When Night Falls by Jenna Mills Read Free Book Online Page B

laughed. “Nothing yet, but I’m betting that’s going to change.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Your man. He’s down here, looks like a panther on the prowl, too.”
    “My man?”
    “William Armstrong,” Margo clarified. “You’d better come get him, hon, before someone else does.”

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    Chapter 4
    « ^ »
    ” H ang on there, lady.”
    Already scanning the crowded nightclub, Jess glanced at the burly young man barreling toward her. “Excuse me?”
    “Need your ID,” the bouncer said.
    Jess gritted her teeth, tempted to flash her badge instead. The punk looked so proud of himself; little did he know she could take him out in less than a minute.
    With an overly sweet smile, she obliged his request and handed over her driver’s license.
    He shone a flashlight on the small plastic card, then on her, from her face down the length of her body. Her long leather coat hid her figure, but it didn’t stop the gleam suddenly radiating in his eyes.
    Again, she indulged the fantasy of showing the cad one or two of the lessons she’d learned in the academy.
    “Sorry, but you’re a bit young for my tastes,” she drawled. “I prefer a man who knows what he’s doing.”
    She enjoyed the flare of his eyes, then turned and wove her way deeper into the chaos. Laughter and music mixed. Alcohol flowed like honey. She’d always heard the best place to hide was in a crowd, and this club definitely verified the old adage.
    But she had an ace.
    Find Adam Braxton, find William Armstrong.
    A stage occupied the far wall, but no band played there. Dancers contorted their bodies to the sound of recorded music.
    Grateful for her height, Jess was surveying the crowd when she heard a collective gasp. She spun around, then fought her way through the cluster of tables and stools toward the ruckus. A circle began to form near the far corner of the darkened bar.
    “Where is she?” a masculine voice demanded, and her heart kicked harder.
    She broke through the crowd like a runner bursting through tape at the finish line, then stopped dead in her tracks.
    Near the far wall, two figures stood squared off like boxers. The dim lighting stole detail but didn’t hide the hostility in their stances, the tension radiating off them in hot, suffocating waves.
    Jess eased closer. The aggressor towered over the second man, a bear ready to attack. He stood at an angle to her, allowing only a glimpse of the black knit cap hiding his hair. Whiskers darkened his jaw. A leather jacket and dark jeans covered his powerful body. He looked like he belonged in a back alley or seedy port—she almost expected him to pull a switchblade, toss it from hand to hand.
    Then she heard his voice.
    “So help me God, you lowlife. You give her back to me or you’re a dead man. Is that clear?”
    The fierce growl struck an all-too-familiar chord. Before she could react, Armstrong charged, throwing Braxton against the wall. The younger man struggled but was no match for him. Armstrong grabbed his T-shirt and twisted, got right up in his face. “Start talking.”
    “She’s not with me,” Braxton seethed. He stood a few inches shorter than Armstrong, his body more wiry. His dark hair was long, his moody eyes narrow and filled with contempt.
    “She tells you to hit the road, then vanishes herself?” Armstrong countered. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
    “You don’t believe in anything, Slick, but cold hard cash.”
    Jess saw Armstrong’s body gather force, knew Emily’s father was about to make a huge mistake. Knew she had to stop him. She broke through the crowd and rushed forward. “William, stop!”
    He stiffened, spun toward her, flat-out stole her breath.
    Rarely had she seen a man look so capable of violence. She barely recognized him as Emily’s father. The black knit cap completely changed his appearance, made him look like a street fighter rather than a corporate executive. The bohemian look accentuated the intensity of his blue