Ava Gray - Skin Game

So she shrugged. “Just passing through.”

Before the guy could reply, someone strolled out of the bathrooms in the back. Her nerves were on edge, so she wanted to categorize everyone in the place. Through smoky sunlight, she recognized him immediately as the guy she’d left exhausted in her bed at a motel somewhere outside Lake Charles. What the hell was he doing here? Her bad feeling exploded into a flash fire.

But he drew up short at seeing her. “Are you following me? Look, lady, I appreciate the ride and everything, but whatever it is you think I did, it wasn’t me. I didn’t touch your stuff.” Rey tried a placating smile. “If you’re mad I wasn’t there when you got back, then . . . uh . . . I promise our night was special, the best I ever had, but I’m not really the settling-down type.” His dark, rough face gained an expression of manifest horror. “You’re not pregnant, are you? It’s not mine.” He glanced at the other guys in the bar as if for moral support. “I wore a jimmy hat, every time. I swear.”

Furious color burned in her cheeks. Now everyone in the bar thought she was a slut. If it hadn’t been so embarrassing and inconvenient, it would have been funny. Much funnier if it happened to someone else. Coincidence? It seemed unlikely, but he seemed as shocked to see her as she was him. Sometimes life threw unexpected curves, and you just had to catch them.

“I’m not pregnant,” she muttered. “I just seemed destined to run across you.”

Rey grinned. “Some people are just born lucky, I guess. So . . . just to be clear, you weren’t looking for me?”

The room felt hot and thick. Somebody snickered. “Of course not.”

She couldn’t tell if the heat came from remembering how he’d woken her twice before morning, imprinting himself on every inch of her body, or embarrassment from his fear she might be hunting him down for seconds. Her bedroom show came to town one night only, no encores. So she’d never slept with the same man twice.

“You two know each other?” the bartender asked into the silence.

That roused an uneasy reaction from the guys playing pool. One of them whispered, “They gotta be cops, trying to play us.”

“Yep,” the taller one agreed. “It’s the only reason we’d have two strangers who ‘happen’ to be acquainted in on the same day.”

The big guy stepped forward, pool cue in hand, but it looked more like a bo staff, the way he held it, than an instrument of recreational fun. Kyra took a step back and came up against the bar. Rey took a position at her side that was oddly reassuring.

“If you think we’re cops,” she offered, “then it would be stupid to try anything. Just let us walk out of here and nobody gets hurt.”

She’d been right about them having something to hide. At this point, she had no idea what it could be. When she’d inquired about bars in the area at checkout, the girl at the motel had said her dad didn’t let her hang out here, but Kyra had thought that was because the man didn’t want his underage kid drinking. Maybe there was something worse going on.

The big guy grinned. “I got a better idea. We could just end you quietly, and bury the bodies out back. How many nosy cops we got out there anyway, Ed? Four? Five?”

Before answering, the bartender, presumably named Ed, did some math, counting on his fingers. “Five right now. Seven if we do these two.”

Rey shifted, leaning most of his weight against the counter, as if they weren’t outnumbered and receiving death threats. “Go on. Take your best shot.”

If she hadn’t stolen and used his capacity for mayhem, she’d think he was being cocky. She knew better. Kyra took care not to touch him. Crippling her only ally wouldn’t do them any good. It would serve her best if she borrowed from one of these guys; she just had to hope her target didn’t hide a secret gift for macramé.

Enraged, the ox lunged with the pool stick, but Rey stepped aside neatly and came into a fighting stance with an ease that said he was on a whole different level. He beckoned, curling his fingers up twice, and three guys ran at him.

Kyra didn’t take time to watch their tussle, as she had the smaller guy to worry about. He wouldn’t think he needed to use his best stuff on her. That assumption would cost him. She slapped him on the forearm as he came at her. Her sissy move stopped him dead in his tracks as laughter overwhelmed him.

“Is that the best you can do?” he demanded. “My ex-wife hit harder than you.”

She had no idea. Maybe he was really good at watercolors or refinishing old furniture, and just took a casual interest in fighting. But no . . . his technique flowed over her within a few seconds. Tae Kwon Do, huh? Okay, she could work with that.

“No,” she said, smiling. And spun into a jump kick that connected with his head. “This is.”

She fought him easily, using his own style against him, while he fumbled as if he’d taken no classes at all. There was almost nothing better than taking a belligerent man’s best ability and turning it against him, except maybe relieving some mean, greedy bastard of his money. The best moment of her life had come when she won at 21, playing with Serrano’s money.

Her opponent reacted with disbelief, rocking with every hit. His kneecap popped out of socket and he went down hard. Kyra kicked him in the head for good measure. The sound of the bartender cocking a shotgun put her on the floor. No matter whose skill she stole, she wasn’t bulletproof.

That didn’t seem to stop Rey. She heard him dive over the bar as the gun went off, and then there was the sound of breaking bottles. Something gave a wet pop and she thought it was probably a body part. Then there was a thump from the body falling.

She stood up, carefully. There were four guys on the floor, including the one she’d dropped, plus the bartender. Rey had taken on three men at once, and only suffered a scratch on his cheek from the flying glass. He vaulted lightly over the counter.

“So,” he said, “come here often?”

Kyra couldn’t help it; she laughed. “No. You ass. Did you kill any of them?”

“I don’t think so. That guy won’t be walking around for a while, though.” He tilted his head toward the bartender.

She sighed. “I just wanted a drink.” And a score, she added silently. “What the hell was this about anyway?”

“I dunno. But I’m thinking I’d like to find out.”

His target followed him toward the back room, where he found nothing but stored beer and booze. “It has to be downstairs then.”

“What does?” She watched while he broke the lock.

“Whatever they were trying to hide from the cops.”

He flicked the light on before they went down the stairs. If there had been anybody else on the premises, they surely would’ve come up if they heard the brawl, so he wasn’t expecting trouble. They came on an old unfinished basement with concrete block walls and a stained floor. The strong sulfur and ammonia smell gave away the secret before he spotted the paraphernalia, containers with tubes and funnels, coolers, boxes of supplies.

“Meth lab,” Kyra said from behind him.

Reyes wasn’t surprised she could ID one on sight. That was probably the least of the trouble she’d been involved with during her colorful career. He didn’t like ending women, but he’d done a little research before accepting Serrano’s job offer, and she had quite a record.

He pulled his drifter persona close and tight before turning to face her. “Don’t touch anything.”

“I know. It’s volatile.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to burn this place down. Scumbags like that make their money dealing to high school kids. I have no problem with adults who choose to rot their brains like this; it’s sort of like natural selection—”