“You need to get rid of those clothes, Charlee.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder, his eyes flitting from the stain on her jeans to the smears on her shirt.
She lowered her chin and picked at a splatter of dried blood as if it were something she saw every day. She shrugged. “Yeah. Good call.”
What kind of shit had she seen in her life to be so nonchalant about wearing a dead man’s guts? Jay tucked the question in the back of his brain. He needed to focus on getting them out of there. Where was everyone? Other than his team leader, none of his guards were there. Not a good sign.
Tony didn’t say anything as she left her post by the door and strode toward him. The lines etching her frown spoke for her.
Had someone recognized him? Did they know he was there? Tingling invaded his body, accompanied by the usual feeling of a loss of control. Some of that was the lingering effect of the coke. The reminder of his drug use bubbled guilt through his gut.
But he had Charlee’s hand in his and her strength by his side. “How bad is the crowd?”
Tony was so exacting in her posture as she looked between Charlee and him, she could have been mistaken for a statue. “The crowd is gone. As is the body.”
The crowd was gone? They obviously didn’t know he was in the building. Wait. “What do you mean the body’s gone? How does a dead man disappear?”
Charlee sighed and released his hand to squat beside one of the duffle bags and rifle through it. “What about the sirens we heard? Did you uncover anything about the cops that arrived?” She tugged out a black footless stocking thing and climbed to her feet. “I guess I’m not surprised the Craigs cleaned up that fast.” She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her thighs.
“No.” Nathan paced a circuit in front of the curtained windows. “Since the police aren’t banging down the door looking for a murder suspect, it’s safe to assume they work for Roy.”
The sight of her little red panties shot blood straight to Jay’s dick. Heavy warmth pulsed through his genitals and heated his face. What in the hell was she doing? “Craigs?” he croaked.
Nathan stepped in front of him and blocked his view. “She calls anyone loyal to Roy a Craig.”
Craning his neck, he could feel Nathan’s glare, but fuck, Jimi Hendrix’s 1968 Stratocaster wouldn’t have pulled his eyes away from the leggings sliding up her toned legs. “Why Craig?”
“The Viet Cong were Charlie. Roy’s adherents are Craig. That’s all you need to know.” Nathan cleared his throat in a useless effort to distract his eyes. “And the body disappeared in the time it took Colson to escort you up here, search the area for snipers, and return to the alley.”
She gripped the hem of her shirt. “So the Craig dispatched the crowd, the dead Craig, and the police? The latter would’ve been a phone call from Roy to an inside guy on the force. I’ve watched him do this too many times to count.” Her voice trailed off, quivering. “Now what? His thugs are out there waiting, without anyone to witness them attacking us when we come out?” She pulled off her shirt, unleashing waves of red hair tumbling down around her.
Sweet suffering Jesus. The trembling in her fingers nullified him somewhat, but he could see her nipples shadowed behind the lace. Heat surged through his dick. He was mindless with the need to pull it out and stick it in her.
Nathan droned on about blah snipers and blah blah tampered police reports and who the fuck cared? Her tits overflowed their red laced prison as she dug through the luggage. Any moment they would spill out in perfect servings for the cups of his hands.
His dick hurt. Could he slip a hand beneath his leather pants and make an adjustment without being obvious?
She stood, fumbling for the neck hole in a drapey-shaped shirt. Her leggings hung low on her waist, highlighting her fuck-me curves. With all that sleek skin stretching over her flat stomach and the arches of her tits, yeah, the chubby in his pants required some realigning. He reached for it.
“Charlee.” Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please hurry. Your rock star’s about to rip through his thirteen-year-old-slut pants.”
What was wrong with his pants? Besides the painful nut-hugging?
Her eyes flew to his hand on his dick and widened. Then she looked down at her bra and tensed as if just realizing she was baring her assets to everyone in the room.
She righted the shirt and shoved her head and arms through. The ivory tunic hugged her ass and hips and hung loosely off her shoulder and around her tits. She was a fucking knock-out, which did nothing to cool his erection.
Face red, she scooped up her plaid Doc Martens and strode toward the kitchen nook. The apologetic look on her face shriveled him right up. She hadn’t been teasing him on purpose. Something was wrong.
He side-stepped Nathan to follow, but the bastard blocked him again and leaned in.