Run To You

grabbed her keys by Ricky’s shoulder. She didn’t want to touch him, but she paused just long enough to wave her hand in front of his eyes to make sure he was good and truly out. “Ricky?” She peered closer looking for blood. “Mr. De Luca?”
    “Who’s Anna?”
    “Anna Conda.” She didn’t see blood. Which was probably a good sign.
    “I don’t know any Anna Conda.”
    Ricky snored and blew his gross breath on her. She cringed and stood. “The drag queen in the snake gown. You’re not out here with her?”
    He folded his arms across his big chest and rocked back on his heels. The shadow from the brim of his hat brushed the bow of his scowling top lip. “Negative. There isn’t anyone else out here.” He pointed to her and then to the ground. “Except you and Numb Nuts.”
    Sometimes tourists wandered into the lot or parked in it illegally. What did a girl say to a guy who’d knocked out another guy on her behalf? No one had ever come to her defense like that before. “Thank you,” she guessed.
    “You’re welcome.”
    Why had he? A stranger? G.I. Joe was big. A lot bigger than Ricky, and it didn’t look like an ounce of fat would have the audacity to cling to any part of his body. She’d have to jump up to deliver a stunning nose jab or eye poke, and she suddenly felt small. “This is employee parking. What are you doing out here?” She took a step back and slid her pack off her shoulder. Without taking her eyes from his, she slid her finger to the zipper. She didn’t want to Mace the guy. That seemed kind of rude, but she would. Mace him, then run like hell. She was pretty fast for a short girl. “You could get towed.”
    “I’m not going to hurt you, Stella.”
    That stopped her fingers and brought her up short. “Do I know you?”
    “No. I’m here on behalf of a second party.”
    “Hold on.” She held up a hand. “You’ve been out here waiting for me?”
    “Yeah. It took you a while.”
    “Are you from a collection agency?” She glanced toward the front of the lot, and her PT Cruiser was still in its slot. She didn’t have any other outstanding debts.
    “No.”
    If he were going to serve her with a subpoena, he would have when he’d first walked into the bar. “Who is the ‘second party’ and what do they want?”
    “I’ll buy you coffee at the café around the corner and we’ll talk about it.”
    “No thanks.” She carefully stepped over her boss but kept her eyes on him just in case he woke and grabbed her leg. “Just tell me and let’s get this over with.” Although she could probably guess.
    “A member of your family.”
    That’s what she thought. She was so relieved not to feel Ricky’s pervy hand on her leg, she relaxed a fraction. “Tell them I’m not interested.”
    “Ten minutes in the café.” He dropped his hands to his sides and took several steps back. “That’s it. And we should get moving before Numb Nuts comes around. I don’t like to put a guy down twice in one night. Could cause brain damage.”
    What a humanitarian. Although she’d really rather not be around when Ricky woke up, either. Or when one of his sleazy “associates” rolled in. Or have G.I. Joe “put him down” again and cause brain damage. Or in Ricky’s cause, more brain damage.
    “And it will save us both the trouble of me knocking on your door tomorrow,” he added.
    He was as relentless as he looked, and she didn’t doubt him. “Ten minutes.” She’d rather hear what he had to say in a busy café than at her front door. “I’ll give you ten minutes and then I want you to tell my family to leave me alone.” Behind her, Ricky snorted and snored, and she looked back at him one last time as she moved toward the street.
    “That’s all it will take.”
    She walked beside him from the dark lot into the bright, crazy nightlife of Miami. Tubes of pink and purple neon lit up clubs and Art Deco hotels. Shiny cars with custom rims and booming systems thumped the pavement. Even at three in the morning, the party was still going strong.
    “Maybe we should call an ambulance for Ricky,” she said as they passed a drunk tourist puking on a neon-blue palm tree.
    “He’s not that hurt.” He moved closest to the street as he dug into a side pocket of his pants.
    “He’s unconscious,” she pointed out.
    “Maybe he’s a little hurt.” He pulled out a cell and punched a few numbers on his phone. “I’m on a traceable. I need you to call Ricky’s Rock ‘N’