Instead of answering, Quin stared past her shoulder—and there stood Terry Janes, not more than a yard behind her. A woman hung on his left arm, and a man counted money to his right. And still he stared straight at Arizona.

Well, hell. She’d been so absorbed in the young waiter she hadn’t even sensed Terry Janes getting near.

With the loud music blaring and the drone of multiple conversations, he couldn’t possibly have overheard anything they’d said. But maybe Quin’s guilty expression had given them away, because the bar owner’s ominous intensity engulfed them both.

Oh, God, if she got Quin in trouble… “Look,” Arizona said in a rush. “Let me help—”

“If you don’t want anything else,” Quin interrupted, “I will get back to work.” He started away.

Arizona caught his sleeve. “Wait.”

First miserable and then defiant, he paused. “What?”

Arizona pressed the pie toward him. “Please. I’m watching my weight, but it’d be a shame for the dessert to go to waste. Would you eat it for me?”

His jaw worked. “It is for you.”

“But I don’t want it. Not tonight.”

Cynicism flattened his expression. “You should eat it anyway.” And with that he walked off—but he left the pie behind.

So had someone tampered with it? Did it contain something that would drug her, make her malleable, or worse?

Unwilling to take the chance, Arizona pushed the pie away. But now, without Quin to talk to and with her targets all busy, she felt at loose ends.

She’d always had a problem with impatience.

At least Quin now had the number for her day-to-day cell. Hopefully he’d call. Hopefully he’d let her help. And soon.

She wanted to act, to “fix” things however she could, preferably by stomping on some bad guys. She had new respect for how Trace, Dare and Jackson handled the involved, multileveled stings that had brought about so much justice.

She tapped her fingertips on the bar, swung one foot in time to the music, glared at one leering drunk and wished Carl would hurry up and return to her so they could get the show on the road.

* * *

“HANG ON A SECOND, HONEY.” Dodging graspy hands and a wet mouth, Spencer pulled the buzzing phone from his pocket. He flipped it open to see the message: Lights out in thirty.

Not a code, but from Dare. What did it mean? Unsure if he should anticipate a knockout, a blackout or both, he checked the time on his watch.

Unwilling to let the redhead kiss his mouth, Spencer dodged her again—and she bit his chin.

With a hand on her shoulder, he pressed her back. “Hold on, sugar.” Quickly, before things got out of hand, he beeped back a confirmation of receipt and returned the phone to his pocket.

“Business?” she asked while settling back into her seat across from him.

“Nothing important.” Should he round up Arizona and say to hell with it for the night? At the very least, he had to keep her close. Right now she looked bored, and that didn’t bode well for anyone.

Then suddenly Terry Janes moved on past her again, heading down a hallway toward the back of the bar, past the bathrooms and kitchen.

And Spencer knew—he knew—exactly what Arizona was thinking.

It was uncanny how he could read her, but when she pushed off the bar stool without looking back at him, giving him no opportunity to dissuade her with a subtle signal, he knew it was to follow Janes.

When he got her alone again…

Thoughts scrambling, Spencer prepared to go after her, and to hell with their cover.

At the last second, it proved unnecessary.

With relief, he watched as she got sidelined by a new distraction.

* * *

GODDAMNED INTERRUPTIONS… He curled his hands into fists, locked his knees and accepted the inevitable.

Stalled, yet again.

For so many nights now, he’d waited for her to return to his bar. Now she was here, but nothing was yet settled.

Frustration clawed at the surface of his calm façade, a façade of control, of normalcy. He had to have her. Sooner would be better…but if forced to it, he could be patient.

Waiting often led to the best rewards.

For now, she was too nice, giving attention to those who didn’t deserve it. Stupid bitch.

When the time was right, he’d teach her better.

But it wasn’t that time yet. Not yet.

Soon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“WAIT.”

Thrown off by the interruption, Arizona peered down at the small, pale hand now latched onto her arm.

“Please.” It was quickly retracted by a goofy little dweeb in thick glasses with an unruly head of brown hair half-hidden beneath a worn sports cap. “Wait.”

Un-freaking-believable. Her brows rose with indignation. “Excuse me?”

“Look.” Trembling, he thrust a large, stiff piece of paper toward her. “It’s you.”

She suspected the little guy had turned bright red, but low lighting made it impossible to tell. She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t have time for this. “What is it?”

Eyes darting everywhere, manner demure, he turned the pencil drawing around so that the light shone on it.

Oh, wow. It was her.

She eased closer to the small round two-seater table where he sat. He’d captured her likeness in profile. Amazed, Arizona studied the drawing he held.

Though she hadn’t exactly posed—or sat still—he’d managed an accurate rendering that looked like her…except way better. He’d even given her a smile that seemed genuine instead of forced. And the drawing didn’t emphasize her boobs or her legs.