Running With the Devil by Lorelei James Page A

that you show him the sights…and I couldn’t get him to leave so I could talk to you alone.” She sniffed and reached in her purse for a Kleenex. “This is so unbelievably screwed up.”
    “It’s not your fault.”
    “Yes it is! Don’t you think it’s suspicious that all this bad stuff has happened since he showed up?”
    Maybe Marissa was on to something. Kenna felt those niggling doubts come back full force.
    Her gaze sharpened. “And where is this Drake guy now after some thug tried to steal your purse?”
    Kenna pointed to the seedy bar kiddy-corner from where they sat. “He had a meeting at the Back Door Saloon.”
    Marissa slumped back into the bench and wouldn’t meet Kenna’s quizzical gaze.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Come on, tell me, Marissa.”
    “Fine.” Folding her arms over her chest, her tone was cool. “The Back Door Saloon is rumored to be the place to make deals without the cops’ interference.”
    “As in drug deals?”
    She shrugged. “That among other things.”
    “How do you know all this?”
    “My friend Angela used to work there as a bartender. She’s told me some things about that place that’d set your hair on end. Stay out of there and stay away from anyone who admits to doing business there.”
    While Kenna digested the information, she watched the gleaming motorcycles parading up and down Main Street. The rumble of engines, the smell of exhaust, the dry heat. Gave her a headache. Every muscle in her body throbbed. She glanced down; her knees were bleeding. She wanted to crawl in bed—her own bed—and sleep until the pain went away. She thought about the Excedrin and everything else in her duffle bag back at the motel. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any aspirin?”
    “Yep. In my line of work I need it every day.” Marissa rummaged in her Coach purse, coming up with two white pills.
    Kenna popped them in her mouth and gulped the last of the water. “Since someone shot at me I can’t go home. Got any suggestions on what I should do now?”
    Before Marissa answered, a shadow fell across the bench.
    Kenna didn’t have to look up to know Drake had found her.

Chapter Eight
    “What is going on? For christsake, Kenna, you’re bleeding!”
    Drake bent down, gingerly tracing the soft flesh beside the gash on her knee. He examined the matching cut on the other knee and the rivulet of blood running down inside the leather boot. Hell. He’d left her alone for thirty minutes, max.
    He glared at Marissa. “What are you doing here?”
    “Maybe the question should be where were you when some asshole tried to snatch her purse?” Marissa retorted.
    Jaw tight, his gaze flickered to the rainbow-beaded bag nestled in Kenna’s lap before he focused on her pale face. “Tell me what happened.”
    “I was standing here, minding my own business when some jerk-off grabbed my purse and ran. I tackled him. He didn’t get my bag, but when I turned around the slimy fucker had vanished.” She frowned and twisted her arm, checking the damage on her elbow. “Bastard. I hope he’s bleeding.”
    Drake gaped at her. What had possessed her to tackle someone? Especially a guy? No wonder she’d been beat to shit.
    Marissa murmured in Kenna’s ear.
    Kenna shook her head vigorously and groaned in pain.
    Marissa straightened up and faced Drake. “Kenna will make lousy company today. I’m taking her home. I’ll bandage her up and make sure she gets some rest.”
    “The hell you are.”
    Kenna’s eyes widened.
    Was it an illusion, or did his informant suddenly seem afraid of him? Great. Just fucking great.
    “Watch it, Mr. Mayhaven,” Marissa said crossly. “I don’t know what your game is. Frankly, I don’t care. However I do care about Kenna and since she’s met you she’s had nothing but problems.”
    “Let me tell you something, Ms. Cruz—”
    “Enough.” Kenna made a time out sign. Her hand covered Marissa’s and she squeezed. “Thank you. But I’ve got to go with