Page 36 of Dangerous Liaisons

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jesse saw the shadow of the approaching man a second before the bartender appeared beside the table.

“Que pasa?” he said.

Cole nodded.

“Cuanto?” the bartender asked, nodding at Jesse.

Jesse frowned, then understanding dawned and she almost laughed. She would definitely have to talk to Ernesta. Apparently, all peasant girls in Colombia had a price, or maybe it was her B-cup breasts in a white t-shirt minus the cups.

Cole laughed good-naturedly and said in English, “You have the wrong idea, friend.”

The Colombian’s eyes narrowed. Jesse tensed. He reached for her, but Cole pulled her close. The bartender gave him an appraising look. Jesse slid her hand along the table and grasped the beer bottle. Cole squeezed her arm gently as if in warning. He had to be kidding.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said to the bartender

The man laughed. “Prostituta?” He grabbed Jesse’s arm with an iron grip.

“Hombre!” a man shouted from the bar.

The bartender whirled. Jesse pushed off from the bench, but Cole yanked her back. She looked sharply at him, and he responded with a slight shake of his head. She jerked her attention to the man who had shouted at the bartender. He slid from a stool and rose to his full six foot six height.

“My friend said he didn’t want any trouble,” he said in perfect American English.

Jesse looked closer at him. She ran down the list of Cole’s men in her mind. Caruthers, Fletcher, Young, and Roush. Not a South American name in the bunch. This man spoke like an American, but looked as Colombian as any of the others in the room.

“Americano,” the bartender sneered.

The American leaned against the bar. “That’s right.”

The bartender took a step toward him, and Cole motioned for Jesse to move. She kept her grip on the beer bottle as she started to slide from the bench. Cole grabbed the neck of the bottle and wrenched it from her grasp. He slid it to the far end of the table, then shoved her hip with his, forcing her from the booth. The bartender crouched and the American lunged. The bartender sidestepped as two of his companions launched themselves at the American with shouts of bloodlust.

Jesse dove across the table for the beer bottle. Cole seized her arm, but this time she was prepared. She grabbed his wrist and twisted. His hold on her loosened. Before she could take the offensive, she caught the glint of a bottle flying their way. She shoved Cole to the right and dove left. The bottle whizzed between them and smashed against the wall, spraying beer and glass.

A meaty hand closed around her arm. Jesse twisted, kicking high, and slammed her feet into her attacker’s midsection. He crashed into the wall like a sack of old potatoes.

“Cabron,” a man cried, yanking her attention onto him.

He slowly backed away from her, his wide-eyed gaze shifted from the man she had kicked to her. Jesse glanced at her attacker and understood his reaction. Her attacker outweighed the King Kong bartender by at least twenty pounds. She leaped to her feet and narrowed her eyes on the man. He spun and raced for the door.

Another patron threw a punch at Cole. The bartender had joined the attack on the American, and two other patrons were shouting encouragement. Jesse dashed for the exit.

She reached the doors, pushed through them into early dusk, then her feet snagged on something and she fell flat on her face. She started to roll away from whoever had tripped her, but was pounced upon while still on her belly. A knee dug into the middle of her back. Her cheek scraped the sidewalk. She wheezed for breath as her attacker yanked an arm behind her back. The click of handcuffs met her ears even as the cool metal registered around her wrist and in her brain.

“Doggone it, Jess,” Cole said from the door.

A crash sounded inside the bar.

Cole’s cowboy boots came into view beside her. She craned her neck to look up at him. The last rays of golden sunlight lit the champagne strands in his sandy blond hair.

He squatted beside her. “I told you not to run.”

He gripped her wrist, shifted it from her back, then snapped the dangling handcuff to his left wrist. She was too stunned to do more than stare at their handcuffed wrist.

“All right, Caruthers,” Cole said.

The man got off her back. Cole’s firm grip on her arm, and the handcuffed wrist, prevented her from rolling over and kicking him in the face as he pulled her to her feet. When she looked around, Caruthers was gone, the doors to the cantina just slapping shut.

Cole’s fingers intertwined with the fingers of her hand. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Jesse suddenly realized the brawl in the tavern had intensified. She shoved her handcuffed wrist in Cole’s face. “We can’t stay like this.”

“We won’t have to,” he replied.

“You’ve made your point,” she said. “Unlock them.”

He shook his head. “Not until I’m sure you understand how much you need me.”