A Perfect Storm(36)

Her gaze went to the scar under his eye. "You know him well?"

"Sort of. I don't think he's … " He chewed on his upper lip. "Well, he's not very nice."

What an understatement! Arizona debated the wisdom of talking to him. It  could be risky. The fewer people she interacted with, the better her  chances of making a strong play and getting away unscathed.

But she sort of felt sorry for the guy; he reminded her of an overgrown puppy-too eager, too annoying, but still irresistible.

And if he knew anything helpful about Janes, that could assist her.

Giving him her most engaging smile, Arizona held out her hand. "I'm Candy. What's your name?"

"Oh, I … um … " Again flustered, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it with too much enthusiasm. "Joel Pitts. You can call me Joel."

With a name like Pitts, he'd probably been heckled a lot in school.  "Okay, Joel." With an effort, she freed herself from his hold. "I'm all  ears. Let's hear what you have to say."

Undecided, Joel adjusted his glasses, shifted, then leaned forward in anticipation. "I don't have proof, but I'm pretty sure-"

"At it again, Joel?"

Arizona jumped when a man clasped her shoulder. She saw Joel's eyes go  round in terror, his mouth slack with dread. For a moment, it almost  looked as if he'd faint.

Senses sharpening, she peered at that hand on her skin, then up the leanly muscled arm to the intricate tribal tattoo.

Finally.

Forcing herself to feign an air of uncertainty, she waited until none other than Terry Janes himself moved to her side.

Poor Joel nearly slid off his seat. Stammering, he said, "Hey, Mr. Janes. I was just …  I was only drawing her, that's all."

"Is that so?"

Keenly aware of that warm hand pressing down on her bare shoulder,  Arizona said, "He's really talented." After withdrawing the sketch and  rolling it out on the table, she turned her face up to Janes and met his  gaze with a sweet smile.

He went still at her expression, looking her over as if enthralled.

That's it, sucker. Take the bait. She made a point of licking her lips, of lowering her lashes and playing coy.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder in reaction.

"The drawing is so complimentary. Don't you think so?"

At her prompt, a small frown pinched his brows, and he shifted his attention to the artwork.

It gave her the opportunity to study him up close.

"She said she likes it," Joel babbled. "That's why she's sitting with me."

Janes gazed from the picture to her and back again. "Not bad, Joel, but  you're missing some of the raw sex appeal." His thumb caressed Arizona's  shoulder joint.

Smaaarmy. His getup of snug black jeans, a snowy-white wifebeater shirt  and pointy-toed boots looked absurd. She supposed the shirt was so he  could show off his tat.

Bad decision.

Unlike Spencer, Janes had a scrawny chest, bony shoulders, and his biceps were far from impressive.

Arizona pasted on a smile. "So you're Mr. Janes?"

"You can call me Terry. Or Cowboy if you like."

"Cowboy?" Where the hell had that come from?

"It's what the regulars call me. I saw you in here before, and you plan to become a regular now, right?"

As if she weren't used to someone of his esteemed ilk sizing her up, she widened her eyes theatrically. "You noticed me?"

"Oh, yeah, honey, I noticed." Lifting that proprietary hand off her shoulder, he signaled the bartender.

Immediately, two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey were put on the table between them.

She'd never been much of a drinker, but out of necessity, she'd learned  to hold her own. Sometimes it got forced on her, and being drunk  weakened her defenses. Right now she'd rather keep her wits, not dull  them with liquor, but it didn't look as if Terry would give her a  choice.

He filled both glasses.

Playing dumb, Arizona started to push back her chair. "Well, I'll just get out of the way so you two can-"

Catching her shoulder again, Janes pressed her back into her seat. "Drink up." He tossed his back and poured another.                       
       
           



       

Arizona toyed with the glass. "You don't look like a cowboy to me." More like a weasel. Or a worm. "Why do they call you that?"

Gaze dark and heavy, he stared into her eyes, and a smile curled his  hard mouth. He said softly but with clear command that cut past the  noise, "Drink."

Wanting to groan, Arizona lifted the shot glass, drew a breath and sipped.

"Ah-ah." He touched the bottom of the glass, keeping it at her mouth, tipping it up. "All of it."

"But … " Pushy jerk. "I'm not that much of a drinker."

"So you'll learn."

Damn it. The way he pressed the glass to her mouth, she really had no  choice. Knowing there'd be no denying him, she gulped down the whiskey  and plopped the glass back onto the table.

The wheeze of her breath was only partially faked.

"Good girl." He immediately poured her another. "I got my nickname because I break in the wild ones."

"Wild ones?" Was the dumbass actually admitting to human trafficking? Would he really make it that easy for her?

Or did he somehow consider that a boast of his sexual prowess?

"That's right." His grin showed very strong, straight white teeth. "Tell me, brown sugar, you been broke in?"

Umbrage stiffened her spine and drew back her shoulders.

Oh, to slug him. Just once. Maybe in the balls.

No way in hell could she keep from reacting to that jibe. Forgetting her  act for the moment, she stared up at him and asked with soft menace,  "Was that a racist slur?"

"That was a compliment, honey. You've got striking looks-like the  perfect mix of features." He ran the back of a finger up and down her  arm. "Where'd you get the suntan? Momma or Daddy?"

Killing him sounded better and better. "My mother was dark."

"Was she a beauty like you?"

Good grief, how had this gotten so personal? She'd expected him to say crude stuff, to come on to her.

To be disgusting.

She hadn't expected him to talk about her parents. She hadn't expected him to expose the personal demons of her past.

"I don't really know," she lied. "We lost her a long time ago. I barely  remember her." If only that were true. She remembered her mother all too  often.

It was her dad she'd like to forget.

"Grew up motherless, huh? So maybe you're one of the wild ones, then. Is  that it? Or has some lucky bastard already gentled you?"

Arizona stared at him, refusing to flinch, refusing to look away. He  doesn't know. He doesn't know. He doesn't know. But it sure felt as if  he did, as if he looked at her and knew how her father had sold her, as  if he could recognize the taint human trafficking had left on her soul.

Almost frozen in apprehension, Joel sat there watching the byplay. Janes  stood right beside him, blocking any escape, using his presence to  bully and intimidate.

And for poor Joel, that worked.

For her … yeah, she didn't intimidate that easily. She just anticipated the moment when she'd get to knock him off his power trip.

But for now, for Joel and Quin and any other innocent person caught in this bastard's net, she had to play it cool.

"Tame me? I don't know what you mean." Oh, Arizona, not coy enough. Play  along. Tease. She forced a twittering laugh. "Whatever it is, it sounds  naughty."

Janes laughed, then cast a sideways look at the artist. "This one's not for you, Joel."

"Oh, but I wasn't … " With them both looking at him, Joel cowered in on himself. "I wouldn't. I swear."

Arizona knew she had to temper her anger, but there was something about  Terry Janes that rubbed her wrong, made it nearly impossible for her to  play little Miss Innocent.

Understanding his level of immorality exaggerated everything about him,  every look, smile, even the way he moved his hands and the tilt of his  head. He could have been someone's odd but favored uncle-instead, for  many people, he'd become a living nightmare.

"Joel is fine. I appreciated his company."

Stunned by her daring, Joel gaped at her. "No, no, I … I didn't … "

"You're defending him? Really?" Janes tugged at his goatee. Tone flat, infused with threat, he murmured, "Get lost, Joel. Now."

In a near-panic, Joel started gathering up his papers. But before he'd  finished, Janes hauled him out of the chair and sent him away with a  shove. Papers and pencils scattered over the floor.

Mortified, Joel dropped to his knees to gather up everything.

* * *

WITH EVERY SECOND that passed, Spencer got more rigid. It was bad enough  getting felt up by the woman now hoping to score with him. She thought  arousal caused his growing tension. And under other circumstances,  maybe, just maybe he'd have found the idea of sleeping with her a little  less repugnant.