Fighting Dirty

It hadn’t run him off yet, and honestly, she didn’t want to linger in the empty house. Never before had that bothered her, but she’d gone from the robbery to mostly staying with Armie. Now every shadow looked sinister and every creak sounded ominous.

After gathering up a fresh change of clothes for tomorrow, along with a few food items from her cabinets, Merissa turned to start down the stairs.

She froze at a particularly loud noise in the downstairs living area.

A second later, the alarm went off, indicating an intruder.

Her heart shot into her throat.

* * *

IMPATIENT, ARMIE RESTED his wrist over the steering wheel and looked toward Carter. It was stuffy in the truck, but when he’d started to put the window down, Carter had asked that he not.

“Okay, I give. What are we doing?” Armie asked.

Carter hedged, looking around the area, ensuring they were alone.

Huh. “You planning to murder me, Chaos? Pondering how to get my dead body from here to wherever you hope to dump me?”

Not amused, Carter said, “No.”

“Then how about you tell me what you want? I have better things I could be doing right now.” Like checking on an unhappy, possibly mistreated kid, followed by sexing up the sweet sister to his best friend.

Shit. Armie concentrated on Carter. “Say it or get out.”

“You know I’ve got a big interview with a sports channel?”

“No. Why would I?” For some reason, his mood deteriorated by the moment. “I don’t follow your schedule.”

Chaos glared at him. “Look, you’re being a prick for no reason. I’m not here to cause problems. Just the opposite.”

Yeah, Armie knew he was antagonistic and he didn’t know why. “Fine. Just get to it, will you?”

“I have a big interview. Really big. More high profile than I’ve ever had before. That’s because of you, by the way.”

“Not my doing.”

“I realize that. And I honestly think I’ll beat you.”

“Okay.” Armie didn’t give a damn what he thought. “So?”

“Soon as the big interview was announced, I got this anonymous tip that while I’m doing the usual trash talk, I should also mention...something else.”

Dread stirred in his guts. To hide that reaction, Armie crossed his arms and waited.

Uncomfortable, Carter rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck it.” He lifted a hip to dig a note from his back pocket. With only a slight hesitation, he handed it to Armie.

Armie knew. He didn’t have to read the note, but he did anyway. Unfolding the wrinkled paper and holding it up to an interior lamp, he read aloud,

“You want to win even before you get in the cage? Then tell the media about Jacobson’s past—as a rapist.”

One hand braced on the dash, Carter leaned forward. “I don’t know who wrote it. But I hate fucking cowards who skulk around—”

“I’m not a coward,” Armie said with a low, lethal edge.

“Not you, you ass.” Carter nodded at the note. “The anonymous fuck who left that on my windshield.”

On his windshield—where anyone might have seen it.

There was a day when Armie would have told Carter to fuck off, to believe whatever he wanted, and then he would have walked away. But damn it, those days were in the past. He wouldn’t run from this.

He was sick to death of running, of dodging trouble.

Of letting the cowards win.

So he looked Carter in the eyes and said, “It’s not true.”

“I figured if it was, you’d be in jail, right?” With it out in the open now, Carter sat back and relaxed. “Besides, I asked around about you as soon as I knew we were fighting. I heard a lot of stuff, including admiration and respect from the men, and a lot of sick swooning from the women.”

The side of Armie’s mouth kicked up, but mostly with irony and no real humor behind it.

“I haven’t shown it to anyone else,” Carter assured him. “But if you want some advice—”

“I don’t.”

“—I think you should show it to the powers-that-be in the SBC. They won’t want to be blindsided by this.”

So Carter planned to mention it in his interview?

Armie no sooner thought that than Carter clarified.

“When I don’t bite, they’re going to reach out again.” Solemn, he shook his head in regret. “Eventually some knucklehead is going to take that garbage and run with it.”

Eyeing the opponent he knew only by his record, Armie felt indebted. “You’re not going to say anything?”

“I want a clean fight, not one clouded by idiotic accusations that can’t be proved. The thing is, if I thought it had any merit, if I’d gotten even a clue that you’d ever mistreated a woman, I’d take a lot of pleasure in trashing you. Hell, I’d enjoy taking you apart.”

Easier said than done, but Armie knew when to keep his ego to himself. “I’d feel exactly the same.” He held out a hand. “Thanks for...” He searched for the right words.

“For not being easily duped?” Carter took his hand. “My pleasure.” Then he smiled. “And I’m still going to beat you in the cage.”

It was a hell of a situation, but Armie laughed anyway. Carter was such a fair guy, he almost hated to disappoint him.

But when they fought, he’d be the winner—no doubts at all.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TRYING NOT TO be too obvious, Merissa stuck close to the very nice officer who’d shown up to look things over for her.

For the tenth time, Officer Mead asked, “You’re sure you’re okay now?”

Given she continued to play his shadow, she could understand his uncertainty.

She forced a smile. “Yes. Thank you again. I’m so sorry I overreacted like that.”

“You didn’t,” he assured her. “It’s always better to be safe.”

Safe—but not hysterical.

Her face burned anew even as her imagination stayed in hyperdrive. First the robbery, then that near miss with a speeding car and now this.

She was sure of the sound she’d heard—and maybe she’d even seen a shadow. That could have been fear playing tricks with her eyes... But what if it wasn’t?

Something had triggered the alarm.

Had she become a target, or was she just being paranoid?

She’d never been paranoid before.

The shrill alarm had so badly startled her that a vague darkness had crept in around her. She’d come very close to fainting.

Luckily, at the last second the fog had receded, but then she’d gone straight into panic mode. After ungluing her feet from the stairs, she’d raced like a lunatic into her bedroom where she’d locked the door, grabbed the phone and crouched on the other side of her bed.

The second the monitoring station called, she’d replied that yes, she absolutely needed help, and she was pretty sure she’d sounded out of control.

The security tech promised to send a cop and had put the call through for her. Minutes later the very nice officer had arrived, and it had taken all her willpower to stop cowering in her bedroom and to go to the front door and let him in.

He certainly hadn’t been spooked. After she’d shut off the alarm system, he’d gone downstairs—with her trailing close because no way in hell was she waiting behind—and he’d found all the windows and the door to the walkout closed and locked.