Sexy Silent Nights

“They’re about ten feet away. And the fat one, Hardy, has a gun.”

“Shit.” Adrenaline spiked through her system, clearing her thoughts, stiffening her spine. “I need them closer.”

“You’re getting your wish, sugar.”

“The one with the gun is mine.”

“Not going to happen.”

She nipped his bottom lip hard. “I know what I’m doing. Here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll be the helpless female, you the macho man. He won’t know what hit him. Trust me.”

“Let the girl go,” a gravelly voice said.

Arguing time was up, but Jonah dropped his hands. Cilla immediately pivoted toward the men. Eyes widening, she pressed a hand against her breast and focused on her training. “Sweetums, he’s got a gun.”

“Step aside,” the tall, skinny one said to her. “We don’t want you.”

“Go ahead, sugar,” Jonah said. “Run on up to the club. I can handle this.”

“Okay. Okay.” The words came out on breathless gasps as she took one shaky step, sideways. Without missing a beat, she shot her other leg straight up. Her toe hit Fatso’s wrist dead-on and the gun clattered to the pavement. Pivoting slightly, she landed a punch to the man’s temple. With a grunt, Fatso fell like a rock.

She glanced up to see Jonah racing after the skinny one. “Dammit!”

Pausing only long enough to kick the gun on the sidewalk out of the way, she ran after them. Her heart shot straight to her throat when the back door of the van near the alley slid open. There was at least one more thug to deal with—the driver. She could see him through the windshield now. Broad shoulders, short gray hair.

Before skinny could nose-dive through the door, Jonah grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. One punch straight to the face took him down. Cilla winced and for the first time registered the sting in her own knuckles.

Then the window on the driver’s side lowered and she saw the gun.

“Get down,” she shouted to Jonah. He did, hitting the sidewalk and rolling as the shot rang out. Skidding to a stop, she pulled her own gun out of her pocket, gripping it in both hands as she took her stance and fired. Tires squealing, the van lurched away from the curb and up the street. It backfired loudly in the intersection, then roared off. She got the license plate before it disappeared.

Sliding her weapon back in her pocket, she turned to see that Jonah had already sprung to his feet. The relief was so intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “I told you to trust me. I said I could handle it. You could have gotten yourself shot.”

So could she, Jonah thought as he walked toward her. He’d rolled over quickly enough to see that she hadn’t dropped to the ground as she’d told him to do. Instead, she’d stood there, feet spread, returning the fire of the man in the van like some mythical warrior. He was certain that his heart had skipped two whole beats.

“From my perspective, you did handle it. Very well. I’m not shot, and Laurel and Hardy are out for the count.”

He’d taken her arm to draw her with him toward the club. It was only then that he saw they’d attracted an audience. From the looks of it, most of the bar crowd had poured into the street including Virgil, the tall, bronze-skinned man who’d managed Pleasures since Jonah had opened it.

The fat guy he’d nicknamed Hardy was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a dog. When they reached him, Cilla planted one of her shoes right under his nose where he could see it. “Don’t even think of getting up unless you want me to kick you again.”

He collapsed onto his stomach.

“Boss,” Virgil said. “You all right?”

“Fine. You’d better call the police. Ms. Michaels and I seem to have been the victims of an attempted mugging.”

“I already called 9-1-1, and so did several of our customers.”

Even as sirens sounded in the distance, Jonah noted that Cilla had crouched down to secure the fat guy’s hands behind his back. When she’d finished, there was a spattering of applause from the people who’d gathered. Ignoring it, she retrieved the first man’s gun, then secured the man Jonah had knocked out.

Jonah turned to Virgil. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here and keep everyone away from the crime scene until the police arrive?”

Jonah saw the questions in his manager’s eyes. He also read concern, but all Virgil said was, “Sure thing, but I don’t think these guys are going anywhere.”

“No.” He glanced back as Cilla walked toward him. The sound of sirens grew closer. “I’ll try to reassure our guests. You can send the police to me when they arrive.”

When Cilla reached him, she put her arm through his and kissed him on the cheek. “You sure know how to show a girl an exciting time.” Then she turned to beam a smile at the small crowd of onlookers. “I’m pretty lucky.”

There was more murmuring and nods of agreement. One woman said, “I think he’s the lucky one. The only other place I’ve seen a kick like that was when I saw the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.”

There were more nods and a few laughs as his customers began to move back into the club.

“I’m going to offer everyone a round of free drinks, but you’ve already diminished the tension level considerably,” he murmured as they followed the group.

“You can thank me by trusting me more the next time,” she hissed.

Jonah laughed as he drew her into Pleasures.

AN HOUR LATER, JONAH sat in his office watching Cilla pace back and forth in front of his desk, talking on the phone to Gabe. Making her report.

The policemen had questioned them separately, and the one who was in charge, Detective Finelli, seemed to know Cilla. Which reminded Jonah very forcibly that he knew very little about her—only what Gabe had told him at the party. Her name was Priscilla Michaels, but she went by Cilla, and Gabe thought the world of her.

Oh, he’d been tempted to run a thorough background check on her, but satisfying curiosity could lead a man into deep trouble. Finding out more about her could have complicated his decision to keep his distance.

The name Priscilla intrigued him because it didn’t fit the woman he’d spent the night with in Denver. Cilla suited her better. It also fit the woman he’d met at the airport and the one who’d turned into his arms out on the street. For an instant when she’d put her hands on his face and pulled his head down to hers, he could have sworn the cement beneath his feet had shifted as if it were beach sand. And all he’d been able to think of was her.

Oh, she was a very dangerous woman. And like it or not, he was learning more about her with each moment that passed. Problem was, the more he discovered, the more curious and fascinated he became. She was good at what she did. She’d not only smoothly maneuvered him earlier into accepting her escort back to Pleasures, but once the police had left, she’d managed to get a call into Gabe before he had.

And the woman who paced in front of him right now was a sharp right turn from the woman who’d met him at the airport earlier or the woman who’d kicked the gun out of that thug’s hand. Ever since she’d entered Pleasures, it was as if she’d had a to-do list and she’d been checking off items one by one. Quick, efficient, focused.

It occurred to him that he was dealing with two sides of the same woman. He recalled his first reaction to her given name. But Priscilla fit the woman he was watching now to a T.

She paused in her pacing to fist a hand on her hip and summarize for Gabe what Detective Finelli had assured them before he’d left. The police would do everything they could do—question Fatso and Skinny, put out an all-points bulletin on the van.

“The two men have lawyered up, so they won’t be questioned until the morning when their public defenders are assigned,” Cilla said to Gabe as she started to pace again. “But my friend Joe Finelli says he’ll talk to his captain and get permission for me to observe the interviews.”

Her friend Joe Finelli? Jonah recalled what he’d seen of the interaction between the detective and Cilla. Finelli was a good ten years her senior. Had they dated? Been lovers?

And the fact that his mind instantly jumped to those questions reminded him why he’d decided to avoid Cilla Michaels. He didn’t want that kind of involvement.

Deliberately he looked past her to the open door of his office. The evening was winding down. By the time the police cars had pulled away, he could see that every thing had returned to normal in his club. The bar was still busy, and the jazz band on the basement level would switch to dance music in another half hour.

Virgil would handle closing. What Jonah needed was some quiet time in his apartment to try to figure out what in hell was going on. There was something in the wording of the note that was still pulling at the edge of his mind.

“Joe recommended that he continue with private security,” Cilla was saying.

Joe. Her use of the detective’s first name triggered a quick surge of impatience. Not jealousy. Because that was ridiculous. And the impatience was with himself.