Running With the Devil (8 page)

Marissa took charge and reassured the worried older couple. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. Thank you.”

Kenna peeled her eyes open, one lid at a time. “I just need to sit down.” She stumbled toward the wooden bench facing the street.

Marissa muttered and plopped next to her, handing over a bottle of water. “Drink this. You look like you’re gonna pass out,
chica.
”

“Feel like it too.” She drank, careful not to guzzle it all at once, lest she add throwing up to her public humiliation. “I can’t believe this happened to me on top of what happened last night.”

“What happened last night?”

She took another sip. “After we left the bar, someone shot at us at the apartment complex.”

Marissa gasped. “
Shot
at you? Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” A total expression of bafflement deepened the frown lines between Marissa’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Where did you go after someone shot at you? To the police station?”

“No. I went with Drake.”

“To the campground? Dammit, you could have stayed with me. Why didn’t you call me last night?”

Kenna hedged. “Because I was really freaked out. I’m still freaked out. That’s why I called you today. This whole thing with Drake…I don’t know if I trust him, even if he supposedly was a friend of Jerry’s.”

A soft hand stopped her from taking another drink. “I’m glad you called me. I’ve been worried sick about you and this Drake person.”

When Marissa didn’t elaborate, Kenna said, “Why?”

“Don’t get mad, but I don’t trust him either.” Marissa expelled a heavy sigh. “I learned some pretty disturbing things about my so-called friend Jerry when I went to Daytona this spring. So disturbing, in fact, I told him there was no way I’d let you hang out with him during Sturgis this year. No matter how much money he offered. I cut all ties with him shortly afterward.”

Kenna’s stomach rolled over. But she’d kept in touch with Jerry via email without Marissa knowing. Crap.

“Then he wound up murdered.” Marissa shivered. “I wish I’d known what kind of person he’d become. He was always so sweet and harmless when we were younger.” Marissa’s enormous brown eyes shimmered with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a lousy friend. And when this guy showed up out of the blue, claiming to be a buddy of Jerry’s…I didn’t want to tip him off that I knew what kind of guy Jerry really was. He was so determined that you show him the sights…and I couldn’t get him to leave so I could talk to you alone.” She sniffed and reached in her purse for a Kleenex. “This is so unbelievably screwed up.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is! Don’t you think it’s suspicious that all this bad stuff has happened since he showed up?”

Maybe Marissa was on to something. Kenna felt those niggling doubts come back full force.

Her gaze sharpened. “And where is this Drake guy now after some thug tried to steal your purse?”

Kenna pointed to the seedy bar kiddy-corner from where they sat. “He had a meeting at the Back Door Saloon.”

Marissa slumped back into the bench and wouldn’t meet Kenna’s quizzical gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, tell me, Marissa.”

“Fine.” Folding her arms over her chest, her tone was cool. “The Back Door Saloon is rumored to be the place to make deals without the cops’ interference.”

“As in drug deals?”

She shrugged. “That among other things.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My friend Angela used to work there as a bartender. She’s told me some things about that place that’d set your hair on end. Stay out of there and stay away from anyone who admits to doing business there.”

While Kenna digested the information, she watched the gleaming motorcycles parading up and down Main Street. The rumble of engines, the smell of exhaust, the dry heat. Gave her a headache. Every muscle in her body throbbed. She glanced down; her knees were bleeding. She wanted to crawl in bed—her own bed—and sleep until the pain went away. She thought about the Excedrin and everything else in her duffle bag back at the motel. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”

“Yep. In my line of work I need it every day.” Marissa rummaged in her Coach purse, coming up with two white pills.

Kenna popped them in her mouth and gulped the last of the water. “Since someone shot at me I can’t go home. Got any suggestions on what I should do now?”

Before Marissa answered, a shadow fell across the bench.

Kenna didn’t have to look up to know Drake had found her.

Drake bent down, gingerly tracing the soft flesh beside the gash on her knee. He examined the matching cut on the other knee and the rivulet of blood running down inside the leather boot. Hell. He’d left her alone for thirty minutes, max.

He glared at Marissa. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe the question should be where were
you
when some asshole tried to snatch her purse?” Marissa retorted.

Jaw tight, his gaze flickered to the rainbow-beaded bag nestled in Kenna’s lap before he focused on her pale face. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was standing here, minding my own business when some jerk-off grabbed my purse and ran. I tackled him. He didn’t get my bag, but when I turned around the slimy fucker had vanished.” She frowned and twisted her arm, checking the damage on her elbow. “Bastard. I hope he’s bleeding.”

Drake gaped at her. What had possessed her to tackle someone? Especially a guy? No wonder she’d been beat to shit.

Marissa murmured in Kenna’s ear.

Kenna shook her head vigorously and groaned in pain.

Marissa straightened up and faced Drake. “Kenna will make lousy company today. I’m taking her home. I’ll bandage her up and make sure she gets some rest.”

“The hell you are.”

Kenna’s eyes widened.

Was it an illusion, or did his informant suddenly seem afraid of him? Great. Just fucking great.

“Watch it, Mr. Mayhaven,” Marissa said crossly. “I don’t know what your game is. Frankly, I don’t care. However I do care about Kenna and since she’s met you she’s had nothing but problems.”

“Let me tell you something, Ms. Cruz—”

“Enough.” Kenna made a time out sign. Her hand covered Marissa’s and she squeezed. “Thank you. But I’ve got to go with him to pick up my duffle bag. All my stuff is there.”

“And then what? You’re not staying with him at the campground?”

Kenna didn’t answer.

Drake watched some mental communication pass between them. Gave him a weird vibe he didn’t like one bit.

Marissa hugged Kenna and said, “Promise you’ll call and let me know how you’re doing. Promise me. I mean it. No matter what, you have to call me.”

“I promise.”

She stood. Flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder as she spun on her navy pump and melted into the crowd.

Kenna slowly rose to her feet. “I need to get this blood cleaned up. There’s a first aid station on the next block.”

When she wobbled, he caught her. “Want me to carry you?”

“And make a bigger spectacle of myself than I already have? No thank you.” She shrugged off his assistance and tottered down the block in her sexy boots.

Damn stubborn woman. She wouldn’t even let him inside while an EMT tended to her.

Racked with guilt, he paced outside the medical tent.

A stick-thin teenage boy sat on the folding chair. An angry red road rash stretched from his elbow to his shoulder. Next to him, a shirtless, bloated Jerry Garcia clone held a bloody towel to his recently broken nose. His old lady chewed his ass for fighting again.

Where the hell had Bobby and Geo been? They were supposed to keep an eye on Kenna. Coupled with the gunshots last night, he had a hard time believing she’d been a random mugging victim today.

But who could possibly want to hurt her? And why? What wasn’t she telling him?

An EMT led Kenna through the tent flap. Drake rushed to meet her, forgoing the urge to fold her frail body in his arms. “Is she okay?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen this week.” The stout African-American woman wagged her finger in his face. “There a reason she hasn’t had anything to eat today, sir?”

He blanched, showing his guilt.

The plastic beads adorning the med tech’s braids clicked merrily as she shook her head. “I gave her some crackers, but she should’ve eaten something before she took those painkillers.”

“What painkillers?”

“I asked Marissa for some aspirin,” Kenna said. “No big deal.”

He exchanged a look with the med tech.

She shrugged.

He hoped whatever it was she’d taken kicked in soon.

“Thanks. I’ll see she gets food in her stomach right away.” Drake draped his arm over Kenna’s shoulder. When she flinched he took perverse pleasure in pulling her closer.

Despite her protests, Kenna managed to eat a soft pretzel and drink a Coke. She glanced up from the row of Indian motorcycles she’d been admiring and froze. Impatient bikers nearly mowed her down.

He gently moved her from the flow of traffic. Her eyes were wild. Sweat trickled down her face. Oh man. He hoped she wasn’t going to throw up. “What?”

“The head of my department is right over there. Omigod. That suck-up Trent is with him!” When he tried to peer over her shoulder, she clapped her palms on his cheeks, holding his head in place. “No. Don’t look.”

“What do you think he’s doing here?”

“Weaseling his way into Dr. Herbert’s good graces.” She gasped. “Shit! Herbert’s posing with the Hooters girls. And that cheapskate Trent is paying for it.”

Kenna seemed to be missing the main point; Trent could’ve seen her and snatched her purse. Or paid somebody to do it.

But why? For kicks? For spite?

Drake needed to see what this Trent guy looked like. He craned his neck despite Kenna’s paranoia.

The chunky, mustached, bald guy wearing black socks with sandals had to be the professor. Christ. Even his Hawaiian shorts were starched. Drake’s gaze narrowed on the tall, good-looking Native American man. He had expected a greasy pencil-necked geek with a pocket protector and thick dork glasses. With the exception of the butt-length braid, Trent dressed like a frat boy: khaki Dockers, navy polo shirt, brown leather boat shoes and toothpaste white smile.

When Trent seemed to sense Drake staring at him, he frowned and glanced around.

Drake turned back to Kenna.

“They’re blocking us in, we’ve got no way to get out of here,” she said in a panicked tone. “We have to get out of here right now before they see me.”

“Relax.”

“I can’t. Oh God. Here they come.” Her slender arms snaked around his neck. Lush lips locked to his. Her tongue slid into his mouth and he fell into paradise.

While kissing the hell out of him, she not so subtly walked him backward. A motion detector beeped as they entered a tourist store directly behind them.

He’d just started to sink into the impulsive kiss when Kenna abruptly ended it and slithered from his grasp.

She snatched two T-shirts from a discount rack and race-walked to the dressing rooms at the back of the store. She zipped inside one room and wrenched the curtain closed.

Drake waited maybe thirty seconds before he followed her. He yanked the curtain open. Just as he’d suspected. She wasn’t modeling the latest in biker fashions. She was hiding.

“What are you doing in here?” she hissed, jerking the black curtain back in place after he’d crowded in.

“What do you think? I’m offering an opinion on which T-shirt looks best. Though, I wish you would’ve grabbed a pair of those edible underwear.”

“Go away. The clerk will suspect—”

“We’re having a quickie? Probably. Especially after that very public knock-out kiss you gave me.”

She looked down at the bulge in his jeans and blurted, “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Wrong.”

“It was just a diversion.”

“Prove it.” He reached for her. Wasn’t much space for her to evade him in the cubicle.

“I don’t have to prove anything.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Kenna stood absolutely still.

Drake angled forward, watching her eyes soften as he reconnected their desire. A brush of his mouth. Another, more momentary than the first. He swept his tongue across her lower lip, retreating a fraction of an inch so his breath drifted over the damp spot he’d created.

She licked her lips and tasted him.

“Tell me you don’t want to feel my mouth on yours,” he demanded.

“Drake—”

“Do you want my hands on you?”

“Drake—”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Kenna. However you want it. All you have to do is say yes.”

“Yes, damn you.”

He grinned.

“But you don’t have to be so smug about it.” She slid her wet lips over his until they parted and thrust her tongue inside his mouth.

Drake groaned and hauled her closer, aligning those sweet feminine curves to his harder contours. He feasted on her. The tangy flavor of her. The way her body sought his even when she didn’t realize it. Dragging his mouth up the firm line of her jaw, he whispered, “Wanting to touch you has been driving me out of my mind since I saw you in this crazy getup this morning.”

Kenna shivered when he tickled the inside whorl of her ear with his tongue. “How can you make me so hot and lightheaded from a simple kiss? Especially when I don’t trust you?”

“Why don’t you trust me? I’m one of the good guys, remember?”

“So you say.” She snorted. “The loser jerk who tried to steal my purse didn’t scare me nearly as much as you do.”

That comment almost jolted him out of the moment. “What?”

“Never mind. God my head hurts.”

“Poor baby. You want me to rub it?”

“You think it’ll help?”

“I can think of other places I’d rather rub.” He traced the pulse tripping in her throat, over the generous swell of her breasts, past the tips of her hardened nipples and slid his hand under her clingy skirt. “I’ll make you forget about the pain. Let me make you feel good.”

“Why?” Her fingers dug into his biceps. “What’s in it for you?”

“Besides the thrill of having my hands and mouth all over a totally hot biker babe?”

“Don’t pull that self-righteous bullshit. In my experience men always want something in return.”

“You caught me there.”

“Aha. You do want something.”

He paused and studied her rapt face. “Yeah. I want to make you come. I want to hear if you make that little hum of pleasure in the back of your throat like you do when I kiss you. I want to watch your face.” He trailed a string of kisses back to her ear. His tongue flicked her velvety earlobe. “What’s it gonna be?”

She gasped when he bit down.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Turn around and face the mirror, hot stuff.”

Drake expected her to object. Instead she twirled and settled her delectable ass against the hardness lurking behind his zipper. A tiny sigh escaped her lips as she gyrated against him.

“Lift your skirt for me, Kenna.”

With deliberate provocation, she bunched the clingy fabric in her fist and slid it up her creamy thighs to reveal the black lace thong.

His cock twitched at the wanton picture she made.

Drake splayed one hand against her soft abdomen, holding her in place. The other skimmed over that scrap of lace and slipped between her legs.

Kenna’s breath hitched when he pulled aside the tiny triangle and rubbed his middle finger around the soft damp heat of her sex.

She moaned. Wound her left arm above her head and tightly clasped the back of his neck.

He brought his finger up through her glistening pink folds until just the blunt tip connected with her clit. Drawing small circles over that distended flesh, he watched the pleasure play across her face. The warm female scent of her arousal caused his male instincts to insist he take her. Hard. Fast. Now. Brace her back against the wall and plunge into her.

A gasp. Her long lashes fluttered and her white teeth sank into that lower pouty lip.