A Perfect Storm

Who cared? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

Bravado would have to get her through. Summoning a snide smile to hide the hurt, Arizona sneered, “Usually dead women can’t talk. And you are dead—whether you realize it yet or not.”

A maniacal laugh. Chandra’s awful, bone-chilling enjoyment of pain.

It left her pale, cold. Determined. Arizona didn’t back down. “It’s between us. Leave the others out of it.” Let me have my revenge. Please.

Chandra disregarded the warning, saying, “If she speaks again, shoot her.”

And they would. Chandra’s bully boys would enjoy putting a bullet in her.

What to do? Stand back, as Jackson asked? She owed him so much, but…she couldn’t. If she stayed safe, she couldn’t strike out. And she wanted to. She desperately needed to.

So what if her hands were shaking?

So what if her heart thundered and her eyes burned and the urge to flee beat hard and fast in her chest? Never would she run away.

This was her hell.

She had the right to end it.

Determined, determined…but then everything happened at once. Multiple shots, chaos…

Spencer! He hadn’t left. Not yet.

Expression fierce and jaw rock-hard, Spencer started toward her.

He’d stolen her revenge.

He hadn’t left her.

Anger and relief built in combustible force, so confusing, so powerful—

“Yoo-hoo.”

Jolted from the dark memory, Arizona bolted upright in her seat. Without thinking about it, she automatically reached for her knife and looked around at the same time.

Standing there by the passenger door, bending to look in the window, was Spencer’s busty neighbor. She showed off a bright smile, a lot of cleavage and cunning resolve.

Perfect. Just what she deserved.

Still caught up in reliving the awful scenario that had stolen her purpose for being, Arizona breathed too hard, too fast. Sweat had gathered along her spine. Her palms felt damp.

Slowly, hoping the neighbor wouldn’t notice, she drew her hand away from the knife hidden at the small of her back, then shoved her hair from her face.

Where the hell was Spencer? She’d pulled up twenty minutes ago but hadn’t seen his truck. While trying to decide whether to hang around or to bolt, she’d taken an unplanned trip down memory lane.

So lame.

Surreptitiously she swiped a forearm over her brow and put up the car windows.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Arizona undid her seat belt and left her black Focus. “Yoo-hoo, yourself.” Even saying it with sarcasm, she felt like an ass. But at least the intrusion had brought her back to the here and now. “You know where Spencer is?”

“He went out,” Blondie said helpfully.

“No kidding?” Arizona circled the hood, leaned against the fender and crossed her arms. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

Blondie’s smile slipped, making her almost feel mean.

“Sorry. I’ve had a rough day.” She held out her hand. “Arizona.”

“What?”

Well used to that reaction, she shrugged. “My name. It’s Arizona.”

“Oh.” Wary, keeping the contact as brief as possible, the neighbor-lady shook her hand in a limp, barely there greeting. “Marla.”

“Nice to meet you, Marla.” Spencer had asked her to come back at six, and she was twenty minutes early, but so what? She couldn’t break in again, not with the ever-alert Marla keeping tabs on things. Anything that happened now was Spencer’s fault. “So, that stuff this morning… You and Spence got something going on, huh?”

Marla found her backbone. “Yes.”

That was it? Arizona pursed her mouth and waited. Blondie would crack, no doubt about it.

Annnnnddd…she did.

“We’ve, ah, been seeing each other for a while now.”

Seeing each other meant what? In the sack, or had Spencer taken her out on a date? Dancing, dinner, movies… Arizona really had no understanding of the concept. Never in her life had she been out on a legitimate “date.”

This could be a great learning experience. She’d uncover details about Spencer that a cold file filled with facts couldn’t give, and maybe get a better, more personal grasp of the whole relationship ritual.

“No kidding? How long is a while?”

Marla’s bravery faltered. “Long enough.”

Meaning…they were an item? “Well of course you have. Look at you.” She gestured at Marla’s boobs. “No guy would pass that up, right?”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because Marla backed up two steps. “You looked lost in thought when I walked out.”

Lost being the operative word. But not anymore. Never again. “Just waiting on Spence.”

“Why?”

For some insane reason, maybe deeply rooted female vindictiveness, Arizona enjoyed telling her, “He wanted me to join him for dinner.”

Putting her plump shoulders back, Marla tried for a level, nasty stare. “You’re wasting your time.”

A direct attack? Bravo, Marla. Grinning, Arizona said, “Well, look at you feeling all ballsy and possessive and stuff.”