with his grip. He kept her moving. He had a plan, and it didn’t involve letting Dovey Smollett catch up to them.
“The hell it is. I don’t give a damn if Dovey Smollett is in LoDo, or if he dropped off the edge of the earth. Now let go of me, you…you…
jerk
.” She tried to twist out of his grip, and got exactly nowhere—for a damn good reason. He was well trained in the ways and means of physical restraint, and he could bench-press Esme Alden, all hundred-and-what pounds of her.
Hell, he could bench-press three Esme Aldens.
“Can you run in those heels?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “But—”
“There’s no but,” he cut her off. “If I say run, you keep up. Got it?”
“Go to hell.” Short, succinct, and impossible to misinterpret—he had to give her credit for that much.
He opened the next door they came to and pushed her inside ahead of him, straight into the crush of people jamming O’Shaunessy’s back bar.
“Excuse me…sorry…” Johnny edged his way through the crowd, keeping one hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Nobody was getting to her without going through him first, and the only people in this town who could get through him were on his side.
She could thank him later—but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.
“
What the
…
oh, cripes.
You’ve got a…a…
dammit,
” she said, her voice low.
Yeah, he had her pulled real close to his right side, and he’d wondered when she would notice the pistol riding under his arm.
“
Dammit,
” Esme swore again. “I don’t believe this. I can’t believe I…
dammit.
”
“Just keep moving.”
The crowd thinned out at the service end of the bar, and after getting the two of them tucked into the dark corner between the waitress station and the kitchen door, he took a moment to check and see if Dovey had followed them inside.
Geezus.
Franklin Bleak. Whatever she’d gotten herself into, she needed to get herself out, or she was going to end up wishing she’d picked a different line of work. The stories he’d heard about Franklin Bleak weren’t just grim; they were gruesome.
“Dammit, Ramos. If this is your way of getting a girl to have a drink with you, I can see why you’re alone on a Friday night.” He had her about half behind him in the corner, and her voice was close to his ear and very sharp-edged, understandably so. He’d pretty much railroaded her into O’Shaunessy’s.
Which in no way fit in with his plan to head back to his beer at the Blue Iguana, despite the fact that she had in no way begged him for help.
No, there had been no begging. That was too big of a stretch, even for him. It had been a clean snatch-and-grab all the way.
“And now, if you’re finished
manhandling
me,” she continued, starting to push by him, “this party is over.”
No, it wasn’t.
“Stay put,” he said, shifting his body sideways and holding her in place, while keeping his gaze on the crowd of people.
“You’re out of line, no matter what you’re packing under your shirt,” she whispered, her voice even closer to his ear.
“And you’re in more trouble than you seem to realize.”
At that, she let out a short, surprised laugh. “And how in the hell do you figure that?”
“For a secretary, you’ve got some real bad guys after you.”
“Like you?” The comeback was vintage Easy Alex, pure smart-mouthed.
“No. Dovey,” he said, turning to face her. “He’s what we call an undesirable element, no matter where he is—in LoDo, dropped off the edge of the earth, or sitting at home on his couch.”
A flash of something darkened her gaze, but only for a moment, and it took him another second to realize what it had been: alarm, the first instance of it he’d seen in her since he’d spotted her up on Seventeenth.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to let Dovey get within ten feet of you.” The skinny numbers runner was no match for a U.S. Army Ranger, not on his best
“The hell it is. I don’t give a damn if Dovey Smollett is in LoDo, or if he dropped off the edge of the earth. Now let go of me, you…you…
jerk
.” She tried to twist out of his grip, and got exactly nowhere—for a damn good reason. He was well trained in the ways and means of physical restraint, and he could bench-press Esme Alden, all hundred-and-what pounds of her.
Hell, he could bench-press three Esme Aldens.
“Can you run in those heels?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate with her answer. “But—”
“There’s no but,” he cut her off. “If I say run, you keep up. Got it?”
“Go to hell.” Short, succinct, and impossible to misinterpret—he had to give her credit for that much.
He opened the next door they came to and pushed her inside ahead of him, straight into the crush of people jamming O’Shaunessy’s back bar.
“Excuse me…sorry…” Johnny edged his way through the crowd, keeping one hand wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. Nobody was getting to her without going through him first, and the only people in this town who could get through him were on his side.
She could thank him later—but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.
“
What the
…
oh, cripes.
You’ve got a…a…
dammit,
” she said, her voice low.
Yeah, he had her pulled real close to his right side, and he’d wondered when she would notice the pistol riding under his arm.
“
Dammit,
” Esme swore again. “I don’t believe this. I can’t believe I…
dammit.
”
“Just keep moving.”
The crowd thinned out at the service end of the bar, and after getting the two of them tucked into the dark corner between the waitress station and the kitchen door, he took a moment to check and see if Dovey had followed them inside.
Geezus.
Franklin Bleak. Whatever she’d gotten herself into, she needed to get herself out, or she was going to end up wishing she’d picked a different line of work. The stories he’d heard about Franklin Bleak weren’t just grim; they were gruesome.
“Dammit, Ramos. If this is your way of getting a girl to have a drink with you, I can see why you’re alone on a Friday night.” He had her about half behind him in the corner, and her voice was close to his ear and very sharp-edged, understandably so. He’d pretty much railroaded her into O’Shaunessy’s.
Which in no way fit in with his plan to head back to his beer at the Blue Iguana, despite the fact that she had in no way begged him for help.
No, there had been no begging. That was too big of a stretch, even for him. It had been a clean snatch-and-grab all the way.
“And now, if you’re finished
manhandling
me,” she continued, starting to push by him, “this party is over.”
No, it wasn’t.
“Stay put,” he said, shifting his body sideways and holding her in place, while keeping his gaze on the crowd of people.
“You’re out of line, no matter what you’re packing under your shirt,” she whispered, her voice even closer to his ear.
“And you’re in more trouble than you seem to realize.”
At that, she let out a short, surprised laugh. “And how in the hell do you figure that?”
“For a secretary, you’ve got some real bad guys after you.”
“Like you?” The comeback was vintage Easy Alex, pure smart-mouthed.
“No. Dovey,” he said, turning to face her. “He’s what we call an undesirable element, no matter where he is—in LoDo, dropped off the edge of the earth, or sitting at home on his couch.”
A flash of something darkened her gaze, but only for a moment, and it took him another second to realize what it had been: alarm, the first instance of it he’d seen in her since he’d spotted her up on Seventeenth.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to let Dovey get within ten feet of you.” The skinny numbers runner was no match for a U.S. Army Ranger, not on his best
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