Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (27 page)

There were dozens dressed like Elle. He was going to need to paint a big red dot on her back not to lose her. On the bright side, no one else would be able to spot her either.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” Jack demanded, looking at some children picking up their small pitchforks. “These are explosives; you have kids handling those?”

He handed an earbud to her. She frowned but put it on. “Don’t worry. They dance mainly under us in circles while we hold the big pitchforks. They get the smallest charges and they don’t handle them. You see those guys there?” She pointed at a group near a cart full of firecrackers. “Every ten devils have a cart that walks near us in the parade, recharging the pitchforks when they go out. In a corner at the square there’s already set a big stash of fire charges for when we all come together for the final show.”

Oh well, that surely changed everything. Crazy people.

“This is fun,” Max said with a whistle, obviously totally disagreeing. “How come I didn’t know about this? We ditch the devil outfits, turn them into green shamrocks and St. Patrick’s will never be the same.”

“As an explosives expert, I have to object to being here,” Cole said, approaching. “There shouldn’t be any civilians around, much less without protective gear. And only trained personnel should have access to the fire charges.”

Jack couldn’t agree more.

“That would be
soo
much fun for the public,” Elle said, rolling her eyes. “The idea is for them to participate.”

“The idea is for them to make it home in one piece and not missing an eye,” Cole muttered.

Elle went on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “You worry too much, bro. People come ready. Most are covered. If they get too hot, they scream ‘water,’ and buckets full of water are thrown on them from the balconies.”

Cole didn’t look reassured in the least. “I’m sure that’s very effective when you’re in flames.”

“Cool,” Max interjected.

“Come on, let’s take position,” James said to Cole, shaking his head, “before this wacko joins the parade.”

At that moment the devils carrying the big-assed drums started to bang on them.

“That’s the signal. Let’s go,” she said pulling at Jack. “Our team is there.”

Even though she had her sunglasses on, the scarf over her mouth, and the hood covering half her face, they all recognized her.

“Ready to light up the night?” she screamed over the thunderous sound of the drums, picking up her fork.

All of them cheered and then turned to Jack.

“This is…” She faltered.

“I’m her man,” Jack interrupted.

A guy she’d introduced as Raul stared at her, his eyes big.

“Yes, and I’m his pet. He plans to return me to the kennel as soon as he tires of me.”

By the look on Raul’s face, he wasn’t sure they were serious or not. “Oh, okay. I guess. As long as he doesn’t have you neutered. Or put to sleep.”

When Raul got busy charging the others’ pitchforks, Jack hooked his finger through the loop of her belt, brought her to him, and spoke in her ear. “You like it in the kennel, pet. Free to play. No owner to obey.”

“Have you ever considered I might like to have an owner to disobey?”

He studied her. “I’m not the kind of owner who likes to be disobeyed.”

She pursed her lips mockingly. “Oh, I see, I don’t deserve your collar.” Before he could answer, she pushed on belligerently, “Actually, if you need to put a collar on me, then I’m the wrong pet for you. And you are definitely the wrong owner to obey.”

Her pitchfork had been loaded, Raul lit the charges and there she went.

“Your turn,” Raul said, handing him a pitchfork.

Right.

Elle had not been totally truthful. It was not only the more daring spectators going to dance with them, but the devils were charging the public too. Not to mention the dragon and the phoenix spitting fire. And the drums hammering at his ears and the people yelling and the water flying from the windows.

In the middle of all that mayhem, he noticed his cell vibrating. It was a message from Mullen.

Donald Solis, Marlene’s supervisor, is missing. Last seen leaving a bar with a blond guy matching Grabar’s description. His hotel room in Hawaii has strong evidence of foul play, blood spatter on the walls consistent with a throat being slit. Body nowhere to be seen, but plenty of state parks and plantations nearby to dispose of it.

Fuck, game over.

“We’re pulling the plug,” Jack spoke into the earbud. “Maldonado knows about Elle. You copy, pet?”

But she didn’t answer.

He searched for Elle, who’d gone a bit ahead, spotting her near a kid who was crying desperately in his mother’s arms. She smiled at him, said something, and then pulled down her hood and her scarf, uncovering her face.

Fuck, no, no, no.

He tried to rush to her, but there were people under him, so he couldn’t let the pitchfork go, and that fucking dragon got in front of him, blocking his way. The last he saw was Elle turning the corner before he lost sight of her.

“Anyone have eyes on the target?” he yelled. “Max? She should be coming your way. You see her?”

No answer either.

“Fuck,” came from James. “Max’s down.”

* * * *

Elle twirled over herself, fire flying all over. Her earbud had gone careening several twirls ago, but she didn’t have the time to fish it out of her hood right now. She’d attempt rescue when she went for recharging. Besides, she was half-deaf already from the fireworks and the drums.

The last cracker from her pitchfork blew out. Time to go for a replacement. But before that, she had something else to do. She moved toward the kid crying in front of her. She forgot always how scary the whole event looked like to small children.

“Hey,” she said pulling down her hood and the scarf. “This is just a costume, buddy. Nothing else. Don’t cry.”

The kid looked at her, his tiny arms tightly hugging his mother’s neck. Finding out she was not a demon seemed to reassure him and, sniffing, he let out a shaky smile.

As she was turning around, she bumped into someone. She lifted her gaze to apologize and the words froze in her throat.

Intent, mocking eyes stared back at her.

“Miss Cooper, we do meet in the strangest places,” Maldonado said. “I decided to come personally and make sure all goes smoothly. You tend to slip through everybody’s fingers.”

Elle tried to backtrack, but the crowd kept pushing at her. Then she realized it wasn’t the crowd, but four huge men who were flanking her. All the Krav Maga self-defense classes she’d taken on how to fight in small places and she’d forgotten the basics: don’t let them into your space.

She nailed one in the nose and another in the groin, but she was badly outnumbered and the third guy punched her in the face, sending her to the ground. The blistering pain blurred her sight, leaving her disoriented, fighting not to black out. Strong arms restrained her immediately, yanking her up, and when the man with the bleeding nose was going to retaliate, Maldonado stopped him. “Not here.”

She thrashed feebly, but it was useless. No one was paying attention. She couldn’t see Jack, or any of the Bowens. Heck, she had trouble seeing anything. The phoenix had been charged and was ramming people and spitting fire and creating havoc. Everyone was being pushed over and as far as she could tell, not a single soul noticed they were dragging her away.

* * * *

Jack fought his way through the crowd, and, when he made it around the corner, he saw Maldonado, followed by Nico and four of his henchmen flanking Elle. The feeling of relief soon turned into fury.

He wasn’t going to reach them in time. Too many people in between them. The wackos pushing the dragon started lunging forward, opening a path, so Jack jumped on its back until it was near Elle and then threw himself at her assailants, who, caught by surprise, released her.

“Run,” Jack yelled at her as he fought two of Maldonado’s men. She hesitated, looking disoriented and overwhelmed—in shock probably—so he pushed her away from Nico and Maldonado. “I said
run
.”

He incapacitated one of the thugs and engaged another, but he was unable to stop all of them from going after Elle again, until suddenly James and Cole appeared, coming to his rescue. Jack caught up with one of the men after her and watched, relieved, as the crowd swallowed her before Nico or any of the other henchmen could grab her. Maldonado rushed ahead, trying to get into a car. Jack reached for him, but Nico intercepted him.

He fought the Russian off, losing precious seconds while Maldonado got into the car. Fuck, the bastard was getting away.

Jack couldn’t fire his gun; he didn’t have a clear shot and there were too many civilians in the crossfire, but Nico didn’t have that problem. He pointed at Jack and pulled the trigger. The bullet missed him, hitting the car that was speeding away. The driver lost control and the vehicle crashed into the stash of explosives on the square, a huge ball of fire lighting up the night, the sound deafening. The expansive soundwave left him disoriented for a long second, but he shook it away and managed to get on his feet. By then Nico was nowhere to be seen.

“Jack, you copy?” he heard from the earbud.

It was James.

“Yes. Max and Cole?”

“Fine.”

“James,” he called out, fighting to make himself heard among the screams, “where is Elle? Do you see her?”

“No, I don’t,” came the voice of his friend.

Fuck, where was she?

“Elle?” he yelled, frantic. He had to find her. He hadn’t seen her being forced into the car with Maldonado, but he’d lost sight of her. Maybe she’d been run over, or got caught in the explosion. His mind was going crazy with possibilities, his pulse racing, his heart about to come out of his chest. The iceman was fucking panicking.

Then he spotted her, standing shakily amid the smoke and the debris, looking around as if she couldn’t make sense of what was going on. The breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rushed out of him in a whoosh and before he could order his body to move, he was already with her, enveloping her tiny body in his arms. Thank fucking God. Alive.

“You okay, pet?” he whispered to her. The paint on her face had gotten smudged and was a mess. Between that and the black smoke, he couldn’t see if she was injured.

She said nothing, just nodded, hugging him tight, her nails digging into him.

He didn’t let her go either. Not while the paramedics were attending to her. Not after the cops showed up and started questioning them. And when they wanted to take her in for a statement, he’d put his foot down. He gave them his cell number and told them he was taking her home. They didn’t argue. Neither did she.

Chapter Seventeen

Jack had taken her to what she assumed was his place. Too shocked to manage the shower on her own, he’d stepped in with her, washing her face, the water running black and red from the paint. Swearing at the bruises on her face. Then he’d put her into a humongous bathtub in the corner, windows in the walls along both sides affording a fantastic view. Unfortunately, Elle was too overwhelmed to appreciate it.

“How did they find me?” she mumbled, leaning her head on his chest. The water was very hot and Jack was sitting behind her, keeping her in his arms.

“Donald. He’s dead.”

“Oh God.” He’d told her he was going to be traveling the whole month, so she hadn’t thought about warning him, not that she would have been able too, seeing as he always liked to be incommunicado. Still, guilt churned in her gut. “How did he…?”

“Die? Badly, we assume. The body hasn’t been recovered yet. Once they got your name it was only a matter of time before they’d figure out where you would be. You, my little pet, are too predictable.”

Then it dawned on her. “If they found out who I am, then they know Alex Ayala is—”

“A cover,” he finished, nodding. “Not too many arms dealers moonlighting as federal witness protectors, I’m afraid.”

She was so sorry she’d messed that up for him. She had always been very careful not to mention his name or publish any of his pictures.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Jack, your sister—”

“Already taken care of. I called while the paramedics were with you.”

“Good.” Elle couldn’t recall it, but to be fair, she couldn’t recall much of what happened after the explosion. It was all a blur of smoke, screams, and debris.

Her only point of reference, her anchor, had been Jack.

Relief had flooded her when she heard the Bowen men talking around her. The thought that something could have happened to them made her chest hurt.

“Sorry I ruined that for you.”

“Don’t sweat it. This was bound to happen at some point. Too visible attending all those Bowen events.”

“Now what?”

“Now we wait for the DNA results on the charred bodies in the car. If Maldonado is still alive, you go into hiding as we agreed.”

His tone was stern. Sterner than necessary.

“Of course I’ll go. I gave you my word. I don’t go back on my word.” She’d put enough people at risk already. If it came down to that, she’d go into hiding. Testify and face the consequences, whatever those might be. Time to grow up. “For what it’s worth, though, I saw Maldonado getting into the car.” The second Jack had started tearing into Maldonado’s men, the big boss had decided to cut his losses and had bolted.

“So did I,” Jack stated, “but we are not taking any more risks.”

There was something in the air. A heaviness. The realization that however it played today, whether she had to go into hiding or this nightmare was over, her time with Jack was up. And she so didn’t want to give him up.

She pushed that thought aside. Didn’t want to go there.

“You were right. It was stupid not to go into hiding in the first place. I almost got you killed. And the Bowens. Max’s skull is split, for Christ’s sake.” And it could have been so much worse. Aside from the three bodies in the car, there had been no casualties, just property damage. The crowd had been a bit behind and away from the big stationary cart full of explosives for the final presentation at the square. Five minutes later, it would have been packed with revelers. She didn’t want to ponder on how many would have lost their lives because of her stubbornness.