It’s like walking out onto the field without a jockstrap on. All the important bits swing free: unprotected, vulnerable, and susceptible to physical harm. It’s like asking to get kicked in the nuts.
Which means, I’m hyper-alert and cranky.
I miss my team.
I miss the confidence they instill.
I miss knowing I’m not out on my own with nothing but my ass to back me up.
Some guys are meant for the solitary fight. Brett and Sawyer, our new Guardian Protectors, were specifically recruited because they work best alone.
I’m not like that.
I prefer a team backing me up.
Instead, I’m out here swinging in the wind with an unknown female tied to me. The sinful curves of Maria Rossi, my enemy who is not my enemy, do not inspire confidence. Those curves inspire all kinds of indecent thoughts, like that kiss which was nuclear hot.
Don’t get me wrong, I like the chick, but she’s not a member of my team.
As for this night, humidity tenaciously clings to the air. The temperature dropped a few degrees while we enjoyed our dinner. It’s balmy, comfortable, and perfect for a late-evening stroll.
I eye Maria with caution.
Pretty enough to knock me off my game, she’s a dangerous distraction. We’re reluctant teammates thrust together out of circumstance and necessity with insane chemistry swirling between us.
A quick check of my phone reveals no status update on her friend, Sybil. Knowing how Sam and the others are going to play this, the chances for a tear-filled reunion are slim to none.
Let’s go with none.
We’re too damn close to figuring out who’s responsible for the kidnappings, the sales, and the deaths of innocent women. We know the Rossi’s are involved, the result of insane intel work by Wolfe and Jinx, but all we know is that the money connects.
We don’t know who’s in charge—although we assume—and we don’t know who the clients are—which we need—especially the one ordering snuff.
We’re not taking down the Rossi operation until we ID that buyer and rain a whole lot of hellfire down on their pathetic life.
“How are you holding up?”
I look to Maria like I have a hundred times already this night. Each time, it’s like getting sucker punched. My breath catches. My heart skips a beat. She strikes awe in me.
With her world falling down around her, she’s fucking fierce. Calm. Cool. Collected. She’s not whimpering in a corner and useless. Instead, she’s on the street, doing what she can to help her friend.
“I’m good.” Maria does a little pirouette, spinning around on her toes as she takes in the sights and sounds of the French Quarter late at night.
Her purse swings out wide, putting me on high alert. It won’t take but a grab and a yank to rip that purse off her shoulder and run off with it through the crowd.
As for crowds, it’s well past midnight, heading towards two, and it’s past time to hit some clubs.
“It’s a beautiful night.” Maria spins again, this time slower. Her purse doesn’t swing out nearly as wide. “The temperature is perfect. The breeze is just right. It’s enough to cool down without being too chilly.” She looks up at me through the dark fringe of her lashes. “The company is F-I-N-E, fine.”
“Glad I pass the test.” I can’t help but chuckle.
“Liam, you’re lickably hot. You’d pass any woman’s test.”
“Lickably hot?”
I’m certainly interested in licking her. I’d start at her toes, move up her legs, spend eternity between the juncture of her thighs, then move up to nibble on her perfect breasts.
Yeah, lickably hot.
“Definitely.” She spins in front of me, then stops.
Hands propped on her hips, she gives me the once over, sliding her hungry gaze up and down my body. It’s exaggerated and fun.
“If I’m lickably hot, you’re a raging inferno. A sensual siren men can’t resist.”
“Now that is over the top.”
“Is it?” I tug at my chin, having fun with the playful back and forth.
“So, where are we going?”
“To a club.”
“I know that.” She rolls her eyes and spins back around to my side. Leaning in, she grabs my hand and interlaces her fingers with mine. “Which club?”
“It’s a secret.” Not really, but I enjoy teasing her too much to stop. “Just trust me.”
Maria’s brows pinch together. She glances at my pocket, the one holding my phone, and bites her lower lip. I’ve been waiting for her to ask, delaying the inevitable.
She’s not going to like what I have to say. However, Maria doesn’t ask about her friend’s rescue. Instead, her gaze pops back to my eyes where she treats me to one of her amazing smiles.
I swear I could spend all day staring into those sapphire depths. Being on the receiving end of that smile is Nirvana manifested.
My hand squeezes hers, a soft reminder we’re in this together. I love her humor. Talking to her is easy. Opening up about myself comes naturally. She’s fun to be around. Not sure why that comes as a surprise to me, but it does.
I gaze down at her heart-shaped face and upturned nose. Her lips glisten and I’m hungry for another kiss.
Soon.
“New Orleans at night is a magical place.” She squeezes my upper arm. “Although, I’m usually not out this late.”
“Because of the creepers?”
“No, silly. Sybil and I like to party, but the realities of the job make that an infrequent thing. It’s no longer possible to stay out all night like we did at Cornell. I can’t run a company after a night with no sleep.”
I guide her to our next destination, keeping her tight on my six while I scan the crowd for unsavories intent on ruining our good time.
“Hey, check these guys out.” I pull Maria to a group of street performers. We’ve been slowly making our way from the restaurant to the first of several clubs of the evening, stopping along the way to watch the amazing talent of New Orleans street performers.
“Wow!” Maria gasps as one of the acrobats flies through the air. Launching over a dozen or so tourists who lie on the ground, he flips and spins, sailing an impossible distance before landing with plenty of room to spare as the awestruck crowd gasps and claps.
“Nicely done.” I admire the skill that requires and reach into my pocket for a ten-dollar bill.
Making a living on the street is difficult. I should know, which is why I try to do what I can. Successful street performers can pull in substantial cash, but not all have such luck.
This crew is damn good, but it’s nearly two in the morning. All the real money is already locked up tight in the hotel rooms of the tourists who know to stay off the streets of New Orleans after the bewitching hour. Predators are on the loose: lowlifes looking to take advantage of the innocent and defenseless.
One such predator prowls around the periphery of this crowd. I sense him first, then locate and track his movements a half a second later.
Leader of a crew of three, he checks out the various groups, looks for weakness and a big payoff.
Well, this ought to prove interesting, and I’m not against a small diversion from our evening’s itinerary.
I keep my eye on the thief as I raise my hands over my head and clap. All eyes turn toward me, which is exactly what I need if I’m going to figure out who else is working with our potential mugger.