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He flipped on his turn signal. "Right here."
"We're going to the movies?"
"It's the last place Wolczyk will look." The parking lot was empty, with a nice pair of open spots right by the door. He steered his truck around back anyway and reversed into a spot not visible from the road. "It's dark, no one interacts with anyone else, and they serve food."
Downtime—even watchful downtime—always meant refueling, whether food or sleep. Another lesson Uncle Sam had imparted along with sixty ways to kill a man and the importance of shower shoes.
"And after the movie?" she asked, a touch of weariness forming lines around her eyes
"We'll figure out what step to take next." He got out and hustled around to her door so he could open it for her. He made it right it in time to see her hop down without his assistance.
The look she shot him was pure sass and triumph with more than a smidgen of fuck you mixed in for good measure. His cock twitched—another good reason for sitting in the dark for a while watching some shit blow up on the screen while his dick returned to its normal not-around-Tamara state.
Chapter 2
Isaac
Two hours and fourteen minutes later, Isaac wasn't sure he could walk without embarrassing himself.
Like an asshole, he hadn't even considered what the movie was so they'd sat down in a pair of recliners with a small table between, quickly loaded up with cheeseburgers, extra fries and a pair of Cokes bigger than his head, and watched the screen. It turned out to be a movie about a couple who banged...a lot. Sure they didn't show everything—it wasn't porn—and there was probably some other kind of plot to it, but all he could think about the whole time was how fucking hot it would be to reenact some of the scenes—especially the one where the guy fingered the girl to orgasm in a restaurant full of people and then had her suck his fingers clean.
His balls fucking ached. He snuck a quick glance at Tamara. Her gaze stayed on the screen as the credits rolled, her hands clasped in her lap and her back ramrod straight, which thrust her tits forward enough that he could make out how her hard nipples stood out firm against her clingy shirt. Was she turned on because of the movie or because she was thinking along the same lines as he was? Before he could decide, she stood up and smoothed her hands over her hips, easing her skirt back into place.
"Thank you again for helping me out," she said, each word enunciated a little too clearly. "But I'll get a cab from here back to my car."
"That's not smart with the bounty hunter still out there and you know it." Standing up, he took full advantage of the fact that he was tall enough at six feet, four inches to loom over her. "Come on, I'll give Marko a call. See if Wolczyk made a fuss at the party and we can figure out what happens next after that."
Her jaw tightened but she gave a small nod and started forward down the aisle. Letting his hand fall to the small of her back as they walked through the movie theater's exit was the gentlemanly thing to do. He'd had good home training. He knew the way to do things. That's all it was. It had nothing to do with giving in to the temptation to touch her and feel her move under his palm.
Your bullshit smells rank as carrion roasting on the highway, Camacho.
He helped her up into the truck before crossing around the cargo bed—scanning the area for movie-goers who looked a little too curious about them as he did—and sliding in behind the steering wheel. After a quick glance in the rearview mirror for anything out of place, his attention dropped to Tamara's reflection. Their gazes locked and he saw the same heated desire in her cool blue eyes as in his own. Subtlety wasn't his thing, didn't look like it was her either. They had that in common if nothing else.
"Your car's at the Corsair Club?" He turned the key in the ignition.
The question obviously caught her by surprise because she blinked a few times before looking away and answering. "The B-Squad garage. I caught a ride to the party."
"We'll head that way." He turned right out of the theater's parking lot and punched the Bluetooth connect button on the truck's steering wheel. "Call Mr. Chatty."
The phone rang twice before Marko Pike picked up. "Talk."
"Hello to you to," he drawled.
Silence filled the air, standard procedure for Marko, the B-Squad's demolitions expert who talked little and noticed everything.
Normally, Isaac would just let the dead air hang in an eternal test of wills between him and the closed-mouthed, muscle-bound enforcer. Today he didn't have the luxury of busting the other man's balls.
"Any excitement at the party?"
Marko snorted. "You mean besides you two sneaking off through the kitchen followed by an appearance by that jackass Wolczyk searching for someone named Tamara that none of us had seen in about a million years?"
"Where's he now?' Tamara asked, her voice tight.
"Poor guy tripped on his way out the door and messed up his wrist." Marko didn't sound the least bit sorry for the bounty hunter. Hell, he'd probably been the one to drop the guy. "He's at the ER getting it looked at."
She twisted the fabric in her skirt. "How do you know?"
"I have visual."
