A Perfect Storm (38 page)

Three! Well, they weren’t taking any chances with her, the buttheads.

She grinned as the first guy got close, and when he reached for her, she kicked out, catching him in the balls. He doubled over. At the same time she ducked a meaty fist from another man and spun around. She kicked him in the knee. It hurt him but not enough.

She could draw her knife, but she had no illusions about getting away.

Not from three men.

Showing her knife now would only put her at a disadvantage—she’d lose the knife for sure, and she had a feeling she’d need it later.

A hard arm wrapped around her neck, wrenching back her head, while others grabbed for her wrists. A cloth-covered hand clamped over her mouth.

She didn’t understand…until she breathed in the sickly sweet scent, and dizziness assailed her.

Chloroform.

No, hell, no! Anger gave her strength. She tried to hold her breath as she doubled her efforts, stomping toes, gouging shins, but the dizziness got worse.

She managed a solid head butt, got her heel into a soft groin…

Someone cursed while someone else laughed.

Off to the side, a man said, “Get her feet, you moron!”

A
fourth
man? What the hell? Had they sent a battalion after her?

Unfortunately, Quin was cowed enough that he jumped to obey, struggling to grab hold of her feet. She kicked him in the face, bashing his nose and sending him backward. Poor Quin crumpled to the ground, blood flowing.

Someone laughed even harder at that.

“You’re useless,” the man said. “Utterly useless.” And then, out of nowhere, she got clubbed in the temple.

And even as she faded, Arizona feared for Quin.

She also recognized the voice.

Joel Pitts. The homely little creep from the bar. The kindly, goofy artist.

Well, hell.

Now
it made sense.

* * *

F
ROM
THE
TOP
of an abandoned building, his eyes burning, Spencer watched Arizona being dragged into the pawn shop. Each of the men who’d dared to touch her would pay dearly. He’d see to it.

He had himself under icy control, because that’s what was needed.

But as soon as he had her safe again—

Jackson crept up beside him. “How many?”

“Counting the kid and the fucked-up artist, five. The artist and the kid went in with her.”

“So the others are just guards, huh? That’s convenient.”

“She maimed them,” Spencer said, and he tried not to sound admiring. But damn, she was a handful and then some. If there hadn’t been so many of them, she just might have pulled it off.

Jackson leaned up to look over the roof and grinned at the sight of one guy rubbing his crotch, another still bent double, holding himself, and the third limping on a damaged knee as he went around to the back of the building. “Girl’s got deadly aim, ya know?”

Yes, he did know. He’d once been the recipient of that aim.

Before she’d come to trust him. Before she’d come to stay at his home.

Before she’d given herself to him.

Knowing he had to block those thoughts or emotion would overshadow deliberation, he shook his head. “Dare is watching the back exit?”

“Yeah. He’ll have that third guy covered, too. Unless they have an underground tunnel, they aren’t going anywhere with her.”

The building they’d dragged her into was square, squat and visible on all sides.

With the note she’d left, Arizona also had left detailed info about the area. She must have gotten up early enough to run the neighborhood through a program check. In one sentence she’d apologized to Spencer for not telling him her plans, and in the next she’d told him that if he insisted on getting involved, he should follow her instructions.

And he did.

“Could be a basement.” It amazed Spencer that he managed to string together coherent words with such blazing rage squeezing his throat and surging through his bloodstream. Trust went both ways, but Arizona would learn more about that once he had her safe.

“Probably is. At least a cellar or something like it. Most of these old shitholes have them.” Jackson chewed his bottom lip and shocked Spencer by deferring to him. “So what do you want to do?”

“Kill them all.”

“Seriously?”

Damn it. Jackson hadn’t sounded particularly shocked or disagreeable about that idea. Spencer shook his head. “No, not the kid.” He rubbed his tired eyes and accepted the truth. “I believe that’s Quin, the waiter from the bar. Arizona…cared for him, that’s why she’s here. He could be in a forced situation. And she’ll kick my ass if I let him get hurt.”

“And if it turns out he’s not forced?”

“Then she can do whatever she wants with him.”

“Gotcha.” He sent a code to Dare and Trace, then looked through binoculars. “Huh. I can see them.”

Spencer took the binoculars from Jackson and was relieved to see Arizona’s eyes open, a mean smile on her mouth.

Thank God.
The relief was enough to rob him of composure. He hadn’t wanted to consider any alternative other than her being dazed. Now that he could see her—looking brazen as always—he could breathe a little easier.

“We could force our way in—” Jackson said.

“But she could get hurt in the process.” They didn’t know if Quin or the artist might be armed. “No, we have to do this right. And her note did ask us to give her some respect.”

Jackson snarled something indistinct but nodded.

“Doesn’t sit right with me, either.” Spencer kept his gaze on her, willing her to caution. “But she didn’t think we’d let her do this on her own—”

“And we fucking wouldn’t have!”

“—so this is her way of proving herself.” Of getting the respect she needed.

The respect she deserved.

No more trying to change her.

They both fell silent as they considered the setting.

Her idiot captors had her on a thin, narrow mattress, in a middle room, but in view of a window. Quin hovered near her side, traces of blood now smeared over his face, and his nose, upper lip and chin purpling with bruises. The kid probably had a broken nose—not that Spencer would spare him any real sympathy. Not yet anyway.

Joel Pitts stood at the foot of the mattress, staring at Arizona and literally rubbing his hands together.

Clichéd prick.

Lowering the binoculars, Spencer asked, “You got a clear shot from here?”

A crack sniper, Jackson lined it up, and said, “Yep.” He continued to look through the scope, then lowered the rifle. “The thing is…you won’t like this, Spencer.”

His heart slammed to a standstill. He put the binoculars up again. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Arizona is giving me the signal to wait.”

Tension vibrated through him.
“There’s a fucking signal for that?”

Jackson scratched his ear. “There’s pretty much a signal for everything.”

He couldn’t believe it. “So she knows we’re here?”

“She’s sharp as a tack, so, yeah.” He rolled to his back and pulled out his cell. “And it looks like she’s awake, pissed off and determined to call the shots.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A
RIZONA
DID
HER
BEST
to ignore the pain in her head. It throbbed, pulsed, and every so often, her stomach cramped as if she might puke.

But since her hands were tied behind her, and she didn’t have a bucket handy, that’d be really gross.

“I think you scrambled my brains.”

At hearing her speak, Joel jumped in delight, expectation bright on his face. He drew a shuddering breath of excitement when she sat up straighter. “You’re awake!”

“Barely, asshole. What’s your deal, anyway?”

He shriveled back. “Listen to that language. What is wrong with you?”

“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.”