To me, she pointed and said, "I want all that stuff back." Then she shuffled us out, slamming the door on Reece's scowling face.

"Let's get out of here," he mumbled, pulling his keys from his pocket. When he got to the bike, he rotated slowly to

look at my legs, then at the heels Gena had let me borrow. He shut his eyes and cringed.

"It's okay, I'll manage." I grabbed the helmet and tossed my hair forward, bending at the waist to let the strands fall in. I snapped the neck strap and placed one leg over the bike without Reece's help. The skirt rode up my thigh, but not too much, and the added height of the shoes made it easier to step over. Dress or no dress, I was going with him. "See?

It's fine . . . Really."

With a pained expression, he pulled his gaze from my leg. I looked away, humiliated, while he settled into the space between them with an exasperated sigh. He kicked the bike into gear and I tangled my fingers in the folds of his shirt rather than around his waist. All I wanted was to get this night behind us so he could move on with his life and I could forget I'd ever let myself fall for a guy like Reece Whelan.

35.

We parked in a narrow alley. Brick walls loomed on both sides, cloaking us in shadows. At the mouth of the alley, bodies passed under streetlights, their silhouettes shuffling to a distant beat.

I startled when Reece caught my chin and lifted my head. "Listen." His fingers were ice cold and his anxiety leeched into me, an echo of my own. "I don't want you to eat or drink anything-nothing-no matter who gives it to you. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"And I never want you out of my sight. Ever. Promise me." I nodded again. Then he took my hand and we followed the sound of the music.

To anyone else, we'd look like a couple. But his grip was too tight, his posture too rigid. A cluster of boys whistled and called out to me. Reece shot them a warning glance, his body inclined slightly ahead and protectively close to mine, but never too close.

We stopped in front of a rusted door. Reece slipped the bouncer some cash and the door slid open. Strobe lights pierced the pavement. The music, barely a heartbeat through the door, roared out. I clamped down on Reece's hand as we stepped into an inferno of color and sound and the steel mouth slammed shut.

He dragged me through a flashing sea of unfocused colors and lights, people dancing on ledges and platforms, and crowding the floor. I scanned the room for Kylie. Reece kept to the perimeter, clear of the mass, and stopped at a bar covered in tiny plastic cups. Our fingers strained to stay clasped as he leaned in to speak with the bartender, a kid I vaguely recognized as the gas pump attendant at the Bui Mart. The kid disappeared into a swale between bodies and I took long steadying breaths while we waited.

Lonny Johnson emerged a moment later. Kylie stood behind him, her hand draped over his shoulder. Her heroinchic eyes narrowed over my dress and she pressed tighter against him. Lonny jerked his shoulder, dismissing her. I craned my head, anxiously watching as she vanished into the crowd. Reece squeezed my hand, as if reading my thoughts, forbidding me to follow her.

Lonny stepped in close, watching me the way a cat watches a bird through a window.

"Nice. Very . . . very nice," he said over the music, and yet low enough to be a dirty secret in my ear. "I had no idea you had it in you, Boswell. Not bad for a girl from the park. I'm beginning to understand Reece's interest in you." Lonny stroked his goatee and leered. The flashing lights illuminated the hard angles of his face and the tattoos around his neck. I took a step back.

Reece's grip tightened, and he shifted in front of me. I felt his temper flare through our joined hands and swallowed back the coppery tang it left. Without a word, Lonny jerked his head toward a hallway behind him. Reece returned it with a tight nod and he leaned in close to my ear.

"Stay here. Don't move. I'll be back in five minutes." Then he slipped into the crowd.

I stood, the room in rhythmic chaos around me, hundreds of bodies flashing under the strobes. I stood on my toes, searching for Kylie's magenta hair, but the bodies on the dance floor reflected back the color of the changing strobes. The effect was disorienting and I pushed in closer to the dance floor, struggling to find her.

A deejay worked high on a platform in the center of the room. The dancers moved in syncopated rhythms around him. A light caught my eye in a high corner of the room, white and quicker than the strobes. Jeremy stood on a catwalk, snapping pictures. His telescoping lens fanned slowly toward me, found me, and paused. The camera dropped slowly from his face. He stared at me with a pained expression, then turned, shoving people aside until he disappeared from view.

I wanted to follow him. I wanted to explain. But I didn't have a choice. Keeping Reece from going back to jail meant keeping Jeremy in the dark. And keeping Kylie alive meant I had to let him go.

I brought my attention back to the floor, to the wall of moving bodies in front of me. I didn't see Kylie anywhere. I had five minutes to find her before Reece came back. To make sure she was safe.

I drifted closer to the dance floor, careful not to touch anyone. I jumped when a warm hand reached for me, slick with sweat, and tried to pull away as it drew me into the current of bodies.

The touch sent a surge of heat through my veins. Hot and electric and sweet. I shouldn't be here, I thought, fighting to hold on to myself. Skin was all around me, touching me, until I was light, floating. I waved my hands in front of my face, watching them paint trails in the air. Someone grabbed me and pulled me close and I absorbed his buzz until I was numb with it.

I was one of them. Somebody. Part of something. Connected and touching. I pushed into them. Against them. Drinking them in. Drenched in their high. Promises drifted to me through the music.

Stay here. Five minutes.

The room was spinning. I giggled, laughter erupting within me until there was only dancing and music and the beat of the room. An arm snaked around me, strong shoulders curling over my back.

"What do we have here?" said a deep voice in my ear. "I had no idea little Nearly Boswell was so hot." I shivered under his breath.

I fought to open my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. Large hands steadied me as I gave in to the sway. He was tall, his designer shirt closely cut over a muscled chest and rolled at the sleeves. Honey-blond hair fell over his forehead in the most appealing way, and he smiled at me. A small voice in my head whispered warnings, but his hands were warm on my waist. He smelled good, like expensive cologne.

I leaned into him, pulling his head low to my ear. "I know you," I purred, barely recognizing my own voice. "You're dangerous."

Vince growled into my neck, making me laugh. "You have no idea."

He drew me into the sea of dancers, to the very center of the writhing mass.

"Where's your boyfriend?" His face burrowed into my hair, tickling my shoulders. I shook my head and looped my hands around his neck, feeling dizzy.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

His hand slipped under the hem of my dress and worked slowly up my thigh. A delicious shudder rocked through me, sweet like cherry syrup with a burn that licked at my throat. My head rolled back, loose, and Vince nuzzled my collarbone.