Running With the Devil Read Free Page B

service!”
    “My point exactly.” His laid-back, sexually playful attitude was a distant memory. Now his eyes were hard and cold. “A federal informant is dead. If you aren’t gonna help me, then I’ll make damn sure you’re out of my way.”
    A heavy, ugly silence weighed.
    He could fuck up her life with one phone call.
    Kenna silently cursed her shortsightedness. When her grant had mysteriously fallen through last year at the last minute, her pal Marissa had come to the rescue. She suggested Kenna act as a highly paid tour guide for Marissa’s old friend, Jerry Travis.
    She’d been desperate; take the money or forfeit her place in the doctoral program. No brainer. She’d taken the cash and hadn’t regretted it.
    Until now.
    If word got around the small academic community she’d been busted for prostitution she’d get kicked out. Wouldn’t matter if it weren’t true. Then it wouldn’t even matter if she had the money to pay tuition.
    She’d gone to a lot of trouble to make damn sure no one besides Marissa knew her alternate identity. “Kenna Jones” was completely fictional. Not even Jerry had known her real name.
    Evidently Mr. DEA didn’t either or he’d have contacted her at home, not by the decoy email account. At this point she owed him nada. She’d answered his questions. If he hadn’t arrested her by now, by all rights she could get up and walk away.
    Besides, it’d be interesting to see how he liked being played. The more she thought about it, the more she decided it’d serve him right. A few quick changes and she’d disappear into the throng of bikers like a nitro vapor trail.
    Despite his earlier cocky statement, Agent March would be hard pressed to ever find her again.
    She smiled sheepishly and said, “All right. I’m in.”

    Kenna was so full of shit her lavender eyeballs swam in it. The hellcat who had sworn, sneered and smoldered had gone all sweet, soft and sorry. Helpful, even.
    Right. As if he’d buy that.
    Yet Drake allowed her to ramble on. He nodded, appearing to swallow her heartfelt lines of apology as if they were gospel.
    She’d grudgingly told him the meeting place (fat chance she’d show) and a firm time (another lie) before they said goodbye.
    He admired her remarkable ass as she flitted away, an extra spring in her high-heeled step. She even stopped, turned back around, offering him a jaunty wave and a saucy grin.
    Oh yeah. She was good.
    But he was better.
    The minute she escaped from view Drake reached into his pocket for the lip mic and reattached it to the earpiece. “Bobby? You copy?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Good. See the target?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Follow her.”

Chapter Two
    Kenna surreptitiously pulled the top of the scarlet bustier higher. Why men went ape-shit seeing her boobs pressed beneath her chin was beyond her. Putting her private parts on display ranked right up there with a lap dance at a Chippendales show.
    She stirred the glass of ginger ale, watching the fizz crawl up the red-and-white-striped straw. Bubble one burst before bubble two.
    A sigh escaped. She didn’t know if she had the guts to go through with this. Showing Jerry the sights had been one thing. Having Marissa set her up with a total stranger was something else entirely. It made her feel…well, cheap.
    The backroom of Pedal to the Medal Saloon was filled to capacity. Most of the patrons were men—overweight, over the age of fifty. The young, good-looking, cocky ones preferred a more dangerous venue.
    Immediately, Agent March popped into her head. He embodied danger. A sexy troublemaker that could short-circuit the logic center of her brain and rev her body into overdrive in six seconds or less.
    The neon green Coors Light clock over the horseshoe-shaped bar read 9:15. She smirked and wondered if Mr. DEA was having fun at the fifth annual “Big Johnson” contest at the In-N-Out Lizard Lounge. Kenna wasn’t sorry she’d sent him on a wild dick chase, but she’d loved to