Running With the Devil Read Online Free Page B

imploring glance at Kenna. “You’re okay hanging out with him, chica ?”
    Kenna started to object. Drake’s grip increased and she found herself nodding like a hand puppet.
    She’d like to reach back and twist his dick into a square knot but the pervert would probably enjoy it.
    “Good.” Marissa held out her hand again, forcing Drake to let go of Kenna’s. “Nice to meet you. Call me if you need anything, Kenna.”
    Kenna nodded and subtly moved away from Agent March.
    Marissa had made it two steps before she turned back, adding as an afterthought, “Oh, since you’re staying at the Broken Arrow, a friend of mine—and Jerry’s—is throwing a private party there the night of the ZZ Top concert. Kenna’s name was already on the list. I’ll add yours if you like.”
    Drake smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
    “Last lot behind the RV hookups. Big black canvas tent. Can’t miss it.”
    The instant Marissa departed, Kenna snagged her purse and slid from the stool on the other side of Drake to make her getaway.
    She crouched down, weaving in and out of the mob of intoxicated people like a NASCAR driver. Vomit, sweaty leather-clad bodies, beer bellies, flabby, wrinkled bare breasts, she saw the glorious and grotesque firsthand.
    A break in the crowd revealed her escape hatch.
    She made a beeline for the back door. Sheer luck it stood wide open to clear out the gray clouds of cigarette smoke and body odors.
    Once Kenna hit the cool night air she took a deep breath and ran like hell.

Chapter Three
    The dark area behind the bar resembled a modern day version of an Old West shantytown, with broken-down bikes, musty tents, overflowing garbage cans, blackened firepits. She dodged potholes and empty liquor bottles. Cursing the high heels, she darted between temporary storage units, a line of beat-up campers and rows upon rows of motorcycles.
    After stumbling, she righted herself and zigzagged to the darkest, most deserted corner of the building. She’d hide until the coast was clear.
    Nearly home free, Kenna thought right before a large hand clapped her on the shoulder.
    Damn. Not enough air in her lungs to scream.
    Double damn. Agent March was fast.
    He yanked her arms behind her back and shoved her against a shed hard enough to get her attention. The metal—still warm from the heat of the day—bit into her cheek.
    His labored breathing exploded across the back of her neck. “What the hell are you doing? You want to blow my cover?”
    “I don’t give a crap about your cover.”
    Agent March paused. Swore. Muttered something about his supervisor kicking his ass, then layered his hard body to hers, from hips to chest, settling his chin into the vulnerable bend of her neck. His warm breath seared her skin. A second later he tugged her earlobe between his sharp teeth.
    Desire raced from that stinging spot straight to her core. Pathetic. How could she be turned on at a time like this?
    “ Kenna Jones might not care about my cover. But I’ll bet you Kaye Anne Ennis does.” He bit her earlobe again and laved the mark with a long, wet lick of his tongue.
    She gasped. “How—”
    “—did I found out who you really are?” His lips skimmed the fine hairs standing at attention on her nape. “I know all about you.” He trailed his mouth along the slope of her shoulder. “Age: twenty-nine. Residence: apartment 17C at the Aspen Leaf Complex. Vehicle: a 1996 Ford Explorer, white. Occupation: doctoral candidate in geology. Want me to keep going?”
    “You bastard.”
    “Yep. You shouldn’t have lied to me, Kenna. But I tell you what. I’ll let you make it up to me.”
    “This ought to be a stunning suggestion.”
    “Not what you think, cynical girl. Just act as my girlfriend for the next couple of days until I get the information I need on Diablo.”
    “Or what? You’ll turn me in for solicitation?”
    “No. I’ll turn you in to the IRS for unreported income.”
    Tangling with the IRS was almost worse