Page 49 of Fiona and the Fixer

“That’s not how that saying goes.”

I waved him off. “Whatever.”

“Look, if shady shit is going on in there–”

I gave him aduhlook.

“–then you can’t go in alone.”

“Why the hell not? I just did. I need to see what’s in those containers.” I reached my arm back toward the store.

“Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Maybe because that guy might be dangerous?”

I’d been in more danger with my dad as a kid than with Mr. Leather Jacket in the pickle store. For one, I was armed. For another, I wasn’t a little kid. I was wiser. Smarter. Prepared.

“My job is to handle dangerous people.”

“And you had a partner.”

Before I thought about it, I blurted, “Who was planning to frame me with planted evidence.”

“What?” He stared at me, stunned. After everything we talked about, this was what caught him off guard?

I waved him off like having a shitty partner wasn’t a big deal. “Like I told you before, I work best alone.” I weaved around Dax and started walking down the sidewalk. He caught up, took my elbow in a gentle hold.

“That’s not happening, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dax,” a woman called. She was passing by on the sidewalk but slowed to wave and smile at him.

Dax kinda smiled back, but he looked like he had stomach pains.

“Because I’m pregnant?” I snapped, keeping us focused. And because that woman was literally eye fucking him.

Now his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He might need a dentist while he was here to fix cracked teeth. “You need a keeper.”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, Dax,”anotherwoman said as she passed. The other two women with her giggled like they were thirteen instead of thirty.

I frowned, ignoring them and focusing on Dax. I wasn’t going to think about the feeling these women brought out in me. Jealousy? Possessiveness? And why? “Look. This has been fun and all, but what the hell is this?”

“This?” he repeated.

I pointed back and forth between us.

“Not your fan club of women. You and me. Us. We’re not partners. We’re not… anything. I don’t know what you dofor a living besides being a crappy temporary bookstore clerk who carries a gun.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

A guy with a double wide stroller came by. We were in the way, so Dax moved us to stand by one of the lampposts.

“Exactly. Why are you a temporary bookstore clerk and why do you carry a gun?” I tipped my head to the side to peek around his back. I didn’t need to have x-ray vision to know he had his SIG tucked beneath his t-shirt.

“Let’s talk about it.”

I was usually calm. Cool headed. Not with Dax. I felt like a tea kettle just shy of a boil. “That’s what we’re doing right now.”

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