Drake moved to get a closer look. Was that…? No. It couldn’t be. And with a man? No. It had been too many years; he was mistaken. Still, no one else he knew packed that many “fuck”s into everyday language.

He stepped around the stack of red miniskirts. “Janet Lupo?”

She dropped the pile of clothing and stared at him with her jaw sprung wide. Despite her completely flabbergasted expression, he could see she looked good—great, in fact. Very healthy, almost glowing, with a vitality about her that had been lacking in the girl he’d once known. No, wait, that wasn’t vitality—she was smiling, that’s what threw him off.

Interestingly, he had no sense of the man with her except as a bundle of formidable power. No real scent, but pale, really very pale and tall. Blond, with a swimmer’s build, and—

“Fuck a duck,” Janet said.

“Hello, Janet. It’s nice to—”

Drake had an impression of blurred motion and then he went sailing through the windowfront and bounced onto the cobblestones. Broken glass rained down everywhere.

Chapter 11

Crescent worked very hard on not shrieking. It wasn’t easy. There they’d been, minding their own business, when this bitch came out of nowhere and threw Drake through a window—through the damn window!—and now the two of them were rolling in the street like a couple of alley cats—or wolves, probably, wolves would be more accurate. The place was emptying pretty quick as the stampede started, and Drake was down, was on his back, and—

“Get off!” Crescent leapt forward, but a brick fell on her shoulder and yanked her back.

“I wouldn’t,” the blond hottie said mildly. He was a yummy one, all right, and towered over her almost as much as Drake did. Skinny drink of water, though. She observed that the brick was his hand. Strong drink of water, too. “I think it’s a family thing. Better let them—ow.”

She’d never hit anyone in the face before, and she was disappointed. Blondie just sort of shook it off and rubbed his jaw. “Now don’t you start. There’s only one woman permitted to smack me around, and she’s currently rolling in a mud puddle with your friend.”

Show him your necklace.

Obeying the inner voice that was never, ever wrong (but which didn’t speak up nearly often enough), she fumbled for one of the three necklaces around her neck, broke the chain, and thrust it at him. To her amazement, he stumbled backward and threw a hand over his face. Just like in the movies!

“Now you’re just being mean,” he said reprovingly, groping for her. “Put that cross away before you hurt someone. Like me!”