A Perfect Storm
Page 115
“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 f**king 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 f**king 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
ARIZONA 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, ass**le. 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.”
“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 f**king 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 f**king 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
ARIZONA 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, ass**le. 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.”
