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  “What’s going on?” The heat of his intense gaze held and warmed her.

  “It’s time to see if we can convince the two characters at the bar we’re hot for each other.” His grip on her arm tightened, and his smile was forced. “I remember being told on my last visit here this club is a known hangout for Armondez’s men.”

  “I’m a great actress, Gun. Are they players?”

  “The ugliest one, I recognize from the prep photos. He looks harmless, but is one of Armondez’s most skilled killers. He asked if I was looking for an after-hours party. Said a friend of his who liked to party might show up later.”

  Her skin crawled. “Armondez, maybe?”

  “Could be. We’ll wait and see.” He rubbed his jaw in agitation.

  “Okay. I’ll let you have a few privileges.”

  “All right. Let’s go. We won’t grease his can too hard tonight.”

  She couldn’t believe his nonchalant reaction to her agreeing that he could feel her up. “Is he going to make a move tonight?” She smiled at him, but the sparkle of tease was not in her eyes. “You can play with my ass, but keep your fingers out of my pussy.”

  “What’s wrong? You getting turned on?”

  He could talk to her that way and never blink. He was nothing to her. She meant nothing to him. He wasn’t her boyfriend, and he could talk that way because to him she was just one of the guys. They were working. Reality. It meant nothing.

  She met his steady gaze, making sure her voice was strong. “Okay, we act real friendly and show them what a rich jackass you are.” Ali grinned, unable to hide the pleasure of calling him a donkey’s rear end.

  He’d caught her comment and her grin, shaking his head as he grabbed her hand. “Remind me to tell you who’s boss of this outfit.”

  “Sure, Sweeney. But that won’t be necessary. We already know.”

  Ali relented and put herself in Gun’s hands, literally, letting him lead her back to the crowded bar. His hand fastened to her hip as he propelled her through the crowd. As if he went to the club everyday, he pushed his way back into the space he had taken earlier.

  She didn’t comment when he ordered her a slow comfortable screw. Ali had an idea he knew damned well she hated those syrupy fruit things. He sat down and pulled her between his legs, handing the silly drink to her with a wink.

  He swallowed half his drink and checked out the scene while looking over her shoulder. He used her as a shield while his hand squeezed her upper thigh. His black gaze traveled over the gyrating crowd, and he chuckled.

  She felt everything but humor. A current of danger hummed through the crowd, making her more receptive to being controlled by her partner, even if she was still irked with him. She couldn’t relax while the prickle of expectancy crawled along her nerves. His arm tightened around her waist when the guy next to them finally struck up a conversation.

  “May I buy you and your lady a drink?” The guy didn’t look like he was doing hospitality work. Not waiting to see if they wanted anything, he rattled off his order in Spanish to the waiter, then began looking them over.

  Ali hugged Gun’s neck while the guy introduced himself.

  “I am Jorge Gomorra.”

  Gun shook hands with him and began a casual conversation as if they were in a bar in Texas. “Mike Sweeney, and this is my fiancée, Bambi Malone.”

  Jorge smiled at her and nodded, his gaze like black ink as it trickled over her face and body. “You are a lucky man, Sweeney. Bambi is beautiful.”

  Gun’s arm tightened around her waist. She couldn’t tell if he was pissed at Jorge, or being protective. The bartender brought the round of scotch Jorge had ordered.

  Ali tipped her glass up, pretending to sip, and licked her lips. “I knew I would like Bogotá. Everyone is so nice.”

  She smothered a gasp of surprise that shot through her when Gun’s thumb grazed her breast. Probably his cute way of telling her to shut-the-fuck-up. She would have to put a lid on her reaction for now. It was imperative to think clearly. This was business.

  Gun kissed her cheek, licking her chin for the dribble of sweet liquid he had caused her to spill. He asked Jorge the all-important question. “What happens around here after the clubs close for the night?”

  “What did you have in mind?” Jorge’s hands were well manicured and his skin like polished copper. Definitely not a farmer.

  “My lady and I like to get a buzz before we turn in for the night.” Gun patted her ass for emphasis. “You know, kick up the action in the sheets.”

  Jorge nodded. “You are welcome to join me and a few friends at my home later.”

  “That’s damn nice of you, Jorge. Just let us know when you’re ready to leave.” He caught her chin in his fingers and smiled at her. “You do want to go, don’t you, Bambi?”

  She laughed playfully and let her hand trail down between his legs. “You know I do. Anywhere you go is fine with me.”

  Her heart pounded crazily as Gun whispered in her ear. “Sweeney’s going to make you the happiest woman in Bogotá for being so easy to get along with.” His words made her wet.

  There was no reason to swell his head to bigger proportions by letting him know how turned on she was. “Easy, honey. Your implant might pop out.”

  He grinned at her, calming her dread some with his good mood. Her nerves were like tinfoil, crackling and ready to crumble. Gun clearly liked the tension and game-playing with criminals. He was having a good time. She was tense as hell and wanted to get out of that bar. She caught on to the fact that Gun was sliding his nearly full drinks to the back of the bar when a new round was delivered.

  She had been nuts agreeing to this, coming with him to this noisy dope market when her head spun from fatigue. What the hell? Give in and let him handle things, like he’s handling you. She tipped her glass up and lapped a tiny dram from the sweet drink.

  He bought the next three rounds of drinks and paid with hundred-dollar bills, tossing them on the bar like confetti. Plus, his hands were roaming to areas she’d always designated as off-limits to any man she wasn’t currently screwing. Gun hadn’t earned that privilege yet.

  She considered the change in her situation, remembering that earlier in the evening, she had forced him to keep drawing her back to him. But the crowd had grown to crushing levels, leaving her no choice but to stay between his legs. She tried to relax, but he drove her nuts with his adventurous hands that traveled over her hips and thighs.

  Her legs stiffened under his newest technique. He slid his hand between her legs, brushing the damp crotch of her panties. He wasn’t thinking about her, apparently absorbed in conversation with his new Colombian friend.

  She leaned against him to murmur in his ear. “Sweeney, baby. What’s all the chit-chat about?”

  “Just guy talk so far. You know, how long’s your dick? Mine’s longer.” He laughed and rubbed her lower back with slow, circular pampering.

  His nonchalant attitude made her edgy. “Sweeney. Remember you’re taking me shopping tomorrow.” She pressed her palm to the pistol under his arm. “Are you getting directions to the best bargains?”

  He slid his hand up her thigh, stopping at the edge of her panty. “Not yet, Bambi.” Gun radiated excitement and the feel of danger. She couldn’t help the tingle of pleasure his wildness sent through her. His smile was pure sexual enticement as he gazed into her eyes. “These things take time. Relax.”

  “Don’t take too long, honey.” She tensed her body, trying to fend off sexual excitement while he touched and stroked her into near climax. Her voice sounded high-pitched to her own ears when she managed to comment against his ear. “Our friends here must like the looks of your money, if their staring means anything.”

  She pulled slightly away from him and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. He immediately pulled her back.

  “It’s you they’re looking at, baby. You’re real hot tonight, and they’re not blind.”

  He tugged her onto his lap
to kiss her. She got the idea he might be enjoying it. The strong search and thrust of his tongue in her mouth pushed the button to her libido. Insanely, it instructed her to open her legs for him.

  He ended his foreplay to nibble her earlobe and explain his plan of action for the night. “Let’s stick with the barflies. It’ll look better if we don’t seem too smart or anxious.”

  “We look like a couple of turnips, just fell off the truck.” She relaxed in spite of the stares from people who wouldn’t hesitate to cut her throat if she even looked like the law. A new realization came home to her. Something had obviously gone screwy in her head. She couldn’t think straight while he played around with her.

  Damn. She didn’t want him to see the fuck-me tattoo in her eyes every time he looked at her. Too late. He ran through her blood, hot and fast, sending little shivers of fire all the way to her crotch. If he didn’t stop, his tongue in her mouth would have her clawing his back in glorious, wild orgasm.

  To her disappointment, just like a coldhearted goon in a gangster movie, he let her go and ignored her, going back to bullshitting with Jorge, keeping the second goon in his line of vision. While Ali controlled her breathing, she tried to look bored and accepted the sherry Gun put in her hand. She could take a little drink. No more. This was it.

  Her head cleared instantly when Gun let her know what was happening. They were leaving for another round of drinking and whatever else presented itself. Damn. She wasn’t going to survive this crap.

  “We’re right behind you, Jorge.” He sounded thick-tongued with booze, but she knew better. Moving her off his lap, he paid for the drinks with another big bill. “I think Bambi’s anxious.” He rubbed her ass. “Right, honey?”

  Her sultry laugh seemed to please Jorge, and he took her hand to kiss her knuckles. She wanted to punch him in the gut, but would settle for a hot, soapy hand wash as soon as possible.

  She cooled her disgust with something akin to normal conversation. There was nothing normal about this character. “So, where is your home, Jorge?” Her lashes shuttered her gaze in a game of hide-and-seek with him for a second. “Not too far, I hope.”

  He made a silly tight bow and gestured to the entryway of the club. “Not far at all. A few blocks, perhaps.” He arched his dark brows and smiled, displaying his remarkably white teeth. “Shall we go?”

  “Of course.” Ali took Gun’s hand and moved closer to him. “Anytime. Right, honey?”

  He pressed his thumb into her palm and nodded, taking on that fascinating, hypnotic demeanor once again as he walked beside a probable murderer.

  A bass drum pounded in her ears as they moved away from the bar on the floor that seemed to be bouncing from all the action. Gun held her back and studied the crowd. He touched Jorge’s arm and spoke over the crowd noise.

  “Hang on while I get my driver off the dance floor.”

  Jorge nodded in his mortician-polite way and walked ahead of them to wait at the entrance.

  Ali didn’t like it and whispered harshly against Gun’s ear. “Why? He might get hurt if crap starts and he’s with us.”

  “No, he won’t, if I give him the rest of the night off.” He squeezed her fingers. “I’m taking the keys to the Jeep. I’m taking you home tonight, baby.”

  She slid her hand inside her purse to touch the cool steel of her weapon and waited while he got Ramón’s attention.

  “We’re leaving the dance? It’s so early.” Ramón was outwardly disappointed, looking a little like a sad kid.

  Gun held his hand out. “The keys, Ramón. You stay and have a good time.”

  The young man’s initial disappointment seemed to change into confusion. “Will you need me tomorrow? I’ll be ready anytime.”

  “We’ll let you know.” Gun handed him another fifty. “Bambi’s tired and we’ll be in the sack all day. Maybe not get out of bed at all tomorrow.”

  Ramón nodded and grinned, hurrying off to show his friends the easy cash two crazy Americans had laid on him.

  Chapter 10

  Ali used her compact like a periscope to keep an eye on Gomorra. He stood at the front of the club, looking almost lifeless. The strange aura around him reminded her of the old vampire movies. Ali nudged Gun’s arm.

  “Jorge’s waiting.” She was no coward, but something about this situation smelled. A trickle of apprehension slithered down her spine when she saw the thin slash Gun’s lips had settled into. He was too damned crazy to be worried. His comment was brief and icy.

  “This should be fun.”

  He held her hand as they followed Jorge and his morose companion. The music inside was replaced by shouts and laughter from couples milling around outside in the clammy darkness.

  Jorge paused by a Lamborghini and touched the cherry-red automobile with his fingertip. “We will take my car.”

  Gun shook his head. “It’ll be easier if I take the Jeep. It’s a rental, and I’d hate for anything to happen to it.”

  Ali wanted to smear him with kisses. The thought of being at Jorge’s mercy for wheels was nerve-wracking. He’d stared at them for several seconds before he shrugged and slid into the driver’s seat of his fancy ride.

  Gun had already hopped into the driver’s seat and sat eyeing her with a hint of a grin. That smirk worked like a miracle drug. She wasn’t going to let him in on the ridiculous and uncalled-for misgivings she was experiencing. Forcing the debilitating stiffness from her legs, she climbed in beside him and grimaced at his comment.

  “It’s party time.”

  Her voice came from her throat, deep and husky with sarcasm. “Yeah, and I forgot to pick up a gift.”

  He said nothing, just reached across the seat and patted her thigh in a gesture that seemed almost caring. No, he just liked the feel of a woman.

  He drove like a madman, too, exiting the lot on Jorge’s tail and smoking the tires when they cleared the speed bumps. She couldn’t complain; it was reminiscent of her own driving.

  While he drove, she openly observed him and the comfortable way he leaned back in his seat and drove fast to keep up with the speeding Lamborghini.

  Late-night revelers and shoppers strolled the streets of Bogotá. The heat was still intense, thick with a heady blend of aromas, some desirable, some not so much. Ali caught the scent of something wildly pungent ... intoxicating. Like Gun, the scent fired her imagination, teasing her with images of untamed, shadowy places.

  They drove past their hotel on the way up into the wealthy northern section of Bogotá. Behind the lush gardens and iron gates were luxury homes rivaling anything Beverly Hills offered.

  Gun was forced to stop when they came to a traffic signal, and he leaned over to tug on the ruffle on her shoulder.

  “When we get there, stick close to me.”

  “Like glue.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “A little.”

  “Just enough to be sexy.” He lit a cigarette, taking a puff before handing it to her. “Don’t drink anything at this freak’s place.”

  Ali blew a thin stream of smoke toward the sky and nodded. “I wasn’t planning to.”

  He flicked at a curl that humidity had pasted to her cheek, and then took off after Jorge. Ali leaned her head back to drag in reviving air, knowing she had to be alert. These boys meant every word they hissed.

  She sat up straight at the touch of Gun’s hand on her knee. Her voice was hoarse with tension. “Holy hell. I haven’t seen that much artillery since I was at Fort Dix.”

  He gave her a quick glance and nodded. “Yeah, and I’ll bet the bastards don’t mind firing it, either.”

  “Look over there.” She couldn’t believe the military-green uniforms the guards wore. “It’s a luxury prison.”

  Ali counted the guards with monster-sized mastiffs on leashes. Seven. Gun had connected with her thought waves.

  “Probably a few more around back and some in the house.”

  Obscenely expensive cars filled the circular drive, but several spa
ces had been reverently left for Jorge and his guest. Gun pulled in behind their host, leaving several good getaway feet between them.

  He got out and came around to help her. She unconsciously patted the side of her handbag, getting a bit of a zing of reassurance while her fingertips traced the outline of the Walther PPK.

  A distant rumble of thunder seemed to carry an ominous warning, and she shivered. Would she ever stop thinking like her superstitious granny? Ominous, her ass. This was Colombia, and it rained all the time in this season.

  She didn’t miss Gun’s glance at the sky. He must have felt a twinge of apprehension, too. He caught her hand and closed his big, strong paw around it. The simple act bolstered her nerve and she breathed easier, managing to smile at Jorge as he walked toward them.

  He held his hand out, looking at her alone when he spoke. “Come inside. You’ll enjoy yourselves.” His black-as-pitch gaze lingered on her legs for a long, disturbing moment. With the air of a prince, he led the way to the entrance of the mansion, his entourage of silent pimps close behind.

  “Man, what a whorehouse.”

  She looked at Gun, who seemed unimpressed. Ali rolled her eyes in warning at his low comment, but she was grateful for his arm around her waist. She dredged up all the sincerity she could muster while praising the garishly decorated house.

  “It’s beautiful, Jorge.”

  He smiled as if she had said he was her favorite lover and did that silly bow over her hand again. “I love beautiful things, Bambi.” A quick kiss to her fingertips and he guided them into a massive room dominated by a bubbling, three-tiered fountain. “Come. Let me get you a drink.”

  He snapped his fingers at a skinny young man in black slacks and a starched white shirt. Ali was struck by the waiter’s pallid complexion and lack of spirit. He carefully averted his gaze and bowed his head. His hand shook, and a drop of wine spilled onto the snow-white doily covering the silver tray.

  “You will please excuse my servant’s poor manners. He will not be here tomorrow.”

  She burned to come to the guy’s defense, but only took a glass from the tray and met Gun’s hard gaze. He took a glass and quickly fastened his attention on something across the room. She could tell he was pissed by looking at the knots in his clenched jaw.