A Perfect Storm(38)

Thanks to the flashing of the lights, the scene played out like a  delayed movie reel. Each second of darkness moved the actors, each  strobe illuminated them in a new position.                       
       
           



       

The music pulsed in Spencer's temples, heightening his rage.

Janes tried to go around Joel, but he stuck close, spoiling his plans.

God bless the man-just the interruption he needed.

As the redhead stood next to him, Spencer said, "You're into threesomes, right?"

"What? No!"

"Come on." He reached for her boob. "There's a hooker down the street that comes cheap."

She stepped back, waffling …

Well, hell. He hadn't expected her to consider it. "I'll pay you, too," he offered as a desperate insult.

And that worked.

Indignation had her shoving away from him. "Forget it!" Snatching up her  purse, she started to storm off but came back at the last second,  grabbed his face in both hands and planted a wet one dead on his mouth.

When Spencer finally managed to lever her away, she said, "If you ever  want the real thing, come and find me here." Then she turned and stormed  away.

One catastrophe averted.

Trying for discretion, Spencer wiped off his mouth and began wending his way through the crowd.

He got within a few feet of Arizona in time to hear Janes tell the artist to fuck off.

The smaller man persisted. "I just want to give this to Candy." He held up another drawing.

Arizona gushed. "Oh, Joel, thank you. It's wonderful." She reached for him, intending a hug.

Cursing again, Janes yanked her back. But she'd already gotten a solid hold on the artist-Joel-and he went off balance with her.

They both stumbled.

Terry Janes held Arizona, so she didn't fall.

But Joel reeled away and hit a table. Drinks spilled. A chair overturned.

Like déjà vu from his first meeting with her, a brawl erupted around  Arizona. Janes tried to get her out of the crush, but, typical of bar  fights, things quickly escalated beyond the initial grievance.

Joel floundered, and he tripped up the Hispanic waiter who'd talked with  Arizona earlier. The kid fell into a waitress, who landed in the lap of  a disgruntled drunk, making him drop his drink.

Doing his part, Spencer tripped a man, shoved another.

As punches, glasses, even bottles got thrown, Arizona deliberately  allowed herself to be jostled-and separated from the bar owner.

Forgetting about her, Janes made his getaway to protect his own ass.

Perfect.

Or at least, it was until he saw Arizona get backhanded by a drunk. She  stumbled and would have fallen if Quin hadn't caught her to him.

Spencer saw blood at the corner of her mouth, and he saw the glitter of excitement in her eyes.

She enjoyed this.

Of all the-

When her artist buddy nearly went down from a random elbow, Arizona  said, "Look out," and pushed the little man behind her so that he had  the wall to his back, her to his front.

She kicked out at a big brute swinging a bottle, and her heel landed  between the guy's legs. He dropped hard to his knees and then toppled to  his back.

Half cowering behind her, Joel said, "I know a back way out."

"Not happening." Spencer wanted to get her out of the place before someone pulled a gun or knife.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

It needed only this.

The thirty minutes Dare had allotted were all but over. He retrieved the phone. The new message was simple: It's over. Out now.

He turned to Arizona just as she doubled her fists and decked another guy who'd come charging their way.

Spencer said, "Enough already."

At the same time, Joel enthused, "You're … magnificent."

Accepting that as her due, Arizona swiped the blood from her mouth and grinned. "Yeah, thanks."

Before Spencer could figure out how to extricate her from the melee, he got hit in the ear.

That did it.

He had Dare calling him, Arizona intoxicated and an artist trying to play hero.

Red-eyed and feeling mean, Spencer knocked out the man with a single  punch. When his buddy rushed forward, Spencer slugged him so hard he  fell backward over a chair.

Arizona rolled her eyes. "That was overkill, you big show-off."

Quin stood there, agog.

Joel asked, "Who are you people?"

Dead serious, as if she'd totally misunderstood his question, Arizona said, "I'm Candy, remember? You drew my picture. Twice."

Damn. Spencer knew he had to get her out of there and fast, before  anyone else got curious. "She's drunk. I'll see that she gets home."

Quin nodded and slipped away. When Arizona started to follow, Spencer caught the back of her shirt and drew her up short.

She windmilled her arms until Spencer steadied her.

"I can get her out," Joel said while clutching his art supplies to his chest. His face was white, his expression panicked.                       
       
           



       

"She'll be safer with me." Spencer scouted the quickest way out. He'd  prefer to just haul Arizona away. He didn't see the bartender or Carl,  but that didn't mean they weren't watching, so he still had to play the  game.

"Candy … " Joel looked at her with worry.

"What's that?" Arizona cocked her head. "Do I hear the cops?"

Going on the alert, Joel said, "I don't hear anything."

"Sirens," Spencer said, playing along. He eyed Joel. "Anyone who doesn't  want to be picked up in this scuffle ought to hightail it out of here."

"Thank you for the drawings." Arizona took Joel's hand. "I really, really love them."

With bodies flying around them, Joel asked, "Will I see you again?"

"Sure you will. I got hired, so I'll be here tomorrow."

"Oh, right." Joel started to relax. "Okay, then … "

The music suddenly died-and then Spencer really did hear sirens.  Arizona's eyes widened as she turned her face up to his. "Seriously?"

"Afraid so." He watched as Joel darted toward the back and through a  side door. Spencer hoped the guy would be okay, but Arizona was his  first priority.

Near her ear, he said, "In case anyone is watching, we have to separate. But I'll be right behind you."

Her hand knotted in the shoulder of his shirt, keeping him close. "What about the workers? What about the waiter, Quin?"

He smelled the whiskey on her breath, felt the warmth of her, her strength and energy. "Forget it."

"I can't just leave without knowing if they're okay."

Was she kidding? "That waiter already split, remember? Joel is probably  following him. But we can't help anyone if we get killed tonight,"  Spencer reasoned. "Now make your way to the front door. Don't engage  with anyone else. Talk to no one. You got me?"

"Yup." She smiled at him, but the bruise at the corner of her mouth lessened the effect.

Damn. "You're drunk," he accused.

"Yup."

God, give me strength …  "Too drunk to make your way to the front door?"

She shook her head and staggered because of it. "Nope." After smoothing  out the material of his shirt, she gave him a wink and tottered off,  clubbing everyone who got in her way.

Bemused, chagrined and worried, Spencer watched her go. With each flash  of the lights, she progressed another foot. Almost to the door.

Almost to safety.

She left him frustrated and, damn it … admiring. Arizona let no one and  nothing get in the way of her determination. She had more backbone than  was healthy.

Things were coming to a head between them. In such a short time her  entire perspective had changed. That had been his goal, but now, met  with her innocent interest, his own reaction surprised him.

Altruism flew the coop. What he did with Arizona and why had little to  do with saving her from herself and a lot to do with the incredible  chemistry between them.

He wanted her, and not having her was eating him up.

Refocusing his thoughts, Spencer saw Arizona clear the front door. Far  enough, he decided. He started to follow her-and suddenly the lights  went out, leaving everything still, shrouded in ominous darkness.

* * *

PANIC HAMMERED against his brain, making his temples throb, his eyes  burn. The little bitch wouldn't get away; he wouldn't let that happen.  But with so much going on, all the noise and confusion, how could he  stop her? Surreptitiously, he looked around, seeking a plan.

He could take her himself. Sure, she had some skill, but she was still  just a woman, with a woman's frailty, a woman's tender emotions.

A woman's vulnerability.

Once she'd lost her shine and, therefore, some of the profit to be made  off her, he'd hoped to have her for himself. She'd be broken then, more  easily manageable.

Wonderfully needy.

But thanks to the fools surrounding him, that opportunity no longer existed.

He had to act, now, or forever lose her.