Bulletproof Seal. Carol Ericson

before accosting Quinn in his apartment, but then she hadn’t thought much at all about what she wanted to accomplish by seeing him.

      To make sure the heat still blazed between them? Check. To see if he still had a body that could weaken her knees? Check. To find out if her presence would make him happy? Check.

      She had to admit to herself that seeing him...disheveled had given her a small, petty sense of pleasure. It had also backed up his claim that he’d had a change of heart about shooting her. Quinn wouldn’t be drinking if something weren’t troubling him.

      Now that she’d confirmed that, she’d have to tell him about Bella. He deserved to know about his daughter, even though he’d never mentioned wanting children to her.

      She straightened up and pulled her blouse over the gun in her waistband. She didn’t expect trouble from her contact, but she had to be prepared for anything. Ariel had vouched for him, and that was good enough for Rikki.

      She’d know her guy by his blue Dodgers cap in a city with no pro baseball team. Rikki joined the throng of tourists still crowding Bourbon Street after midnight, and quickened her pace when she saw the street for the bar up ahead.

      Someone plowed into her and she spun around, her hand hovering at her waist. The drunk who’d bumped her gave her a sloppy smile and raised his drink. She stepped to the side and rounded the next corner. A green neon sign announced the Gator Lounge, and Rikki surveyed the pedestrians behind her before ducking inside the darkness.

      She shivered as the air-conditioning hit her warm skin. She’d overdressed for the heat and humidity in jeans, a blouse and tennies, but shorts and a T wouldn’t have worked for breaking into Quinn’s place and carrying a weapon and cuffs.

      Her gaze flickered across the small cocktail tables and then rested on the back of a man seated at the bar, a blue baseball cap on his head.

      Rikki scooped in a breath and threaded her way through the tables. As she hopped onto the stool next to her contact, she waved at the bartender.

      “What can I getcha?” The bartender slapped a napkin on the bar in front of her.

      “Light beer, no glass.” She slid a glance to her right to see if her words registered with the man in the Dodgers hat.

      She waited for his prearranged response—a folding of all four corners of his napkin.

      He picked at the label on his beer bottle with his fingernail.

      She held her breath.

      The bartender placed her beer on the napkin. “Three dollars. Running a tab?”

      “No.” Her eyes glued to her contact’s cocktail napkin, she unzipped the front compartment of her purse and pulled out a five.

      Finally the man beside her dipped his head. “I have what you want, but who are you?”

      The question had her convulsively clenching her fist around the bill in her hand. That was not part of the deal. He wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. He was supposed to hand over a flash drive with information—after folding the damned corners of his napkin.

      She turned toward him and smiled sweetly. “You can’t possibly have what I want...sugar. And who the hell are you?”

      He jerked his thumb upward, hitting the bill of his cap.

      Rikki’s heart stuttered. None of this made sense. He had half of the plan right, and it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Who else would be wearing a Dodgers cap in this particular bar in New Orleans at this exact time?

      Her laugh tinkled as she creased her money and tucked it beneath a candle. “Sorry, I’m no Dodgers fan. In fact, I don’t even like baseball.”

      Wedging one foot on the floor, she took a quick gulp of her beer. She needed to abandon this rendezvous—and fast.

      As she shoved herself to her feet, the man grabbed her wrist and growled in her ear, “I have a gun pointed at your ribs. Make a move, and I’ll take you down.”

       Chapter Four

      Quinn plowed through the crowd of people on Bourbon Street, stepping on a few toes and upsetting a few drinks. The Gator Lounge occupied a side street, and he made for the corner of that street like a heat-seeking missile.

      Before he stepped through the front door of the bar, he tugged his baseball cap low on his forehead. If Rikki made him as soon as he walked into the bar, he’d lose his chance to find out what business she had in New Orleans. He might lose his chance of ever seeing her again.

      Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and dipped his head. Two steps into the bar, he scanned it quickly, and his heart jumped in his chest.

      His gaze locked onto Rikki and a man in a blue cap heading for the back of the bar. Quinn had frequented enough bars in the past few months to know this one led to an alley running behind it. Rikki and her companion were headed either for the restrooms or out the back door. Either way, he’d be in the vicinity to intercept them.

      He backed out of the Gator Lounge and jogged through a small courtyard between buildings. He hugged the side of the bar and poked his head around the corner into the alley.

      The blood in his veins ran cold as he watched the man propel Rikki in front of him—by force. Every line in her body screamed that she didn’t want to be in his company or be going anywhere with him.

      Plenty of people had seeped into this alley off the main street, and Quinn joined their ranks, edging closer to Rikki and her abductor.

      The guy in the cap seemed distracted. He didn’t notice the pedestrians who passed by him and Rikki, wasn’t expecting any kind of intervention—and that was the way Quinn liked it.

      Quinn joined a trio of late-night revelers and as they walked past Rikki and the man, Quinn dropped back. He reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it behind him before he could use the weapon gripped in his hand.

      Rikki made a muffled cry and dropped to the ground.

      Quinn gave the man’s arm a quick yank and heard the crack of his bone.

      The man howled, his legs buckling beneath him.

      Quinn heard a shout behind him. “Hey, hey. What are you doing?”

      Plucking the gun from the man’s useless arm, Quinn kicked him in the gut for good measure.

      Someone came up behind Quinn and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

      As Quinn shrugged off the stranger’s hand, he slid the man’s weapon beneath his shirt. “Dude was taking off with my girl. You’re comin’ home with me, Lila.”

      Rikki grabbed the sleeve of Quinn’s T-shirt, glanced over her shoulder at the concerned onlooker and shrugged. “Jealousy.”

      Quinn hustled Rikki out of the alley before someone called the cops or an ambulance. When they hit Bourbon Street, Quinn whipped the hat from his head and clasped it against his side with his arm. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine. How the hell did you know where I was?”

      “Car?”

      “Scooter a few blocks away.”

      “You wear a helmet with that thing?”

      She poked him in the side. “You’re concerned about helmet safety at a time like this?”

      “Let’s get that helmet from your scooter, and then we’ll hop on my bike.”

      “If you see me to my scooter, I’ll be fine.”

      “Oh, no, you don’t.” He gripped her upper arm. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Some guy with a gun almost took you away—again. I wanna know what kind of danger you’re in, and I wanna help. I