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  “Dance with me? I agree completely.”

  He took the tray from her and carried it to her table, sliding it in front of Kaley with a megawatt smile. “Congratulations, chér’. You’ll make a lovely bride.”

  Leaving the five ladies with their mouths hanging open, he laced his fingers into hers and tugged her toward the dance floor. Lark found herself following him, admiring his broad back and tight butt. Dancing with a stranger hadn’t been on tonight’s agenda. Why not, though? She loved to dance, and the DJ knew his stuff.

  He towered over her own five-foot-five, but she didn’t mind as she raised her arms, already swaying to the music. She gyrated slowly, letting her body absorb the beat, hips swiveling and toes sliding. He joined her, his rhythm smooth and easy. Of course he would be an excellent dancer. He was perfect.

  Which meant he probably would turn out to be a jerk. Or a serial killer. Right now, though, she didn’t care. His gaze slid down her body and she put in an extra shimmy just for him. Heat flared and he locked eyes with her, moving closer. His extralarge hands settled onto her hips as the music softened and grew dreamy. Looping her arms around his neck, she closed the gap. Her hormones rejoiced. Being in his arms felt more right than anything had in a long time.

  “You’re a terrific dancer,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Call me Mace. Everyone does.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him. “What’s that? Some sort of call sign? Like Maverick or Goose?”

  Surprise flickered through his eyes. “Something like that, yeah.”

  She ran her eyes down his body. “You look all army-like.”

  He liked her gaze on him. She could tell by the way his eyes warmed and softened. “You look like a fairy princess.”

  She’d heard variants of that her whole life. When he said it, though, her insides melted.

  “A damned sexy fairy princess.” One hand left her hip to touch her throat. His finger traced the top of the lacy minidress as it dropped to her breasts, following the material as it curved around to zip in the back. “You take my breath away.”

  The faint touch of his fingers caused her to shiver. “You’re not so hard on the eyes, either.”

  Amusement touched his eyes. Women probably threw themselves at him all the time. “So what do I call you?”

  “I’m Lark.”

  “Like the bird?”

  “Something like that, yeah.” She grinned as she repeated his words.

  He returned her smile. “Do larks have pink hair?”

  “Pretty sure they do.”

  “Pretty sure they’re brown.”

  “That’s ordinary.”

  He chuckled. “No way anyone would call you ordinary.”

  “Better not.” She scowled. “Ordinary is for losers.”

  She’d had her hair trimmed into a messy pixie cut and brightened the color for the wedding. Thank God Kaley accepted her as she was, and hadn’t begged her to tone down her look as her parents had. She loved them, but found their conservative attitudes tiring.

  Somehow she’d moved closer to him. Or he’d moved. Either way, her body approved.

  “Where are you from? New Orleans?”

  “Almos’. Born in de Louisiana bayou. Cajun down to my bones.”

  Lark couldn’t help her grin. “I bet you could melt stone with that accent.”

  “I admit my accent peaks when I flir’.” He shifted closer. “Am I melting you?”

  Yes. Yes, he was. She let out a puff of air and didn’t answer.

  “So when’s the wedding?”

  She switched gears effortlessly. “Tomorrow. I’ll be glad as hell when all this shit is over. Weddings are a pain in the ass.”

  He locked eyes with her again. “I don’t know. They can be great with the right person.”

  Lark laughed. “Are you inviting yourself to my sister’s wedding?”

  “Why not? I already know I wan’ to see you again.”

  That silenced her. Men hit on her all the time. She’d learned to shut them down; either nicely, or as she had the drunk at the bar.

  “Tell me you’re not dying to see me again.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Conceited prick. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  Again, amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Did I ask?”

  She cocked her head. “Sounded like it to me. Sneaking into a closet at a wedding is a time-honored tradition.”

  “No. This is me asking.” His hands urged her toward him as his head dipped. He captured her lips, demanding entry, his tongue dueling with hers. He deepened the kiss into an all-out, tonsil-touching, I-want-to-screw-you-right-now onslaught. When he pulled back, both of them were panting.

  “See the difference?”

  She started laughing. “Are you always this sure of yourself?”

  A grin tugged at his mouth. “Usually. Not this time.”

  The music changed again. “I should get back to my friends,” she said reluctantly. “They’re pretty wasted, and I’m the designated babysitter.”

  “Designated driver?”

  “Yeah. I’m the only one with a car here, so I get to pour them into the back seat and hope no one pukes. So . . . gotta go.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine for another dance.”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Co faire? Why?”

  Because she didn’t want to move from the warm circle of his arms. Because her body had lit up like a firecracker waiting to go off. Because Kaley needed her right now more than Lark needed a quick romp in the hay. “It’s my sister’s night.”

  The rough pads of his fingers caught against the lace as he briefly tightened them, then released her. “Thanks for the dance, chérie.”

  It was harder than it should have been to turn and walk back to her table.

  All five women stared as she slid into her seat. The grilling started immediately.

  “Who was that hot piece of—”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Did you give him your number?”

  Lark pulled her Sprite to her and sucked down a long drink. “His name or call sign or whatever is Mace. No, I didn’t give him my number. He didn’t ask.”

  Dana frowned. “You should have given it to him anyway.”

  “I’m not looking for a hook-up. That’s all he wanted.” She frowned down at the tabletop, tempted to search for him.

  “But he’s so hot!” Dana said. “Maybe you need a hook-up.”

  “I abdicate as designated driver,” Lark said, snagging Dana’s beer. “I’m going to get drunk instead of jumping the bones of some stranger I met at a bar.”

  “We’re about to call it a night,” Kaley said. “Ish after midnight, and I have to be up at sheven o’clock.”

  “Rats.” Lark pushed the beer away. “So much for getting drunk.”

  Kaley slanted her sister a sly look. “Why don’t you stay? Dance with some stranger you met at a bar. It could be romantic.”

  “It could be tawdry. You see romance everywhere because you’re getting married.”

  Kaley laughed. “And why not? I’m happy. I want you to be happy, too. Whash wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. But I’m not going to find true love from a hook-up at a bar.” She rose with the others and snagged her purse from under the table. As she followed them toward the nightclub’s entrance, she glanced back. Despite the crowds, she easily found Mace sitting with a group of men, and he was watching her. He mouthed a word.

  Stay.

  Tempted, she nevertheless lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in farewell. She had matured past drunken one-night stands, no matter how drool-worthy he seemed.

  “We can take a taxi back to the hotel,” Kaley said. “You don’t need to drive ush. You can stay a bit longer, if you want.”

  “Because I might decide to jump Mr. Hottypants after all?”

  “Would that be so bad? He ish completely jumpable,”
Kaley said, words slurring together. “For you, I mean. Peter ish my one and only.”

  Lark looked from Kaley to her bridesmaids. “Kaley’s wasted. Any of you sober?”

  Evelyn nodded. “I hardly drank anything. Dana kept stealing my shots.”

  Dana gave a cry of protest. “Did not! They just sort of ended up in front of me, is all.”

  Kaley snorted. “You stole mine, too.”

  Lark laughed. “I have to go to the bathroom. Wait for me by the door, okay?”

  She headed toward the restrooms. The line stretched out of the door and halfway down the hall. Ugh. Should she wait, or just hold it? In the end, nature’s call decided the matter for her, and she watched the line get shorter, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, she darted into a stall, then washed her hands and headed for the front door.

  Her phone chirped, letting her know she had a text from Kaley.

  Go dance w/Hottypants. Ill CU at 8am, k?

  Uh-oh.

  Did u leave?

  Yep. He he he.

  Lark rolled her eyes.

  But b back by 8

  12 crocs couldn’t keep me away

  Her sister meant well, but Lark had already decided to go back to the hotel alone.

  Was Mace still there?

  Don’t look, she told herself. But of course she did anyway. He still sat with his friends. He lifted a beer bottle and took a long drink. Lark experienced a pang of regret for her decision, but squared her shoulders and headed for the front door, nearly running headlong into two men. Like Mace, they wore black pants and boots. Probably more of his friends, arriving late to the party.

  One did a double take, staring at her hard enough that Lark gave him a look brimming with back off, jackass. He reached out as though to seize her shoulder, but she jerked back. No one had the right to grab at her.

  “Hey, are you—” he started.

  “Shut up,” the other man snapped, shooting his friend a warning look. He glanced around pointedly. “Not the time.”

  They both stepped aside, allowing her to exit the building.

  Weird.

  Chapter 5

  Saturday, February 18. 12:05 a.m.

  The Promenade. Boston, Massachusetts.

  Thomas “Mace” Beckett tried to focus on the story Alex was telling, but his thoughts kept returning to the sprite he’d danced with all too briefly. She sparked all sorts of fires in his belly. Lust for life poured from her like a rainbow, and he found he wanted to immerse himself in it. Wrap her energy around him like an electric blanket. His teammates laughed. He joined in without ever really hearing the punchline.

  A waitress came over with a new round of pilsners. He slugged some back.

  “You shoulda seen how fast Mace moved,” Alex said to Heather Langstrom-Reed, who rested her chin on the back of her hand as she listened. “You’d’a thought someone lit his ass on fire.”

  “That’s because I didn’t wan’ to get shot conducting a fucking exercise.”

  Their Delta Force team had relocated to Boston, awaiting corroborating intelligence on rumors that Russian agents might be trying to smuggle major ordnance into Massachusetts. To relieve their boredom, their commander had arranged for them to be part of the opposing force during a counterterrorism exercise at Natick Labs. Mace and his team had been assigned to rob the bank, taking hostages and negotiating with SWAT. After a few hours, they were supposed to start killing hostages, forcing SWAT to storm the building. The actors involved already wore eerily real-looking “wounds” under their jackets, which first responders would triage and treat.

  The first part of the exercise had gone smoothly. Mace and his team stormed the bank, stole money from the registers, and herded the hostages into the center of the room. After initial negotiations with SWAT, though, everything had gone to hell. Unbeknownst to them, a newly assigned—and armed—military police corporal had driven onto the Natick Labs complex just before the gates had been locked, and, instead of reporting in to her command, had gone straight to the credit union to cash a check. When she drew her revolver and demanded that his team surrender, Mace had been forced to take her down hard, very nearly dislocating her shoulder as he disarmed her.

  “I didn’t want to get shot,” Mace said again. “She got a well-deserve’ ass-chewing from the MP company commander. If she’d bothered to check reciprocity laws, she’d have know’ Massachusetts doesn’t recognize a Texas conceal’ carry permit.”

  The entire exercise had been terminated because of her. The installation commander was pissed. The first responders were pissed. Mace was pissed.

  He glanced over at Lark’s table, and saw the group gathering up coats, preparing to leave. Look back, he urged silently.

  As though hearing him, she turned her head, meeting his eyes.

  “Stay.” Had he said it aloud, or only thought it?

  She gave a lopsided smile and waggled her fingers, turning away to hug and kiss her sister before heading toward the bathrooms.

  Maybe after, she’d decide to stay and would approach him. Maybe he should waylay her and get her number before she slipped away forever. Instead, he lifted his beer and chugged it.

  He couldn’t seem to stop himself from looking, though. She had reappeared and was now headed straight for the front.

  “Be righ’ back,” he shouted, pushing back his chair. The others nodded or lifted their beer bottles in acknowledgment, barely glancing his way as he got up and threaded his way through the throngs.

  Two men in black army pants blocked Lark’s way. One made as though to seize her arm, but pulled back when she jerked away, finally stepping aside to let her pass. As soon as her back was turned, the two exchanged a look, turning to follow her out the door. Mace’s instincts shot into overdrive as alarm rippled along his spine. They had nothing good on their minds.

  He ducked out the front door, past the bouncer who controlled the line of partiers waiting to get inside. Lark meandered down the sidewalk, apparently heading toward the parking lot behind the nightclub, arms wrapped around her torso despite her long coat.

  Oblivious to the men.

  Mace sprinted down the sidewalk, ignoring the frigid February air and the slushy walk. She’d made it halfway down the building, but the men stalked after her, closing in fast. Mace glanced back at the line of people; nobody paid any attention. He was just another partier leaving the nightclub.

  Lark came even with an idling taxi, unaware of the danger as the two men stopped on either side of her. She half turned, surprise and then alarm filling her face as she finally noticed them. A puff of white escaped her open mouth. She wrenched open the door of the taxi to escape, but one of the men yanked her away, pulling a Colt M1911 and pressing it into her stomach.

  Mace came in fast and low, catching the second man around the waist as he, too, drew a weapon, riding him down hard enough that the man’s head smacked against the pavement. Mace tore the semiautomatic from his hand, already rising and turning to the man holding Lark. The taxi driver yelled something Mace couldn’t hear and burned rubber as he raced away from the violence. Fucking coward.

  He forced himself to ignore the blind panic on Lark’s face, instead focusing on the threat.

  “What the fuck?” said the gunman. “Who the hell are you?”

  Mace felt his expression go cold. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you if you don’ let her go.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed and his grip on Lark tightened. The two gunmen—Dumb and Dumber—wore clothing almost identical to his own. Black jackets over T-shirts, military pants, and black boots.

  Dumb frowned as he looked Mace up and down. “Did Palachka send you? We got this covered, man. Get lost.”

  “Let her go. Now.”

  Dumb shook his head, anger growing in the depths of his eyes. “I got my orders. Palachka wants to have a chat with her, so I ain’t going to hurt her none.”

  Damned straight he wasn’t. These men were muscle, just following orders. Palachka’s
orders.

  Who the hell was Palachka?

  He glanced at the crowd. A small group watched them, grinning and nudging one another. As long as they thought theirs was simply a drunken brawl, no one would bother to call the police.

  Lark hadn’t so much as twitched a muscle, but the whites of her eyes showed and he could feel her terror. She, too, looked at the line outside the nightclub.

  He took a risk with a bald-faced lie. “Palachka tol’ me to take over. He said to tell you to head back and leave her to me. I’m the one’s goan to chat with her.”

  Dumber picked himself up off the pavement and staggered over to his partner. “Lying prick. He’d’ve called us. And I don’t know you.”

  “Best you don’ know me. I’m who Palachka calls when fucks like you bungle it.” Mace snorted. “What, you think he don’t have nothing better to do than deal with the likes of you? He’s waiting for you, though. Don’t want him pissed, do you?”

  Both blanched. Mace walked casually over and tugged on Lark’s arm. Dumb hesitated, looked into Mace’s icy eyes, and finally loosened his grip. Mace lifted the Colt he’d taken from Dumber, pointing the barrel at the sky.

  “This registered anywhere?”

  Dumber felt the back of his head for the lump that must be forming. His fingers came away red with blood. “Nah, man. It’s clean. Why’d you wallop me, man? You could’a just told me Palachka sent you.”

  “Get out of here. We’re attracting attention.” He stared pointedly at the line of people outside the Promenade. “I’ll check in with Palachka when I’m done with her.”

  Mace settled the matter by tightening his grip on Lark and dragging her toward the parking lot. Dumb and Dumber followed, exchanging a look.

  “I’d better check in with him,” Dumb called. “Make sure you’re on the level.”

  Mace forced an uncaring shrug. “Your funeral.”

  They reached the edge of the deserted lot. Mace paused, raising his eyes pointedly. The two men hesitated, then shrugged and started in the opposite direction.

  Stupid fucks.