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“I have to find him first. I wanted to interview him for my book. He couldn’t be found.”
“I’ll help.”
She looked at him uneasily. “Dent, I can’t keep asking you to—”
“You didn’t ask.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Oh, wait. I’m untrustworthy.”
“I don’t think that.”
“No? Then why are you looking at me like you’re trying to see past a disguise?”
“I know you want to clear your name.”
He waited for more, and when she didn’t proceed, he leaned forward. “But?”
“But is that your only motive for sticking around?”
“What does Daddy think? You listen to him and respect his opinion. Why does he think I’m hanging around?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Liar. What did he tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, right.” He continued to try to stare the answer out of her, but her lips stayed stubbornly compressed. “Fine,” he said. “Truth is, I don’t give a damn what your daddy thinks about me. But I’ll be perfectly candid with you as to why I’d like a tête-à-tête with Moody: Payback.”
“Is that supposed to relieve my concern? You can’t—”
“Relax. I won’t do anything physical.” After a beat, he added, “Probably.” He gestured to her plate. “Finished?” When she nodded, he slid out of the booth.
She excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. He told her he’d settle the bill and bring the car around.
The night air was thick and cloying, which didn’t improve his mood. Contrary to what he’d told her, he did care what her old man had said about him. Not that he gave a shit about his opinion, but he did care about Bellamy’s. It was directly after her visit with her father that she’d become aloof and untouchable, so he’d said or done something that had raised red flags of caution against Dent Carter.
Feeling truculent, he made his way across the parking lot, which, at this time of night, was only about a quarter full. He pulled his keys from his jeans pocket and had nearly reached his car when he sensed a shift in the sultry air, a sudden motion behind him.
Even before he fully registered these sensations, he was propelled against the side of his Vette, where he landed hard. A strong hand clamped the back of his head, banging his face down onto the roof of the car with enough force to split skin.
Hot breath filled his ear. “She’s some high-toned pussy, isn’t she, flyboy? Too bad she’s gonna die.”
Dent tried to raise his head, tried to dislodge his attacker, but he was as solid as a bale of hay. And even as Dent assessed the situation and realized that he was in real trouble, he felt the prick of a sharp blade at the base of his spine. He ceased struggling.
“Good thinking. That’s eight inches of double-edged, razor-sharp steel. You might hear the pop when it punctures your spine. Probably be the last thing you hear.”
“What do you want?” Dent asked, trying to buy time while he figured out a way to break the man’s hold.
“Is she good? Slippery and tight?” Leaning forward, he licked the side of Dent’s face from chin to eyebrow. “Never can tell about these rich girls, can you? One thing I know, she’s gonna die bloody.”
Dent, fueled by rage and disgust, kicked backward and caught the guy’s kneecap with the heel of his boot. He grunted and fell back, but only a step. Dent took advantage. He spun around and jabbed his elbow into the guy’s face, then landed a blow to his gut. But it was like hitting a slab of beef and only served to enrage the man, who swiped at him with the blade.
Dent saved himself from being eviscerated by spinning around at the last possible second. The knife cut a wide arc across the small of his back. Instinctually, he reached back. The knife bit into the back of his hand and sliced into his knuckles.
“Dent!”
He heard Bellamy’s shout, heard her footsteps as she ran toward them. “No!” he shouted. “Stay away.”
But she kept coming and, when she reached him, he pushed her hard to the ground. “He’s got a knife.”
