A Perfect Storm
Page 18
“Yeah, pretty sucky, right?” After one brief squeeze, she pulled away. “I managed to get my head above water, but it wasn’t easy, and I knew I couldn’t do that for long. And even if I found a way to make it to shore, they’d just throw me back in again. Or shoot me.”
Imagining the panic she had to have suffered left Spencer hurting for her.
“For certain they weren’t going anywhere until they knew I was gone for good. See, they’d already told me that they needed the police to find my body. That way, they could tell the other women about it and use it as discouragement—”
“I get the picture.” And he wanted to kill them, all of them. But that satisfaction would be denied him; they were already dead.
“They weren’t counting on Jackson, though.” She propped her chin on a fist and smiled. “Poor guy just sort of stumbled onto the whole mess. I’ll never understand why, but he jumped into the thick of things, annihilated the goons, and then…”
Spencer waited.
She sighed and met his gaze. “Jackson dove in after me.”
Off a bridge during a storm into dark waters. Thank God Jackson had been there. “How many men were there?”
“Three.” She grinned with delight at Jackson’s ability. “But when I think of how he looked that night, I don’t think it would’ve mattered if there was a dozen.”
Spencer couldn’t muster even the most meager smile. “Dead?”
“Eventually.” She flapped a hand. “I don’t know if he killed them or…”
“I know about the group, hon.”
She went still, then tipped her head to study him. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m not your hon, but okay, if you know about them, then you already know none of those cretins survived that night.”
Not touching her wasn’t an option. He reached for her slender hand again and moved his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Appearing disconcerted, she glanced down at their clasped hands, cleared her throat and eased away. “So that’s it. You already know that Chandra, the head of the ring, got away that night. Because she hadn’t been in the car or standing there on the bridge, the guys never knew she was there in the first place. I didn’t know that they’d missed her presence, so I assumed she was part of the carnage.”
“She can’t ever again hurt you.”
Arizona directed a frown at him. “Because you killed her, when it should have been my privilege.”
He said, “I’m sorry,” and he meant it.
“Well…now all of them are gone, and I’m left at loose ends.”
Her mercurial mood swings kept him guessing. Yes, he’d shot Chandra, but he’d been tracking her for his own reasons, and it was debatable who had more right to vengeance.
That she felt robbed was a sad consequence of his actions. “Ready for dessert?”
Accepting the switch from morbid history to here and now, she said, “Dessert? Seriously? You do know how to treat a gal, don’t you?”
* * *
ARIZONA WAS THINKING how nice it felt to share with Spencer. He didn’t get all mushy on her, didn’t try to console her or make a move. He listened.
And she knew he understood.
Sure, he’d done that odd hand-holding thing, but then, people did that. They touched. She’d seen it plenty of times with Jackson, Trace, Dare and their wives. She didn’t hate it, but she wasn’t crazy about it, either.
When it was Spencer doing the touching, for some reason, it affected her even more. It wasn’t intolerable, really, but…she didn’t know if she’d get used to it or not.
Then Spencer turned from the fridge—and she saw he held a small but fancy birthday cake.
Stunned, she slowly pushed back her chair and stood on suddenly wobbly legs. “What is that?”
Very matter-of-factly, he replied, “Vanilla cream cake with whipped frosting. I think it has raspberry filling between the layers.” His gaze met hers. “But there are no hidden threats, Arizona. It’s not poisoned, and I promise, it isn’t something you need to freak over.”
“I wasn’t freaking!” But she was. The urge to escape left her heart hammering.
“Bull. You look ready to run away.”
She tucked in her chin. How could he know that? And how dare he say it out loud? “I don’t run from anyone.”
He set the cake on the table in front of her and, with a smile, said, “Sometimes you should. But not now.” Standing too close, all but towering over her, he whispered, “Not ever from me.”
No way would she look at him, not while he sounded like that, all dominant, protective male. Instead she eyed the dessert. It had fancy sugared rosettes and the words “Happy Birthday!” written in pale blue frosting across the top.
A lump formed in her throat. “I told you not to do anything dumb.”
In a touch so gentle it scared her half to death, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know. That’s why I refrained from putting candles on it.”
She snorted. “I’d have…”
“What? Socked me? Thrown the cake at my face?”
“Maybe.” His close physical proximity made her jumpy. “Well, get back in your seat then if we’re going to eat this thing.”
Even though she didn’t look at him, she felt his smile. “All right.” He stepped away. “More milk? Or coffee?”
Imagining the panic she had to have suffered left Spencer hurting for her.
“For certain they weren’t going anywhere until they knew I was gone for good. See, they’d already told me that they needed the police to find my body. That way, they could tell the other women about it and use it as discouragement—”
“I get the picture.” And he wanted to kill them, all of them. But that satisfaction would be denied him; they were already dead.
“They weren’t counting on Jackson, though.” She propped her chin on a fist and smiled. “Poor guy just sort of stumbled onto the whole mess. I’ll never understand why, but he jumped into the thick of things, annihilated the goons, and then…”
Spencer waited.
She sighed and met his gaze. “Jackson dove in after me.”
Off a bridge during a storm into dark waters. Thank God Jackson had been there. “How many men were there?”
“Three.” She grinned with delight at Jackson’s ability. “But when I think of how he looked that night, I don’t think it would’ve mattered if there was a dozen.”
Spencer couldn’t muster even the most meager smile. “Dead?”
“Eventually.” She flapped a hand. “I don’t know if he killed them or…”
“I know about the group, hon.”
She went still, then tipped her head to study him. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m not your hon, but okay, if you know about them, then you already know none of those cretins survived that night.”
Not touching her wasn’t an option. He reached for her slender hand again and moved his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Appearing disconcerted, she glanced down at their clasped hands, cleared her throat and eased away. “So that’s it. You already know that Chandra, the head of the ring, got away that night. Because she hadn’t been in the car or standing there on the bridge, the guys never knew she was there in the first place. I didn’t know that they’d missed her presence, so I assumed she was part of the carnage.”
“She can’t ever again hurt you.”
Arizona directed a frown at him. “Because you killed her, when it should have been my privilege.”
He said, “I’m sorry,” and he meant it.
“Well…now all of them are gone, and I’m left at loose ends.”
Her mercurial mood swings kept him guessing. Yes, he’d shot Chandra, but he’d been tracking her for his own reasons, and it was debatable who had more right to vengeance.
That she felt robbed was a sad consequence of his actions. “Ready for dessert?”
Accepting the switch from morbid history to here and now, she said, “Dessert? Seriously? You do know how to treat a gal, don’t you?”
* * *
ARIZONA WAS THINKING how nice it felt to share with Spencer. He didn’t get all mushy on her, didn’t try to console her or make a move. He listened.
And she knew he understood.
Sure, he’d done that odd hand-holding thing, but then, people did that. They touched. She’d seen it plenty of times with Jackson, Trace, Dare and their wives. She didn’t hate it, but she wasn’t crazy about it, either.
When it was Spencer doing the touching, for some reason, it affected her even more. It wasn’t intolerable, really, but…she didn’t know if she’d get used to it or not.
Then Spencer turned from the fridge—and she saw he held a small but fancy birthday cake.
Stunned, she slowly pushed back her chair and stood on suddenly wobbly legs. “What is that?”
Very matter-of-factly, he replied, “Vanilla cream cake with whipped frosting. I think it has raspberry filling between the layers.” His gaze met hers. “But there are no hidden threats, Arizona. It’s not poisoned, and I promise, it isn’t something you need to freak over.”
“I wasn’t freaking!” But she was. The urge to escape left her heart hammering.
“Bull. You look ready to run away.”
She tucked in her chin. How could he know that? And how dare he say it out loud? “I don’t run from anyone.”
He set the cake on the table in front of her and, with a smile, said, “Sometimes you should. But not now.” Standing too close, all but towering over her, he whispered, “Not ever from me.”
No way would she look at him, not while he sounded like that, all dominant, protective male. Instead she eyed the dessert. It had fancy sugared rosettes and the words “Happy Birthday!” written in pale blue frosting across the top.
A lump formed in her throat. “I told you not to do anything dumb.”
In a touch so gentle it scared her half to death, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know. That’s why I refrained from putting candles on it.”
She snorted. “I’d have…”
“What? Socked me? Thrown the cake at my face?”
“Maybe.” His close physical proximity made her jumpy. “Well, get back in your seat then if we’re going to eat this thing.”
Even though she didn’t look at him, she felt his smile. “All right.” He stepped away. “More milk? Or coffee?”
