Thank God, I thought.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, hyperventilating.

Tucker tried again, this time with a note of urgency in his voice. “Mojo? Is that you? Where—? Damn it, say something.”

“I saw him,” I ground out. Then I had to slap a hand over my mouth for a moment, because I was either going to puke or start screaming.

“You saw who?”

According to the Damn Fool’s Guide to English Grammar, he should have said “whom,” but this was no time to split hairs. The man was an ASU graduate, for God’s sake. If he hadn’t mastered the language by now, there was no point in correcting him.

I spoke through parted fingers. “My b-brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tucker mused. “Where are you?”

I uncovered my mouth, but screaming and puking were still viable options. “In the parking lot,” I squeaked.

“You’re calling from the parking lot?”

Screaming squeezed out puking and took a solid lead. “No, damn it! I’m calling from the freakin’ roof!”

“Chill,” Tucker said. “I’ll be right out.”

I watched, still clutching the phone to my ear, as the side door swung open and Tucker ambled out of Bad-Ass Bert’s. He scanned the lot, got a fix on the Volvo, and sprinted in my direction.

I rolled down the driver’s-side window about an inch.

“He might have followed me,” I whispered.

Tucker braced his hands on the side of the Volvo and peered in at me. “Open the door, Mojo,” he said.

“He killed my cat,” I said. Not to mention my parents.

“Christ,” Tucker snapped, and pulled at the door handle.

I popped the locks, and he almost fell on his very attractive ass in the gravel.

“I need help,” I told him.

“That’s for damn sure,” Tucker agreed. He sounded testy, but I could tell he was concerned by the way he kept sweeping the lot with his gaze. He reached into the car, unfastened the seat belt and tugged me out, onto my feet.

I landed hard against his chest, and I’ll admit it, I clung for a couple of seconds.

“I saw him,” I repeated.

Tucker held me up with one arm, reached inside for my purse and car keys with the other. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you upstairs. Can you make it on your own, or should I carry you?”

The offer was tempting, but I had a thing about standing on my own two feet whenever possible, literally and figuratively. Besides, Tucker and I were officially Not Dating, and I was just scared enough to go from being carried to being laid without passing Go and certainly without collecting $200.

I gave a moment’s forlorn thought to the credits I’d left in the Ten Times Pay machine when I fled the casino. I could have made my car payment with that money.