Page 148 of Simon Says

“She told me she’d try everything.” Leaning forward, Barnaby closed the space between them to speak in a low, conspiratorial hush. “Did she work to gain your sympathy? Ah, I see that she did.” He smiled. “I thought she’d try a different tack, given what she said.”

A strange hollowness expanded inside Simon. “Meaning?”

“I assumed she planned to crawl into your bed. That’s the impression she gave me, anyway.”

It was all Simon could do not to strike Barnaby. “This meeting is over.” He stood and walked toward the door of the diner.

“Wait.” Laughing, Barnaby followed. “Maybe in that, she succeeded. Did she? You won’t say? That’s very gentlemanly of you.” Once outside, Barnaby stepped in front of Simon, blocking some of the light from a street lamp. “What about her letters? Did Dakota tell you how important they are to her?”

Once before, with Bonnie, he’d been played for a fool. This time was worse. Far worse. He hadn’t known about any fucking letters, so what could he say?

“They were from her mother.”

Car lights flashed by in a steady flow of traffic, keeping Simon from crossing the street to reach his car. He stared straight ahead. “I thought her mother died after a bad accident.”

“She did. But she wrote to Dakota before then. I have the letters.”

“Then it’s a matter between the two of you.”

“That poor girl. So anxious to save her home and her mother’s last thoughts to her. And you won’t even give her a chance by lending me a little—”

Pushed past the breaking point, Simon grabbed Barnaby by the front of his shirt and carried him backward until he slammed him into the clapboard wall of the diner. “Stay away from me, Barnaby. Do you understand?”

As if thrilled by the emotional display, Barnaby looked elated. “Just throw the fight.”

Simon released him.“What?”

“Throw the fight.” Barnaby straightened his shirt. “If you won’t loan me cash, then you can help me make the money in a bet. I’ll win enough to cover the debts and Dakota will get her letters.”

The idea of deliberately losing a fight was so absurd that Simon laughed. He stepped away from Barnaby. “You’re pathetic.”

“If you don’t, Dakota won’t be the only one sorry.”

“Threatening me?” The laughter stopped and Simon took advantage of his height and bulk to loom over Barnaby. “I’m not a woman who might be intimidated by you.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about.”

“No?” He clasped Barnaby’s arm and hauled him toward the curb. Traffic or no, Simon surged into the street. Brakes squealed, horns blared. Barnaby cursed in fear, but Simon kept walking, giving only a quick wave of apology to the drivers.

When he reached his car, he opened the passenger door and shoved Barnaby inside. “Don’t move.”

Slack-jawed with alarm, Barnaby stayed put.

Simon quickly circled the hood and got in on the driver’s side. He turned toward Barnaby. “Let me see the letters.”

Barnaby licked his lips. “Not until—”

“Now.”

Scurrying, Barnaby reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew three folded, worn envelopes. Simon took them from him, lifted one flap, and saw that handwritten paper filled them. “I’ll see that Dakota gets these.” He stuffed them into his coat pocket. “Now, about these asinine threats of yours. Are you referring to Dakota’s ex, Marvin?”

As if seeking escape, Barnaby looked around in a panic.

Simon wrapped his long fingers around Barnaby’s wrist in an unbreakable hold. He drew him nearer. “Do you know what happens in an arm lock, Barnaby? When done correctly, if the opponent doesn’t tap out in time, elbows dislocate. Wrist bones break. Tendons snap. It’s not a pretty thing.” He tightened his hold. “I know how to do them correctly.”

White-faced, Barnaby shook his head. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Simon stared at him.

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