Free Wicked Games by Samanthe Beck Page B

sorry.”
    With that she ran out the door.
    …
    Ian took a step toward the door before he remembered he didn’t have any pants on. Shit… He had to get out there, in case her letter writer had any plans for tonight. Thankfully, there were a couple hundred eyewitnesses just outside the door. Only a magician would be able to make a move without a few dozen people in the vicinity noticing a gorgeous blond angel pitching a fit and screaming her lungs out. Plus Trevor was out there. And Kylie. Stacy wouldn’t get far.
    He flopped down in the chair, took a deep breath, and coughed up a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. His chest ached like he’d taken a bullet at close range. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his sternum with the heel of his hand and sucking in air. Move, for Christ’s sake . Look at him, sitting half-naked on some fugly chair where God knows what had taken place, while his heart slowly bled out of his chest.
    Shoving the pain aside, he got up and pulled on his clothes. It was his parents. He’d wondered, but dismissed the notion because the day of the barbecue had gone so well. His mom and dad knew all about Stacy. They’d been listening to him ramble on about her for months, and they’d been both excited and nervous to meet her. They’d loved her, of course, just as he did. But not in an obligatory, “If you love her, we love her” kind of way. No, he thought as he secured the Velcro strap of his ankle holster and tucked his gun in. They’d genuinely appreciated her humor, her sense of fun, and, according to his mom, “The way she smiles at you with her heart in her eyes when she thinks nobody’s looking.”
    She did love him. True, she’d never said so, but even tonight, she hadn’t denied it. She thought his parents were “wonderful,” and they were…so what about them had her running for the door?
    He honestly didn’t know.
    But he couldn’t waste any more time sitting there, trying to figure it out. They would talk things out later, he vowed, but for now, Stacy needed protection, even if she thought she had it handled—whatever that meant. Thinking about how she might have “handled it” scared him enough to hurry. He shoved his shoes on and headed to the door. Calm , he counseled himself as he grabbed the knob. Uptight cops made piss-poor decisions.
    As soon as he opened the door, however, his stomach knotted. The crowd inside the club had grown since they’d taken their little time-out. People clogged the hallway outside the VIP rooms. Beyond that, more people…crammed together at the bar, packed onto the dance floor, flowing into every nook and cranny of the club. This many people created cover, and confusion, not safety. His chances of finding anyone, particularly someone hoping to avoid him, looked to be somewhere between shit and outta luck .
    He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sent Trevor a text. What’s your 20?
    The incoming text came right back. Bar .
    Down the hall, to the right. Simple, except for the wall of humanity in his way. He started the slow, sweaty slog and texted back, Stacy?
    Not w ith you?
    He stifled a curse, and the urge to text back a pissy “Would I have asked if she was with me?” Instead, he typed, No. See her?
    It took a few moments, but Trevor came back with No .
    The breath he didn’t realize he held drained out of him like a slow leak. Dammit. He had a bad feeling.
    His partner texted again, in his annoying thirteen-year-old-girl style. U let her shake u ? Not smart.
    No kidding. Don’t move, he typed . I’m coming to you .
    Impatience built as he shouldered his way to the bar. Just walking from A to B constituted a full-contact sport. He endured more than a few elbows to his ribs, high heels trampling his toes, a half-dozen ass grabs, and one anonymous hand of undetermined gender groping his crotch.
    Finally, he shoved through to where Trevor stood scanning the crowd.
    “Spotted her?” Stupid question, Ian knew,