Her eyes sparkle with invitation, but I’m not interested in the distraction now. Daisy is my priority. Taking a step back, I say, "Thanks, but I'll pass.”

  "Suit yourself," Roxanna replies coolly, her demeanor changing instantly. "You might want to try the cafe down the street. Daisy's flatmate hangs out there. Maybe she knows where Daisy is."

  "Thanks," I say, turning to leave.

  As I reach my car in the lot, Roxanna leans out of her window. With her eyebrows raised and the kittenish mewl back in her voice, she calls after me, "Of course, Daisy could be in the bookstore!"

  After she makes me listen to all the long explanations that come before the address of the bookstore, I nod my thanks with a tight smile, and I drive off.

  The bookstore's glass windows reflect the glow of the neon and streetlights, making a kaleidoscope of images over the rows of bookshelves inside.

  My heart skips a beat as I catch a glimpse of Daisy through the window. The sight of her sends a shiver down my spine and sparks a primal flash within me.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I spot Joey the second he steps into the bookstore. My heart starts to race even before I can take in what's happening. It's like my body knows what it wants before my mind can catch up. I need some space. Last night was all too sudden and too intense. This has been a scary enough time for me already. I need some space to process. My hands tremble as I try to steady myself, feeling shocked into overdrive by the very sight of him.

  I can’t deal with him now. Especially not here. Surely even the Ox should be able to see that. I have to get out of here.

  I need to let Selma, my boss, know, but she’s all the way across the store. I can’t get to her without crossing Joey’s path. All I can do is text. Or phone. I’ll phone. When I took this job, I already told Selma that I was in some trouble. She was kind and sympathetic. She understood.

  Perhaps I may have left her with the impression that my troubles were more of a domestic nature. And, that’s not totally untrue. You could describe it that way. Kind of.

  The call goes to voicemail. “Selma, I’m really sorry. There’s a man who just came into the store. He’s looking for me and I have to get away. I’ll call you again to explain properly as soon as I can. I’m really sorry, and I hope that you understand.”

  Joey, I whisper under my breath. Panic brims up inside me, threatens to overtake me.

  I anxiously scan the store, desperately searching for a way to avoid him without drawing attention to myself. The scent of old books and worn leather fills my nostrils, but all I can think about is the intoxicating smell of his cologne, something woodsy and warm.

  "Miss?" A customer's voice snaps me back to reality. "Excuse me, do you know where the mystery novels are?"

  "Um, yes," I stammer, trying to maintain my composure. "They're just down that aisle to the right."

  "Thank you," the woman replies, oblivious to my internal turmoil.

  As she walks away, I risk a glance toward Joey. He moves through the store with purpose, his eyes scanning the shelves as if he's looking for something specific. Or someone. I wonder if he's here for me or just buying a book. My pulse quickens at the thought of our last encounter, the tracks where his fingers touched my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

  My pulse quickens. I have to get out of here. Slipping to maneuver between the bookshelves, I stay low, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. I finally make it to the stockroom door, and I slip inside. With a deep breath, I push open the back entrance and step outside into the parking lot.

  The hotter air outside hits my already flushed cheeks. Just as I start to calm down, as I lean back against the door the sound of approaching footsteps inside sends a fresh wave of panic through me.

  My heart hammers in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. The door shakes. There’s no point me trying to hold the door shut, not against Joey’s strength.

  I back away, and the door bursts open.

  The anger in his eyes makes me sting.

  "Leave me alone!" I shout, my voice cracking. "I'm not your prisoner, Joey! You can't just barge in here like you own the place!"

  For a moment, his expression is puzzled, but then he’s angry. “Domingo was counting on you, Daisy. Why didn’t you at least call?”

  "Stay away from me," I tell him before I turn on my heel and run.

  "DAISY!" Joey calls after me, but I don't look back.

  "Hey!" A voice stops me in my tracks. Standing by the open door of a truck is a customer I saw earlier in the bookstore. He asks me, ”Are you okay?" with a look of concern.

  "Fine," I pant, trying to catch my breath. “I’m fine. I just… I need to get away from him." I jab a finger back behind me.

  The man says, “Let me help," he offers, hurrying around the truck and courteously opening the passenger door.

  “It’s none of my business, I know, but you really look like you could do with some help at this point. If you need to get away from that guy, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  "Thank you," I whisper, hesitating for a moment. There's something unsettling about this, but what choice do I have? With a glance back at Joey, I clammer up into the truck.

  "My name's Junior.” Junior gets his truck fired up, and the tires squeal as he hauls us out of the lot.

  As we drive, Junior smiles, and he says he’s going to take me somewhere safe. The way he says it makes me uneasy.

  "Alright," I say, "but I want to stop at a diner first. I need some coffee. There’s an IHOP a couple of blocks ahead.”

  "Of course," Junior says reassuringly. "Whatever you need."

  I’m looking around nervously. I know this area, but I feel oddly like I’m out of place somehow.

  ”Are you sure you're okay?" Junior's voice is low.

  “Yeah… we just passed the turn for the IHOP,” I say, my chest tightening.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “There’s a place up this way where the coffee’s a whole lot better.” The truck speeds down the darkened street. My heart skips a beat as I catch sight of Junior making frequent looks into the rearview.

  I twist around and see Joey, following us. Now I don’t know who I want to get away from more, Joey or Junior. On balance, I think it’s Junior.

  Junior’s driving fast, trying to lose Joey. But Joey stays right on our tail, just a dozen or so yards behind us.

  Junior has seen me looking round. “Don't worry,” his voice is calm and bright, “I’ll take care of him.” Junior accelerates again, harder. The unsettling feeling I had about him earlier comes back to me. I should not have got in a the car with this man.

  He swerves recklessly, cutting and jamming through traffic. Joey stays on our tail like he’s chained on. My stomach lurches at every twist and sharp turn. I grip the door handle tight, my knuckles turning pale. Junior's efforts can’t shake Joey, though.

  “I’ll lose him, don’t worry. He’s not going to bother you anymore,” Junior mutters, almost in a sing-song under his breath.

  “Hold on tight.“ Talking through his teeth, Junior sounds a little manic.

  “Change of plan. This will be exciting. We’re going to fake into the parking garage for the O’Malley’s casino here.” He accelerates as he points to the green and blue neon lit tower ahead. “We’ll drift in, slow. Cruise up the first couple of levels, then I’m going to floor it and get us out,” he grins and his eyes gleam hard, “so hang on tight.”

  With a hard swerve, the truck tilts and lurches as we screech into the multi-story parking garage at the back of a casino, tires smoking against the concrete floor. My pulse races. A drop of sweat trickles down the back of my neck.

  We drive inside. I silently slip the buckle on my seatbelt open. I keep the buckle held together and wait for the hard turn, as Junior heads up the ramp. I’m nervous, holding the buckle in place and hoping the belt beeper doesn’t start up and give me away. As soon as Junior slows on the turn, I let go of the buckle and yank open the door to jump out.

  Junior seethes, practically squealing as he lunges across me to slam the door shut. His face is a rage of teeth and spittle.

  “Where the fuck do you think you're going, Daisy?” and he activates the central locks. I'm trapped.

  “I should have known I couldn’t trust you, Miss Daisy.”

  “Wait. How do you know my name?”

  “Oh, if only you knew what I know about you. But that would spoil the surprise.”

  Now the seatbelt alarm is chirruping, but I’m locked in anyway.

  “Let me out!" I tell Junior. I pound on the window. I bang on his arm.

  Junior is calmer now, maybe because he sees me starting to panic. We get up to the third level and he floors the accelerator, screeching around to head down the off ramps. We race back down for the exit.

  With a voice like ice and without looking around, he says, "Just trust me, Daisy.”

  Joey has parked across the exit. He leaps out of the car to stand square in front of the truck, hurtling toward him. He’s extending a gun out with both arms, pointed straight at Junior.

  Junior hits the gas. I scream.

  But I also grab the wheel and yank it down, hard. The truck swerves and smashes into a parked vehicle. Joey runs straight over to Junior’s side of the cab with his gun aimed right at Junior’s head. While Junior is distracted, I reach for the central lock.

  Finally, breathing hard, I scramble down, out of the cab.

  Amid the chaos and blaring car alarms, Junior reverses violently, slamming into several vehicles, and setting off even more alarms.

  He roars away up a ramp.

  Joey's arm encircles my waist, pulling me protectively against him, guiding me into his car.

  “You should never have gotten into a car with a stranger like that. Didn’t you learn anything in school?”

  As he starts the car and turns for the exit, his anger softens. “That said, Daisy,” his eyes search my face, “you did pretty well back there.”

  I feel like I’ve gotten a prize.

  "Where are you taking me?" My voice shudders. It makes me mad that my panic shows. I glance up at him, searching his face for answers. His eyes are dark and stormy, a hint of emotion that makes my breath jump.

  "Somewhere safe," he says. I wince.

  ”That’s what Junior said.”

  “Is that what he called himself?”

  He sounds thoughtful.

  A rage mounts from deep in my gut. “Do you know who that fucker is? Is he somebody trying to settle some kind of a score with you? Did I just get dragged into the crossfire of some club turf war or an old mob vendetta or something, is that what happened here?”

  Joey pulls over and stops the car.

  “You brought your own mess of trouble here with you, Daisy. You must have thought there wasn’t enough in Vegas already, so you’d better bring extra. Right? I think you’re going to have to tell me what that’s really all about. You came here for a reason, Daisy, I know it. And now, I think it’s about time you started to tell me what that reason is. Because, if you don’t…” he drives back out into the traffic, “If you don’t, I think there’s a good chance you’ll get us both killed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A high-roller suite isn’t so hard to get at short notice when you’re in the business and you know the right people. Unless it’s a time of certain big sporting events, or conferences or mega entertainment dates. Those times, the only way into one is to kill the current occupants.

  Even for a Vegas five-star resort on the Strip, the glitter and glitz in this high-roller suite is way over the top. Sure, I'm in the hospitality business, so I know it from the business side. It's easy to see where the money gets spent here, and it's all bling. Plush carpets, gold accents glimmering on every edge and detail, floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of the neon skyline.

  An open concept living area flows into a gourmet wet bar and a kitchen area, and a short hallway leads to the master suite and the spa-like bathroom.

  Little details make it, though— expensive art lines the walls, crystal decanters with top-shelf liquor, silk sheets and goose-down duvet wait to envelop us in decadent luxury. Everything about the place is designed to pamper and indulge, to make a high-roller feel like an emperor.

  It's a world away from the grit and grime of the streets below. My hunch is that we’re a far distance from Daisy’s background and her comfort zone, too.

  And she is totally unimpressed. Naturally.

  "A gaudy playground for the terminally rich and stupid," she scoffs.

  "Can't you ever appreciate anything?" I snap, my patience wearing thin. She rolls her eyes at me, saunters to the window, and narrows her eyes at the landscape of neon glitter.

  “Oh, I should be grateful you’re spending all this money to try and impress me. Well done.” She mimes a handclap. “Clever Ox.”

  “It’s not costing me anything, for your information. It wouldn’t make any difference if it was. I could be paying full retail, even the rack rate. The hard part wasn’t getting the suite, it was getting it anonymously, so you can’t be traced here.”

  By the window, Daisy stands silhouetted against the garish neon. I want to grab her, crush her to me, but I stay where I am.

  "You'll be safe here," I assure her.

  "Is the club not safe?" She hesitates, her curiosity piqued.

  ”For you, right now, you need to be completely out of sight.”

  ”I need to call Selma.”

  “Don’t make too many calls on your cellphone. And keep them really short.”

  “You think there’s a government agency looking for me?” She has that edge in her voice.

  “A lot of people in this town have friends in government agencies. Not always the nice people, either.” She’s not quite pouting, but it looks like the effort is getting too much for her. “Do you know who that guy was, the guy with the truck? The guy who just tried to kidnap you?”

  “Nooo.” She drags the word out. There’s a lot she hasn’t told me here, but no matter. I just want to keep her safe. I’m not planning to be her biographer.

  She says, “I hate owing you.”

  I shrug, leaning back against the bar. "You don't owe me anything."

  She turns, eyes gleaming in the shadows. "Don't lie. You do think I owe you. You think you own some rights over me now."

  I don't give a damn what you think you owe me." My voice comes out harsh. "Just stay out of trouble so I don't have to keep saving your ass."

  "Or what?" She takes a step toward me. "What will you do if I cause trouble again, Joey?"

  Christ, the way she says my name. Like she knows the effect it will have on me.

  I push off the bar and stalk toward her. She doesn't back down, just lifts her chin.

  "Maybe next time I'll let them have you," I growl.

  "You're lying." Her eyes drop to my mouth. "You wanted me too badly to give me up that easily."

  I grab her arm, pulling her against me. "Is that what you think? That I can't resist you?"

  "I know you can't." Her lips curve into a smirk.

  I'm getting angry with her.

  I growl, “I’m trying to help you here. You’re in need of some protection, Daisy.”

  She doesn't take that particularly well. "You're an ox. I don’t need to be protected by an ox.”

  “You're a walking fire hazard, Daisy. You're a flake. Why did you leave Domingo hanging out to dry?” She glowers back at me. “You saw him pulling for you. Is that how you treat all your friends?”

  Her lip juts. “Stop trying to bully me, Joey. You're a brute. You can't even have a simple conversation where you're not the top fucking dog.”

  I’m trying to keep my temper, but it’s not working. “Daisy, you're a catastrophe. You can't go more than a couple of hours without setting off some kind of a minor disaster."

  That may not have been entirely wise.

  Her blood is up. “Listen to yourself, can you? The big noise. You're a plank. Solid, hard, dense and dumb.”

  I back her up against the window, thinking I’m going to reason with her. She shouts in my face, “Anything that's not your exact point of view is total fucking nonsense to you. You're inflexible, stuck in your own narrow little view of the world."

  I yank her closer, and then my mouth is on hers. She moans and it could mean anything, but her mouth, her lips, and her tongue don’t lie. Her hands, scrambling all over me, gripping, grasping, clawing and tugging, they’re not putting on a front or faking.

  We meld together through our mouths and our breath, clamoring like we want to devour each other whole. All teeth and tongues, pent-up passion unleashed. Like we melt into one, dissolving together in the wave of pure heat.

  I break the kiss, resting my forehead against hers as my hands roam all over her. Her nails dig into my shoulders, breath coming fast.

  "Look at me," I order.

  Her eyes flutter open, hazy with need.

  "I hate that you make me want this," she says, her voice shaking.

  "Me too," I whisper back.

  I back her against the wall, pinning her in place with my body as our kiss deepens. Her hands fist in my hair, nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes me groan. Every point of contact between us burns, and I can't get enough. Can't get close enough.

  I pull her thigh and hitch it tight around my hip, rocking against her. She gasps, arching into me as I trail my lips down her neck. The sounds she makes go straight to my cock, hard and aching to be inside her.

  "Joey." My name on her lips is a plea, shaky and breathless.

  Her thigh jams between mine. She tugs and rips at my tee shirt, and she’s clawing at my belt.

  Her blouse, her belt, her jeans, I need them all off her. I try to undo the buttons on her blouse, but the buttons are too small and my fingers feel too thick and clumsy. There’s a long, slow rrip and without meaning to, I’ve torn her blouse. I pull at her belt.

  As soon as I expose a patch of flesh, I put my mouth on it. Tasting. Taking. Sucking. the peachy sweetness of her nipples as they harden and bud in my mouth makes me steam and pulse inside.