And Jericho Burned: Toke Lobo & The Pack Page 2

  Blond Mustache squeezed around her so he could stand at the keyboard player’s side. “What’s going on?”

  “Your buddy’s trying to kidnap my woman,” Bill said.

  Blond Mustache quirked an equally bushy blond eyebrow.

  “She’s mine,” the keyboardist growled. “Right, Lucy?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “You can have me instead,” a tattooed woman offered.

  The keyboardist ignored her.

  Lucy didn’t see who threw the first punch, but before the second fist flew, someone hoisted her off the floor and carried her like a football through the packed bodies, down the hall, and out of harm’s way.

  She was lowered to a lumpy sofa in some sort of lounge. The screams, grunts of pain, and other miscellaneous sounds of a fight faded as someone closed the door.

  A brawl.

  Over her.

  How weird.

  She raised her eyes and found Toke Lobo and his fiddle player staring at her.

  “What’s this?” the fiddle player asked. Long dark curls formed a halo around his head and shoulders. Huge blue eyes narrowed and focused on her. “Who is she?”

  “I assume she’s Stoker’s mate,” Toke Lobo replied.

  She was practically alone with one of the hottest new stars in country music, and all she could do was stare.

  Then his words penetrated, but before she could speak, the fiddle player swore. “You’re kidding.”

  Toke laughed. “It’s not worth chasing your tail, Restin.”

  Something slammed against a wall, and the whole room rattled from the impact.

  “Oh, dear,” Lucy said.

  The fight drew the others gazes to door, so she used the opportunity to look for another escape route. The New Sinai Army would burst in at any second, and she needed to be gone by then.

  There was only the one door into the room, and a single window opposite it, but the window was open, which explain why breathing was easier for her.

  “Stoker will be fine,” Toke said, as he turned his attention on her again. He held out his hand. “Toke Lobo. And you are?”

  She slipped her hand into his. “Lucy Callahan. Big fan.”

  “That’s Restin,” he said, completing the introductions.

  “Get her out of here before Stoker does something really stupid,” Restin said, ignoring Lucy.

  Toke pursed his lips. “I think it’s too late for that. He told me when we finished the last set she was here.”

  “I vote for getting me out of here,” Lucy said, finally finding enough wits to speak. She clambered to her feet. “Before the New Sinai Army breaks down the door.”

  Of course, since her car was still in New Sinai, she wasn’t sure how she’d get home, but she’d worry about that once she was free of Danby and Company. At least she had her purse and credit cards. She wasn’t completely without resources.

  “New Sinai?” Restin asked in a low, dangerous tone.

  Both he and Toke stared at her.

  “The land of self-proclaimed General Randy Butler.” She laughed without mirth. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Is Randy Butler out there?” Toke’s easy-going tone turned sharp. Menacing.

  “No, but four of his minions are fighting with your band.”

  Toke scowled at her. “You’re from New Sinai?”

  “Good God, no,” she said, not bothering to suppress her shudder. “He’s married to my sister. I was just visiting.”

  “The man who said you were his fiancée—”

  She shook her head and stepped closer to the window. There wasn’t time to explain all the weirdness of New Sinai. “I hate to say thanks and run,” she said, “but I’m out of here. Tell your friend I appreciate his help.”

  “Sit down,” Restin barked. His blue eyes glittered.

  Lucy froze, panic starting to shrink her throat. Maybe she’d miscalculated band versus cult. “A minute ago you wanted me gone.”

  “Maybe you’d better stick around for a bit,” Toke suggested in a gentler tone.

  “Uh-uh.” Lucy shook her head again. “I’m history.”

  Restin repeated his order to sit, and irritation mingled with her trepidation. She was tired of people telling her what to do. Just because she was short didn’t mean testosterone-laden men could boss her around. Petite didn’t mean helpless.

  She edged toward the window.

  Restin caught her arm. “If you don’t sit, you’re going to regret it.”

  A week’s worth of tension erupted. “If you don’t let me go right now, you’re going to find yourself up to your curls in litigation,” she retorted, yanking out of his grasp. “I have a lawyer, and I know how to use him.”

  Restin arched an eyebrow at her. He smiled. “We can do this nice, or we can make your existence so miserable you’ll wish you were in hell.”

  He obviously hadn’t been to New Sinai.

  Only a few more steps to the window, where she could fly into the night.

  Restin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather case. He flipped it open and extended it. “I can ask for your voluntary help, or I can arrest you. Your choice.”

  Hot, raging blood turned to ice water in her veins as she read his ID.

  Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. The good guys, most of the time.

  The door opened and bruised and bloodied band members stumbled into the room.

  “The cops have cleared out the place,” a young man with a dimple in his chin said. “The guys who jumped Stoker were arrested. I guess we’re done playing for the night.”

  Bill, Reuel, and the others were in jail? Oh, excellent. She’d be able to get a good jump on getting out of Idaho.

  Taking advantage of the interruption, she launched herself at the window. Someone caught her before she smashed through the screen. The same someone turned her then hauled her against a steely body and cupped her backside with enormous hands. Soft lips claimed her mouth.

  Wild, erotic images banished all thought of escape. One didn’t flee heaven. She wanted to sink into the oblivion of that embrace, of that mouth on hers, and stay there forever.

  “Someone pull him off her,” she heard Restin say.

  “Not me,” someone else muttered.

  “Lucy Callahan, you’re under arrest.” Restin sounded angry.

  Her rescuer broke off their kiss. “For what?” he asked.

  “Why do you care?” Restin asked. “You’re in enough trouble of your own. I’m arresting her for . . . inciting a riot.”

  “Not unless you want to die tonight,” her rescuer said.

  “Maybe you should know you just beat the daylights out of four of Randy Butler’s henchmen. Now back off,” Restin said.

  Lucy opened her eyes and stared into the obsidian depths of the keyboard player’s eyes, where traces of hurt and betrayal shimmered. She didn’t even know him, yet his disappointment seemed to grab hold of her.

  Stoker. That was his name.

  “Lucy?” he whispered. “Is it true you came with Randy Butler’s men?”

  She stepped away from him and tried to focus, but his kiss had completely addled her wits. He needed to stop talking and kiss her again.

  She glanced around the room. The faces that had seemed so friendly only moments ago were now closed off and hard. The men had rearranged themselves, two at the window, another blocking the door. They’d covered every avenue of escape.

  No different from New Sinai.

  The room shrunk, and the oxygen grew thinner.

  Stoker stared at her as if he wanted to cry, and she had the strangest urge to apologize to him.

  Instead, she cleared her throat. “So the ATF is investigating New Sin
ai?”

  “Does that surprise you?” Restin asked.

  She was too busy trying to breathe to be surprised. She tried to remember her half-baked efforts at yoga, because if her heart didn’t slow down, it would burst from her chest like a scene from a B movie.

  “I’m not one of Randy’s followers,” she said, inhaling deeply. “I’m his wife’s sister. I came to visit, and now I’m leaving.”

  “You’re here with four of his men,” Restin pointed out. “At least, that’s what you said.”

  Exhale slowly, she reminded herself, as the room swayed like a hammock.

  “I’m trying to leave, but Randy sent some of his men with me tonight so I wouldn’t get lost or try to go back to Boulder instead of New Sinai,” she admitted. “Really, I’m heading home just as soon as I leave here.”

  “Why are you here?” Toke Lobo asked.

  “I thought I could sneak away after a song or two. I’m a fan.” She flashed a smile at him, although his weird, yellow-brown eyes unnerved her a bit. “I have both your CDs,” she added for good measure. She named her favorite cut from each release just to prove herself.

  “She’s telling the truth,” Stoker-the-Savior said after another awkward silence.

  “Her heart is beating awfully fast,” Restin replied.

  So much for yoga slowing down her body functions, but how in the world did Restin know?

  “She’s scared to death,” Stoker replied. “Can’t you smell her fear?” He stepped closer to her.

  Okay, she knew she smelled bad. She’d just spent a week living in a community with no running water, but her fear didn’t have an odor.

  “I’m not denying she’s afraid.” Restin’s gaze never left her face. “I want to know why.”

  The man was obviously slow on the uptake, so Lucy hastened to enlighten him.

  “How about I’m being held captive by a bunch of men I thought were a country band who turned out to be ATF agents? Or maybe I’m worried Randy Butler is going to be furious that Bill and the others were arrested, and he’s whacked enough to blame me and take it out on my sister?”

  She could have continued, but Restin interrupted.

  “Why would Butler blame you?”

  He had to be kidding. “Because Bill will tell him what happened, and from his point of view, this is my fault.”

  “Were you really going to marry him?” Stoker asked.

  Lucy couldn’t look at him. “Not in this lifetime.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Restin jumped in again, as if she hadn’t just provided a litany of issues.

  “There is no problem,” Stoker said. “She’s marrying me.”

  Did the floor drop out of the room, or had someone slipped a drug into her lemonade? She felt like a prop in a Salvador Dali portrait: nothing was where it was supposed to be. She’d woken up that morning trying to figure out how to convince her sister to leave New Sinai, now she was fending off two marriage proposals. She hadn’t even had a date in three years.

  She finally glanced at Stoker. His dark eyes glowed with some strong emotion as he gazed at her.

  “That’s sweet of you, but no thanks. I only met you a half hour ago,” she said.

  “Good,” Restin said. “Toke, take her back to the motel. She can bunk with you.”

  “Over my dead body,” Stoker snarled.

  A night in a motel room with Toke Lobo might be a lot of other women’s fantasy, but not hers. Before she could think of a way to tactfully decline, Toke laughed. “I don’t think so. First of all, my wife would nail both of our pelts to the side of the barn. Second, she’s Stoker’s. I’m not interfering.”

  Stoker stepped between Lucy and Restin. “Maybe you don’t understand. Lucy is mine, and therefore my responsibility.”

  “Not yet, she isn’t,” Restin said.

  “Hello? I’m not anyone’s property,”

  They ignored her, and she hated when that happened.

  “What part of Lucy is my mate don’t you understand?” Stoker’s tone held a challenge.

  “I understand.” Restin sounded disgusted. “But you aren’t looking at the whole picture. I need you on this mission. And, if your woman isn’t part of the problem, she must be part of the solution. She’s in a position that I can’t ignore. She’s been inside New Sinai. She’s expected back.”

  “You’re not using her as bait,” Stoker growled. “We’re heading home in the morning.”

  Bait? Her already erratic heart rate stuttered even more.

  “Why not?” Restin asked. “She can get in, nose around, and report back to us. That is, if she’s not part of Butler’s cult.”

  “Forget it,” Stoker said at the same time Lucy said, “No.”

  “I wish you’d sit down, Ms. Callahan. It would make this discussion more civilized,” Restin said.

  She’d be darned if she’d sit. These guys were all over six-feet tall, while she couldn’t claim even five feet. Sitting would increase the difference. She’d disappear if she sat.

  “I don’t think anything could make this discussion civilized.” Her voice teetered on the edge of hysteria.

  “Can you tell us anything about New Sinai or Randy Butler?”

  “Sure,” Lucy said. “They’re all crazy. There’s an army, and it trains every day. There are two warehouses full of guns. There are women and children living there, who don’t have anything to do with Randy and his ragtag militia. There’s nothing to eat but rotting vegetables and bug-infested rice. That’s it. I can’t help you any more than that.”

  “Go undercover for me or be arrested for obstructing a government investigation,” Restin said, his tone flat and hard.

  “You wouldn’t!” Lucy said. “I have rights.”

  “I know. You have a lawyer, blah, blah, blah. Well, I have an operation to oversee,” Restin said, “And the Patriot Act gives me the authority to do whatever I need to.”

  Stoker snatched the leather ID case from Restin. He glanced at it and said, “I thought we weren’t letting Luke play on the computer any more. This isn’t even a good forgery.” He ripped the ID in half, leather case and all, and tossed it to the floor. “You’re on shaky ground, Restin. It’s a federal offense to impersonate a federal officer.”

  “You’re not with the ATF?” Lucy was really confused.

  “We’re doing them a favor,” Stoker said, before Restin could answer. “We’re musicians, but we . . . have skills the government needs from time to time, like now. Restin tends to get carried away.”

  “I have the authority to arrest her.” Restin sounded sullen.

  “You have no authority over my mate,” Stoker said.

  “She’s not your mate yet. She needs to go back to New Sinai,” Restin insisted.

  Now what were they yammering about? Her head throbbed trying to make sense of their conversation.

  Stoker took her hand. “If you marry me tonight, he can’t make you go back,” he said.

  “Actually,” Toke said, his soft drawl commanding everyone’s attention, “she has three choices. She can leave and pray that Butler doesn’t track her down, but he probably will. She can work with Restin. Or she can marry Stoker and go home to Loup Garou, where not even Butler will find her. Stoker is probably the safest choice.”

  Restin’s scowl deepened. “You’re a big help.”

  Lucy tried her own brand of logic. “You’re all out of your minds. Hello? Four of Randy’s men were just arrested because of me. I don’t think he’ll open the gate if I return.”

  “What if we give you the money to post bail for them? Then you can say it was all a misunderstanding,” Restin said. “Or what if I have the charges against the men dropped altogether?”

  Lucy stared at him, not believing her ears. “I
don’t need your money, but even if you did all that then Bill Danby and I will live miserably ever after in our New Sinai honeymoon shack. Sorry. If those are my only options, I choose Stoker.”