Page 37 of Samson

“I’m sorry, was he a friend of yours?” His tone made it clear he knew the truth of the situation.

“All he had was paint.”

“Yeah. ‘Had’ being the operative word. Now it’s all over my shirt.”

“You can get a new one.”

“You are impossible. Is there nothing I can do that’s right in your eyes?”

“You could have hurt him bad.”

“He stalked you in the middle of the night. He got what he deserved. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Samson was right. He’d come over to help her, and all she’d done was criticize him. But now she didn’t know how to pull herself out of the hole she’d dug. “I don’t have my phone on me. You’ll have to call the ambulance.”

Samson gave her a scolding look. The man on the ground moaned and rolled to his side.

“There, see?” he said. “Still alive.”

“Yeah, but he was unconscious. He needs to go to the hospital.”

“Fine.” Samson made the call.

Delilah rubbed her eyes. She didn’t know what it was that made her want to fight him all the time. Samson was right. The guy deserved what he got. She’d been terrified until Samson turned up.

“I’m sorry,” she said once he was off the phone. “Thank you for your help. I don’t even know that he would have stopped with the paint. Not to mention he could have had anything in his hand. I didn’t really know what he was going on about or why he was here at first.” And now she was rambling.

“Do you know him?”

“He was the guy with the steak.”

Samson’s brow furrowed.

“He was giving me a hard time about how his steak was cooked,” she continued. “You came in and settled things.”

“Oh yeah.” He shook his head. “And he came after you because of that?”

“I guess. If you hadn’t been here… Wait, whatareyou doing here? The restaurant’s been closed for hours.”

“I was driving around.”

“Down this street? Do you live around here?”

“No.”

A woman wearing a skimpy blue sequined dress pranced across the road to join them. “Is that blood?” she screeched when Samson turned to her and she saw his shirt.

“It’s paint. Don’t worry,” he said.

She leaned nearer to the man on the ground. “Is he dead?” She looked more disgusted than concerned.

“Nope,” Samson said.

“No match for you, though,” she said, cozying up to Samson. Then she looked at Delilah, checking her out from head to toe, intrigued. “You’re lucky he was here.”

Delilah pursed her lips at Samson, then lifted her eyebrows. “Yeah, really lucky you guys were nearby. Doing…whatever it was you were doing.”

“What do you think we were doing?” she said.

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