at the parking lot. Trace seemed less concerned about being observed, almost disdainful of his surroundings.
Bypassing Jackson, Spencer headed toward Trace instead.
He knew Trace was aware of him, had probably seen his reflection in the big window, so he led off with, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Trace continued to watch the lot. “What’d you tell Arizona?”
“Nothing.”
That brought him around. “She doesn’t know why you walked out on her?”
“She was getting ready.” He propped a shoulder on the wall. “Giving her privacy is what any gentleman would do.”
“And you’re always a gentleman with her?”
His brows bunched down over the way Trace asked that. “That’s why you’re here? Is that some sort of inquisition on my intentions?”
The slightest of smiles belied any menace. “I doubt you know your intentions at this point.”
That infuriated Spencer. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
The smile turned into a grin. “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Damn it, he’d left Arizona’s room in a good mood—which Trace had quickly shot to hell.
Trace shook off his humor. “She didn’t ask you where you were going or who had called?”
“She hesitates to pry too much.” Then, recalling her interrogation about sex, Spencer rethought that. “Or maybe it’s just that she’s selective in how and when she pries.”
Trace accepted that with a nod.
With growing suspicion and tension, Spencer asked, “You want to tell me why you’re here?” Trace surely had a better reason for seeking him out than idle curiosity.
“She ran out on you today.”
The hell she had! He didn’t appreciate the way Trace worded that. “She had some shopping to do, that’s all.”