even breathing hard! She could barely catch her breath.
The man who had shot Jim raised his weapon and pointed it at her. Jayne closed her eyes.
“Put that down,” the man in the leather jacket ordered calmly. He took a step to the side, effectively shielding her. “Does she look like a fed? Does she look like some dealer who’s here to snatch your stuff? Hell, what we have here are two yuppies who have the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He turned to face her again, and she had no choice but to see his stubbled jaw and cruel lips. And though she couldn’t see well in the dark, she sensed that the look in his eyes was accusing, as if this catastrophe was all her fault.
“Don’t matter,” the fat man with the gun in his hand said. “She’s seen us. Ain’t nothing else I can do but shoot her.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, so insanely logical.
The man who held her too tightly shook his head in what appeared to be dismay. His long dark hair swayed softly, his stubbled jaw clenched. And he muttered the most foul of words beneath his breath. The grip on her wrist was a vise she didn’t even try to fight. He jerked her around thoughtlessly, placing his body between her and the man with the gun. All the while he cursed, low and gruff. His body tensed; a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I want her,” he growled.
The fat man lowered his gun. “You what?”
“I said I want her,” he repeated in an almost grudging manner. “We’ve been stuck out at that damn shack for over a month, and let me tell you, the women in that pisshole you call a town aren’t exactly up to my standards.”
Jayne panicked all over. “I’d rather die,” she said. She tried to jerk away from the man and attempted to kick him where it was supposed to hurt the most. She ended up falling, landing on her backside in the dirt. The grip on her wrist never let up.
The man who manacled her wrist turned his shadowed face toward her, leaned down and whispered, “Be careful what you wish for, sugar.”
Boone kept his body between the woman and the gun. She thanked him by kicking him in the knee with a pointy-toed shoe. He had a feeling she’d been aiming higher before she’d lost her balance and stumbled. The skirt of her obviously expensive suit rode high on her shapely thighs. Her knees knocked together and her toes pointed in, in a fashion that should have been comical but wasn’t.
Light from Marty’s wavering flashlight raked over the woman’s body. Soft, barely curling hair not much longer than chin-length brushed pale cheeks. That baby-fine hair was blond, he thought, but not golden. A touch of red made it brighter. Different. The pearls she wore around her neck were surely real and expensive, like everything else about her. Her suit was the color of an Easter egg, not pink and not orange, not pale and not bright. She was all creamy white and golden pink, and she was rightfully frightened half out of her mind.
Focusing on her gave him a moment to collect his thoughts, to still his racing heart. No one was supposed to die here. Tonight’s sale was to have been a simple exchange, a little business Darryl had to take care of before his next meeting with the man who ran things around here. Boone had had no choice but to tag along, taking mental notes, knowing that in less than a week this entire operation would be shut down. Just a few more days, and he’d be meeting the infamous Joaquin Gurza face-to-face.
“Watch your step, sugar,” he said as he hauled the woman to her feet.
“Do not call me sugar, you…you goon,” she said indignantly. Her honeyed Southern drawl reminded him of home.
He cast a glance at Darryl, the drug dealer who’d been so quick to pull his gun and fire. Boone cursed himself for not seeing it coming. He likely couldn’t do a damn thing about the man lying in the road, but he’d do his best to save the woman—if she’d let him.
“Well, then, what’s your name, darlin’?”
She hit him, hauling off and landing a pathetic punch on his upper arm. “My name is none of your business,” she snapped.
Darryl laughed. “Come on, Becker,” he said. “Have at her and then let me shoot her. She looks like an awful lot of trouble, and she’s got a big mouth.”
Boone placed his face close to the woman’s. “Sugar, your choices are limited,” he whispered. “You shut your mouth and stick close to me, or you end up like the man in the road.” Even in the dark he could see the new wave of panic that flitted across her pretty face. “Was he your husband?”
She shook her head.
“Boyfriend?”
She shook her head again.
He couldn’t afford to tell her too much, but he sure as hell couldn’t hand her over to Darryl. Marty and Doug, who looked on as if this was the most amusing scene they’d witnessed in a long while, weren’t much better. Nope, the woman was his responsibility—until he figured out how to get rid of her.
“No,” he said, his eyes on the woman, his words for Darryl. “I’m not going to ‘have at her’ and you’re not going to shoot her. It’s not going to be that easy.”
The woman’s lips trembled, and she lowered her eyes. Maybe she didn’t want him to see the fear that had to be there. Oh, God, he hoped she didn’t start to cry. He had no patience with weepy women.
“I’m taking her with me.” With that, he turned and headed back toward the car.
Darryl didn’t like the idea of taking the woman along, but he simply grumbled a curse and stuck his pistol into his waistband.
The buyers were long gone, having collected their purchase and taken off as Boone and the others chased the witness. They’d wisely left the money, neatly bound and stacked in a small suitcase, sitting in the trunk of Darryl’s car.
Boone sped up and headed toward the man on the ground. He moved so fast the woman he dragged behind him had to run to keep up. Every foul word he’d ever used came to mind. He muttered them all.
“You have a vulgar mouth,” the woman said primly, keeping her voice low.
“Yep.”
“A gentleman would never use such language in front of a lady.”
Boone stopped and stared down at the man who was sprawled on the ground by the Mercedes, taking everything in quickly. High-priced suit, gold watch, salon haircut. A perfect match for the woman at his side. He hated people like these. Holier than thou, too rich for their own good, always looking down their noses at the rest of the world. They didn’t deserve to get shot for it, though.
He didn’t have much time. Keeping a firm grip on the woman’s wrist, he dropped to his haunches and quickly rifled through the man’s pockets.
“What are you doin’?” Marty called.
Boone glanced over his shoulder. The kid who combed his hair with a razor was heading right for him.
“Checking the man’s pockets. He looks like he has money, doesn’t he?” With that Boone ripped off the watch and stuck it in his pocket.
The woman made a sound that was a tsk and a sigh and a grunt rolled into one feminine utterance, revealing her
