Charlie’s arm shot out across the doorway, blocking Flynn when he made to walk into the house.
“She’s not here. And even if she was, I highly doubt I’d tell her you were at the door. You have zero right to act like you have a right to be here.”
Flynn fisted and unfisted his hands. “I don’t believe you.”
Charlie smirked and stood back, opening the door. “See for yourself, Special Agent Dick.”
Flynn strode past him into the little house, heading straight for Pink’s bedroom. As he pushed open the door, the subtle scent of bubble gum hit him with the force of a cinder block to the face. For a minute he fought to breathe. His dick jerked against his pants. Visions of them sweaty and naked rolling around on the now neatly made bed flared in his mind’s eye.
When he’d first seen her face minus the heavy makeup and false eyelashes, he’d thought he’d never seen such a natural beauty. That still held true. Since that moment, he’d discovered there was so much more to her than the hot surface.
Jamming his hand through his hair, Flynn cursed under his breath.
“You see, Special Agent, as I said, she’s not here. I’d tell her you came looking for her, but I don’t want her to think you’re not still a dick when you are.”
Flynn turned furiously and moved into the opinionated roommate’s personal space. Ddamn if the guy didn’t stand his ground. A begrudging respect sprang up for Charlie. He didn’t blame him for being so protective of Pink; Flynn felt the same way. The pain in his left hand was a reminder. The irony struck Flynn. He’d busted his hand protecting Pink from an asshole and here this guy Charlie was willing to get his ass kicked protecting Pink from a different asshole.
“I never meant to hurt her,” Flynn said. “It was supposed to be just one night. It got out of hand.”
“She’s worth ten thousand nights, you moron. If you’d given her half a chance, you’d know that by now.”
Flynn got it. But he wasn’t a ten-thousand-nights kind of guy. “Look, she’s over her head at Surf’s Up. I need to talk to her about what’s going on there and hopefully talk some sense into her.”
“Just because you can’t handle her working there?”
“What she does is her business, but she’s in danger, and that’s my business.”
Flynn saw indecision flicker in Charlie’s eyes. “You’re telling the truth?”
“Yes, damn it. She won’t answer my calls. Where is she?”
“On her way to the club. Something about getting her tips and talking to a guy named Boris.”
“Shit. Call her on your cell, she’ll answer for you.”
Charlie turned and ran into the kitchen. He snatched his cell off his charger and called her. He held it up immediately. “It went directly to voice mail. Either she’s in the tunnel or she turned off her phone.”
“In the tunnel?”
“BART. She doesn’t have a car.”
Flynn nodded. “She probably turned it off so she wouldn’t have to listen to me calling her.” Flynn moved past the insolent roommate. He needed to get to the tiny dancer before Boris did. “I’m heading over there. Keep trying and if you get her, tell her under no circumstances to go into that club.”
“You are talking about Isadora Fuentes, right? Coz if you are, you should know she does exactly the opposite of what someone she doesn’t like tells her to do.”
“She likes me. If she didn’t, she’d answer my call,” Flynn said as he strode to the front door.
As he hustled down the front porch steps to his car, Charlie called, “That’s okay, Special Agent, because if you didn’t like her back you wouldn’t be here, and you know it!”
Flynn shook his head, not denying it.
“I know she likes you, FBI man! Too much for her own good, and that’s the problem! She’s an all-or-nothing girl! Don’t you dare go near her again unless you plan on sticking around!”
Flynn cracked a smile as Charlie called him out. She liked him? He liked her too, damn it.
Chapter Seventeen
Flynn literally flew across the Bay Bridge, the late-morning traffic lull in his favor. Putting his foot to the metal, he roared into the city. Silently he thanked the heavens for the unfettered path to Pink. She had no idea the danger she was in. After his conversation with Justin earlier, Flynn knew that if he didn’t get her out of the club and keep her out, she was going to end up in the black abyss of the sex slave market. In all probability, it was what had happened to Alexandra Chastain. It wasn’t going to happen to her sister. Not on his watch.
Knowing he’d get push back from Pink, he had a Plan B. He didn’t like it, but it was his only option short of kidnapping her and holding her hostage. Which he thought, if he could get away with it, might not be such a bad idea.
Focus on the mission, not the woman, he told himself.
White-knuckled, he expertly navigated the city streets. Purposely he kept his mind clear of all things Pink and bubble gum. Purposely he kept the fact that they were worlds apart from his thoughts. Purposely he tried not to remember the sigh of her breath as he entered her and the warm rush of it against his cheek. He couldn’t stop thinking of her when everything reminded him of her.
Downshifting, he cursed, taking the turn too tight. Quickly he made the adjustment and upshifted angrily.
Every memory of Isadora Fuentes infused him. If he were chained inside of a jail cell, he’d feel less imprisoned. The urge to take her into his arms and whisk her away from her life and into his bed was becoming unendurable. Since the death of his mother, Flynn could not remember being in such a dark place.
He felt blindsided. She’d gotten to him, damn it. His reaction to her had left him vulnerable and unsure, two emotions he refused to allow power over him. He needed to find a way to purge her from his system.
As he sped into the parking lot behind Surf’s Up, he caught a flash of pink and blond hair slipping behind the metal back door.
“Christ,” he cursed, throwing the car into park. He hurried out and headed to the back of the club. When he grasped the handle to open the door, it didn’t budge.
Moving around to the other side of the lot, he saw a beat-up silver Nissan parked in the Reserved For Management spot. He highly doubted that Andre the Giant or Boris Sorlov drove a crappy economy car. He called SFPD dispatch, identified himself, and had them run the plate. It came back as belonging to a Sherry Lauler. Forty-nine, five foot five, one sixty, San Fran resident.
Letting out a long breath, Flynn strode back to the metal door Pink had slipped behind, leaned against the wall near the corner, crossed his arms, and waited. Five minutes. That was all he was going to give her. If she wasn’t out, he was going in.
Several minutes later, the door opened back toward him, hiding him from whoever opened it. Not realizing he was standing there, Pink strode away from him, toward the street. Her bubble gum scent fucking with his testosterone.
“You know, for your line of work you really should be more aware of your surroundings,” he said as he unwound himself and walked toward her.
Pink jumped, turned, and screamed all at the same time. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. The color drained from her cheeks.
“Damn it, Pink, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, hurrying toward her. Make a point yes, terrify no.
Putting her hand out in a Stop position, she shook her head and damn if there weren’t tears in her eyes. “Don’t come any closer,” she said, her soft breathless voice killing him with its hurt. “Please, leave me alone.” She backed up, then turned and ran toward the street.
“Isa!” he called, following. “What the hell’s wrong?”
Shaking her head, she kept moving away from him.
“Talk to me, damn it!”